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GLENARVON.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. L

Les passions sont les vents qui enflent les voiles du vais-
seau : elles le submergeut quelquefois, mais sans dies il ne
pourrait voguer. Tout est dangereux ici-bas, et tout est
uecessaire.

^I&iri) ©tJitiott,

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN, CONDUIT SRREET.
1816.

London : Printed by Schulze and Dean,
13, Poland Street.

PREFACE

TO THE SECOND.EDITION,

Glenarvon was written and committed
to the press without permission, commu-
nication, advice, or assistance — this may
account for, though it cannot excuse all
the slighter, and many, it is trusted, of
the more serious errors of the composi-
tion. But if indeed the charge of im-
moral tendency, which some have pre-
ferred against these volumes, be well-
founded, what palliation can in any de-
gree extenuate so great an offence, or
what praise can compensate for so odious
an imputation ? The Author must bow
with submission to the adverse judgment
of the public, if that judgment be once
pronounced decidedly, and upon due
consideration ; but the flattering hope

a

11 PREFACE.

had been indulged, that the general ten-
dency of the work was favourable to the
interests of virtue. It is too late, it is
presumed, to enquire whether those in-
terests are, or are not injured by the de-
scription of desperate characters, depraved
conduct, and daring crimes ? Such have
been from the earliest to the most recent
times, the subjects of fiction ; such have
ever been the themes of tragedians of all
countries ; of the writers of novels, ro-
mances, and romantic poems ; and the
present period presents us with almost
daily examples, which at least equal, if
they do not surpass their prototypes of
old, in the horrors, and atrocities, whicli
they describe.

The scene of the following pages is
laid, for the most part, in Ireland, in the
time of the Irish Rebellion. The events
have no foundation in fact, and with re-
spect to the characters, the painter well
knows, that, when he is sketching the
personages of history, or the creatures

PREFACE. Ill

of his imagination, the lineaments, with
which he is most familiar, will sometimes
almost involuntarily rise beneath the
touch of his pencil. The same cause has
perhaps produced in this work, those
resemblances, if resemblances they be,
which have been recognized, admitted,
claimed with so much eagerness, and
then condemned with so much asperity.
Yet a distinction is always to be drawn
between the attempt at painting human
nature as it is, and the base desire of de-
forming, and degrading it. The crimes
related in these volumes are evidently
imaginary ; the situations fictitious ; much
of the ridicule which has received a per-
sonal application, is harmless in itself,
and directed against trifling peculiarities;
some imputations there are, no doubt
of a heavier nature, and these were
conceived to have been justified by in-
jury and provocation. The language of
resentment is generally more violent,
than the occasion demands, and he who

IV PREFACE.

uses it, is of all mankind the least quali-
fied to judge impartially of its propriety ;
but those who suffer deeply, will express
themselves strongly ; those w ho have
been cruelly attacked, will use the means
of resistance, which are within their
reach ; and observations, which appear
to a general observer, bitter and acrimo-
nious, may perhaps wear another cha-
racter to him who is acquainted with the
circumstances, which occasioned them.
This work is not the offspring of calm
tranquillity, and cool deliberation, it
does not bear the marks of such a temper,
or of such a situation. It was written
under the pressure of affliction, with the
feelings of resentment which are excited
by misrepresentation, and in the bitter-
ness of a wounded spirit, which is natu-
rally accompanied by a corresponding bit-
terness both of thought and expression.

" The blood will follow, where the knife is driven 5
" The flesh will quiver, where the pincer tears,
" And sighs and tears by nature grow on pain."

PREFACE. V

These avowals being fairly, and dis-
tinctly made, an appeal is still confidently
urged to those, who have read impartially,
whether, whatever may be the character
of the more general reflections, the fea-
tures of the few supposed portraits are
overcharged and distorted, as if by the
hand of malevolence, or whether their
beauties, are not studiously heightened
and brought forth, and their defects in
some measure thrown into shade and
concealed.

When we cast a glance around us upon
the frailty of human nature, and the
errors and follies of the world, we must,
it is to be feared, confess that malignity,
had malignity guided the pen, might,
without departing from truth, or in the
slightest degree infringing the sacred
confidence of friendship, have found
it easy to expose foibles far more ridicu-
lous, and to cast aspersions far more ill
natured and injurious. — One observation
further there is an anxiety to press upon

VI PREFACE.

the consideration of the public. The
Author cannot be accused of having
sought the favour of those who are gene-
rally admired, and courted, of those who
are powerful in influence and popularity,
who are surrounded by friends and sup-
porters, and who give, in a great measure,
the tone and turn to the conversation of
society, and the opinions of the world ;
nor on the other hand, is the shaft of
satire in any one instance directed against
the weak, the fallen, or the defenceless.

In the vain, frivolous and unrestrained
character of Calantha, and in the kind,
the generous, the noble one of Avondale, it
was intended to enforce the danger of too
entire liberty either of conduct, or of
opinion ; and to shew that no endow-
ments, no advantages, can ensure happi-
ness and security upon earth, unless we
adhere to the forms, as well as to the prin-
ciples of religion and morality. Nor will
it be held by the truly wise, or the trufy
pious, to be too heavy an imputation

PREFACE. Vil

upon the character of Lord Avondale,
that he is represented as having in early
youth suffered his mind to be overpow-
ered, and his judgment in some measure
misled by the vain wisdom, and false
philosophy, which have distinguished and
disturbed the times, in which it has been
our fortune to live. The error attribut-
ed, is one which unhappily has been in
our day neither unusual, nor unnatural;
it is one, into which have fallen men
of the most powerful talents, and the
warmest hearts, betrayed often by a confi-
dence in their own strength ; and with the
candid and tolerant the question will ever
be, not whether the delusion has prevailed
for a time, but whether it has been after-
wards shaken off by the returning recti-
tude of the feelings, and the growing
vigour of the understanding. If this cha-
racter had been represented, (as would
have been easy) without blame or blemish,
it would also have been without proba-
bility, without interest, without admoni-

Vlll PREFACE.

tion. This transient error, which darkens
for a moment the splendor of Avondale's
virtues, is adduced not as forming an
apology for the misconduct of Calantha,
but as accounting for the tenderness and
mercy, her husband afterwards evinced,
when remembering that perhaps he had
too little sought to strengthen and con-
firm in her, those principles, which none
more deeply venerated, or more strictly
observed than himself. He commiser-
ated her fate and wept upon her grave.
The character of Calantha, of the Miss
Seymours, of Lady Dartford, may be in part
applied to many — they are not out of na-
ture, nor overstrained ; those of Miss St.-
Clare and Lad^ Margaret Buchanan are
-iiore entirely fictitious. Their situation,
their disposition, their vices, their projects
have not the remotest allusion to any per-
son who ever existed, or to any event that
ever took place. Designing ill-will and
erring curiosity, may exert themselves to
discover realities in murdei^s, intrigues,

PREFACE. IX

marriages and separations, which have
been only introduced for the sake of giv-
ing some interest to the narrative ; but
good sense, and discernment, will easily
distinguish between such ill-founded
applications, and those observations in
which, it is trusted, the fair freedom
of remark, and censure, which belongs
to the British press, has neither been
exceeded, nor abused.

It is needless further to explain the
plan, and object of each particular pas-
sage, or character, which is introduced
into the composition. Unless that object
be delineated with such clearness, as to
exhibit itself to the mind of the reader in
the moment of perusal, it is vain to sug-
gest and point it out in the preface. The
whole has been written with the general
design of inculcating the necessity of
seeing both actions and opinions, in their
true light, and as they really are ; of found-
ing religion, not Hke Calantha, upon en-
thusiasm, but upon reason and faith ; of

X PREFACE.

founding morality, upon principle and
experience, not upon ignorance of evil.
If in any part of the work, any deviation
from this prescribed course can be disco-
vered : if any sentiment throughout these
volumes, appears even to approach to the
toleration of vice and immorality, it is
vain now to say, how from the heart it
is wished unwritten ; but in censures,
which spring from very different motives,
in misconstructions, misrepresentations,
and, above all, in the charge of malevo-^
lence, the author never will silently and
tamely acquiesce.

GLENARVON.

CHAPTER 1

In the town of Belfont, in Ireland, lived
a learned physician of the name of Eve-
rard St. Clare. He had a brother, who,
misled by a fine but wild imagination,
which raised him too far above the in-
terests of common life, had squandered
away his small inheritance; and had
long roved through the world, rapt in
poetic visions, foretelling, as he pretend-
ed, to those who would hear him, that
which futurity would more fully develop.
— Camioli was the name he had as-
sumed.

It was many years since Sir Everard
last beheld his brother, when one night
Camioli, bearing in his arms Elinor his

VOL. I. B

2 GLENARVON.

child, about five years of age, returned,
after long absence, to his native town,
and knocked at Sir Everard's door. The
doctor was at the castle hard by, and his
lady refused admittance to the mean-
looking strafiger. Without informing
her of his name, Camioli departed, and
resolved to seek his sister the Abbess of
Glenaa. The way to the convent was
long and dreary : he climbed, therefore,
with his lovely burthen to the topmost
heights of Inis Tara, and sought tempo-
rary shelter in a cleft of the mountain
known by the name of the " Wizard's
Glen." Bright shone the stars that night,
and to the imagination of the aged seer,
it seemed in sleep, that the spirits of de-
parted heroes and countrymen, freed from
the bonds of mortality, were ascending
in solemn grandeur before his eyes; —
Glenarvon's form appeared before him —
his patron 1 his benefactor! — he spoke of
times long past, of scenes by all forgot,
pointed with a look of despondency to

GLENARVON. 3

his infant son ! — " Who shall protect the
orphan that is destitute ?" he cried —
" who shall restore him to the house of
his fathers T'

From visions so wild and terrible, the
soft sweet voice of his child awoke Ca-
mioli — '' How cold and dreary it is, dear
father ; how lone these hills. I am weary
unto death, yet I fear to sleep." — " My
comforter, my delight, my little black-
eyed darling,'' said the Bard, (enveloping
her in his long dark mantle,) '' I will
soon take you to a place of safety. My
sister, the Abbess of Glenaa, lives in the
valley beneath the mountain : she will
protect my Elinor ; and, in her mansion,
my child shall find an asylum. I shall
leave you but for a short time ; we shall
meet again, Elinor; — yes, we shall meet
again. — Continue to live with St. Clara,
your aunt: obey her in all things, for
she is good : and may the God of Mercy
avert from you the heaviest of all my
calamities, the power of looking into
B 2

4 GLENARVON.

futurity." — He spoke, and descending
the rugged mountain path, placed his
Elinor under the protection of his sister
the Abbess of Glenaa, and bidding her
farewell, walked hastily away.

The morning sun, when it arose, shone
bright and brilliant upon the valley of
Altamonte — its gay castle, and its lake.
But a threatening cloud obscured the sky,
as Camioli raised his eyes, and turned
them mournfully upon the ruined priory
of St. Alvin, and the deserted halls of Bel-
font. — *' Woe to the house of Glenar-
von !" he said. " Woe to the house of
my patron and benefactor ! Desolation
and sorrow have fallen upon the mighty.
— Mourn for the hero who is slain in
battle. Mourn for the orphan who is
left destitute and in trouble. . . . Bright
shone the sun upon thy battlements, O
Belfont, on the morn when the hero bade
thee ?. last ^dieu. Cold are thv waters,
Killarney ; and many a tree has been
hewn from thy rocky bosom, thou fair

GLBNARVON. 5

fountain Glenaa, since the hour in
which he parted. But not so cold, nor
so barren is thy bosom, as is that of the
widow who is bereft of every joy. . .
Mourn for the house of Glenarvon, and
the orphan who is destitute! — No mo-
ther— no companion of boyish sports and
pleasures yet lives to greet him with one
cheering smile. — There is not left one
tongue to welcome him to his native
land ; or, should he fall, one friend to
shed a tear upon his grave!**

Thus Sling the Bard, while the red deer
were browsinq: upon the hills, and the
wind whistled through the arches and
colonnades of the Castle of Behont, as if
in hollow murmurs for times whirh were
long past. — " Woe to the house of our
patron,*' said the frenzied old man, as
with bitter tears he departed: — " even in
this moment of time, the fairest star of
Belfont sets forever: the widowed Coun-
tess of Glenarvon is dead — dead in a fo-
reign country ; and stranger hands alone

6 GLENARVON.

perform her obsequies." He spoke, and
looked, for the last time, upon the land
that he loved, then turned from it as if
for ever.. ..Previous, however, to his de-
parture from Ireland, Camioli again
sought his brother, (who was then an
inmate in the family of the Duke of Al-
tamonte,) for the purpose of commending
Elinor to his care.

Castle Delaval, the property of that
nobleman, was situated in a valley shel-
tered from every keen blast by a dark
wood of beach and fir. The river Elle,
taking its rise amidst the Dartland Hills,
flowed through the park, losing by de-
grees the character of a mountain torrent,
as it spread itself between rich and varied
banks in front of the castle, till it joined
the sea beyond the Wizard's Glen, The
town of Belfont stands close upon the
harbour, and from one of the highest
cliffs, the ruins of the convent of St.
Mary, and a modern chapel may yet be
seen, whilst Heremon and Inis Tara,

GLENARVON. 7

raising their lofty summits, capped with
snow, soar above the clouds.

The abbey of Belfont, snd th© priory
of St. Alvin, both the property of the
Glenarvon family, were row, in conse-
quence of the forfeiture of the late Earl
of that name, transferred to Lord de
Ruthven, a distant relation. Thedsserted
priory had fallen into ruin, and Belfont
abbey, as yet unclaimed by its youthful
master, and pillaged by the griping hand
of its present owner, exhibited a melan-
choly picture of neglect and oppression.
— No cheerful fires blaze in its ancient
halls; no peasants and vassals feast under
its vaulted roofs. — Glenarvon, the hero,
the lord of the demesne is dead : he fell
on the bloody field of Culloden : his son
perished in exile : and Clarence de Ruth-
ven, his grandson, an orphan, in a foreign
land, had never yet appeared to petition
for his attainted titles and forfeited
estates. — Of relations and of friends he
had never heard.

8 GLENARVON.

Where are they who claim kindred
\vith the unfortunate? Where are they
who boast of friendship for the orphan
that is destitute and in trouble? Yet the
Duke of Altamonte, whose domains were
contiguous, and whose attachment ex-
tended to the son of his ancient friend,
had ofttimes written to his sister enquir-
ing into the fate of the child ; but Lady
Margaret had answered her brother's let-
ters with coldness and indifference.

GLENARVON,

CHAPTER IL

It is the common failing of an ambitious
mind to over-rate itself — to imagine that
it has, by the caprices of fortune, been
defrauded of the high honours due to its
supposed superiority. It conceives itself
to have been injured — to have fallen from
its destination ; and these unfounded
claims become the source of endless dis-
content. The mind, thus disappointed,
preys upon itself, and compares its pre-
sent lowliness with the imaginary heights
for which it fancies itself to have been
designed. Under the influence of these
reflections, the character grows sullen
and reserved, detaches itself from all
social enjoyaients, and professes to de-
spise the honours for which it secretly
pines. Mediocrity aod a common lot, a
man of this disposition cannot bring him-

B 5

10 GLENARVOjr.

self to endtire ; and he wilfully rejects
the little granted, because all cannot be
obtained to which he had aspired.

In this temper, the Dukeof iVltamonte
had r. tired from public affairs, and quit-
ted the splendour and gaiety of the court,
to seek in retirement that repose which,
of ail men, he was the least calculated to
appreciate or enjoy. He had married
into a Roman Catholic family. In the
society of the Duchess, he had found
all that could sooth his wounded spirit:
in Mrs. Seymour, the duchess's sister, he
also welcomed a mild and unobtrusive
guest; while the project of uniting the
Lady Calantha Delaval, his only daugh-
ter, to her cousin William Buchanan,
heir presumptive to the Dukedom of Al-
tamonte, and son of his sister Lady Mar-
garet Buchanan, (the titles descending in
the female line,) occupied his thoughts,
and engrossed his attention.

To forward this favourite object, he
communicated to them both, that they

GLENARVON. 11

were destined for each other; and, by-
employing them in the same occupations,
causing them to be instructed in the
same studies, and in every way contriv-
ing that they should be continually to-
gether, he hoped that early habits, and
the first affections of childhood, might
unite their hearts in indissoluble bonds.
But how short-sighted, how little found-
ed in a right knowledge of human nature,
was this project ! Habituated to the in-
timacy which subsists between near re-
lations, was it probable that love, when
the age of that passion arrived, would be
content with objects thus familiar; and
that the feelings of the heart would
quietly acquiesce in an arrangement
which had been previously formed upon
the calculations of interest and family
pride? — On the contrary, the system pur-
sued in their education, accustomed them
in their intercourse with each other, to
give way to their violent tempers, with-
out restraint; and the frequent recurrence

12 GLENARVON,

of petty quarrels, soon produced senti-
ments, which bordered on dislike; so
that at the moment when the Duke
hoped to exult in the success, he had to
contemplate the failure, of his project.

Happily,a most important event occur-
red at this time in his family, which turned
his thoughts into another channel. — The.
Duchess, after a long period of ill health,
was pronounced by her physicians to be
once more in a situation to realize her
husband's most sanguine hopes. — " If I
have a boy,'' he cried, " from the hour
of his birth, all I possess shall be his.
Give me but a son, ye powers who rule
over destiny, and I consent to yield up
every other claim, privilege and posses-
sion."— The wish was heard, and at the
appointed time, the Duchess of Alta-
monte, after a few hours' illness, was de-
livered of a son and heir. It was in vain
for the Duke, that until this event he
said to himself daily as he arose from his
stately bed, that none other was his rival

GLENARVON. 13

in wealth or power ; — it was in vain that
friends surrounded him, and flatterers
attended upon his least commands: —
until this unexpected, and almost un-
hoped for, event, he could not be said to
have enjoyed one hour of felicity, so un-
wisely did he blind himself to every other
blessing: which he possessed ; and so ar-
dently solicitous did he suffer his mind
to become, for that one boon which alone
had been refused to his prayers. But
since the birth of his son, he looked
around him, and he had nothins: left to
wish for upon earth ; his heart became
agitated with its own satisfaction; and
the terror of losing the idol upon which
every feeling and affection was fixed,
rendered him more miserable than he
was even before the fulfilment of his
wishes.

The education of the Lady Calantha,
and William Buchanan was now entirely
laid aside; the feuds and tumults in the
adjacent countries were disregarded ; and

14 GLEICARVON.

he might be said to live alone in those
apartments where, robed in state, and
cradled in luxury, the little infant lay
helpless, and unconscious of its honours
and importance. Not a breath of air was
suffered to blow too rudely upon the
most noble and illustrious Sidney x\lbert,
Marquis of Delaval. The tenants and
peasantry flocked, from far and near, to
do him homage, gazing in stupid wonder
on their future Lord. The Duchess
feebly resisted the general voice, which
encouraged an excess of care, hurtful to
the health of him, whom all were but
too solicitous to preserve. Yet the boy
flourished, unaffected by this adulation,
the endless theme of discussion, the
constant object of still increasing ido-
latry.

Without delay, the Duke resolved to
ietimate to his sister. Lady Margaret
Buchanan, who was at Naples, the change
wnicn had taKen piace in ner son^s ex-
pectations. He felt the necessity of soft-

GLENARVON. K5

ening the disclosure by every soothing
expression ; and, as he loved her most
sincerely, he wrote to urge her imnriediate
return, with all the warmth of fraternal
affection; — informing her at the same
time of the circumstance which at once
occasioned his delight, and her disap-
pointment. With what fond overweening
vanity did he then flatter himself, that
she, who was the next dearest object of
his affections, would share his present
joy ; and forgetful of the entire ruin of
her fondest hope, doat like him upon the
child who had deprived lier son of all his
expectations ! He knew not Lady Mar-
garet: — less than any other, he knew
that fierce spirit which never yet had
been controled — which deemed itself
born to command, and would have
perished sooner than have endured re-
straint.

At this very period of time, having
bade adieu to brighter climes and more
polished manners, with all the gaiety of

\6 GLENARVON.

apparent innocence, and all the brilliancy
of wit whicl) bplong: to spirits light as
air, and a refined and highly ci itivated
genius, she was sailing in the prosecu-
tion of ht^r accursed designs, accompa-
nied by a train of admirers, selected from
the flower of Italy, once again to visit
her native country. With their voices
and soft guitars, they chased away the
lingering hours ; and after a h\r and pro-
sperous voyage, proceeded, with their
equipages and attendants to Castle De-
laval.

Lady Margaret was received with de-
light at the house of her father, in her
native land. A burst of applause liailed
her first appearance before the wondering
crowd assembled to behold her. Fond
of admiration, even from the lowest, she
lingered on the terrace, which command-
ed the magnificent scenery of which
Castle Delaval was the central object —
leaning upon the arm of the Duke, and
bowing gracefully to the people, as if in

GLENARVON. 17

thanks for their flattering reception. Bu-
chanan alone met his mother without
one mark of joy. Cold and reserved,
from earliest childhood, he had never yet
felt attachnient for any other being than
himself; and fuWy engrossed by the
splendour with which he was at all times
surrounded, he looked with indifference
on every event which did not promote or
prevent Ids own personal amusements.
He saw many new guests arrive without
experiencing the slightest accession of
pleasure- .lud wiieu those departed whom
he had beeii in the habit of seeing around
him, ii seltlom cost him even a momen-
tary regret. He had so long and so fre-
quently been informed that he was heir
of the immense possessions belonging to
his uncle, that he was overpowered by
the sense of his greatness ; nor did the
commiseration of his attendants, on his
disappointed hopes, awaken him to the
conviction of the great change which had
occurred since the birth of the Marquis

18 GLENARYON.

of Delaval. Indeed he seemed as indif-
ferent on this occasion as on all others.
Yet whatever his errors, he was at least
in person and manner all that Lady Mar-
garet could wish. She was also much
pleased with Calantha, and thought she
traced, in her radiant countenance, some
resemblance to her own.

The Duchess of Altamonte won the
affections of all who approached her.
She had a countenance in which languor
and delicacy added sensibility and grace
to beauty,— an air of melancholy half
veiled in smiles of sweetness, — and a
form soft and fragile as the bright fic-
tions of a poet's dream ; yet a visible
sadness had fallen upon her spirits, and
whilst she appeared alone to sooth and
bless every other heart, she seemed her-
self in need of consolation. Lady Mar-
garet's beauty irresistibly attracted ; her
wit enlivened ; and her manners fasci-
nated— but the dreadful secrets of her
heart appalled !

GLENARVON. 19

Lady Margaret was not much liked by-
Mrs. Seymour, nor by many other of the
guests who frequented the castle. Her
foreign domestics, her splendid attire,
her crafty smiles, and highl}^ polished
manners, — all were in turn criticised and
condemned. But neither prejudice nor
vulgarity received from her lips the
slightest censure. She did not even ap-
pear to see the ill will shewn to her.
Yet many thought the discorc-s and dis-
asters which occurred after her arrival in
Ireland, were the fruits of her intriguing
spirit, and all soon or late regretted her
presence at the castle, till then, the seat
of uninterrupted harmony and almost
slumberous repose.

90 GLEN AR VON,

CHAPTER III.

Lady Margaret Delaval, only surviving
sister of the Duke of Altamonte, was
born in Trel uid, wiiere she r inained until
her marriage vith Captain Buchanan.
She then established herself at Naples;
the fleet in which her husband served
being stationed in the Medit^rr^mean Sea.
After rhe birth of her son William, she
jmmediatf'ly sent him to Ireland, there
to receive, under her brother's tuition,
an education more fitting the heir of Al-
tamonte, and the future husband of Lady
Calantha Delaval.

Freed from the last tie which had
bound her to one feeling of honour or of
virtue, she, without remorse, gave way
during the absence of her child and hus-
band (who accompanied the boy to Ire-
land) to a life of extravagance and vice,

GLEN AR VON. 21

ensnaring the inexperienced by her art,
and fasf'irjan'ng the most wary by her
beauty and her talents. T'ne charms of
her pi rson and the endowments of her
mind were worthy of a better tate than
that whic!h slie was preparing for htrself.
But, under the semblance of youthful
gaiety, she concealed a dark intriguing
spirit, which could neither remain at rest,
nor satist'y itself in the pursuit of great
and noble objects. She had been hurried
on by the evil activity oi her own mind,
until the habit of crime had overcome
every scruple, and rendered her insen-
sible to repentance, and almost to re-
morse. In this career, she had improved
to such a degree her natural talent of dis-
simulation, that, under its impenetrable
veil, she was able to carry on securely
her darkest machinations ; and her un-
derstanding had so adapted itself to her
passions, that it was in her power to give,
in her own eyes, a character of grandeur
to the vice and malignity, which aflbrded

22 GLENARVON.

an inexplicable delight to her deprived
imagination.

While she was thus indulging her dis-
graceful inclinations, her heart becanie
attached with all her characteristic vio-
lence to Lord Dartford, a young English
nobleman, who had accompanied the
Countess of Glenarvon to Naples, and
who, after passing some months in her
society, had already made her the offer of
his hand. He no sooner, however, be-
held Lady Margaret than he left that ob-
ject of his first attachment ; and the
short-lived happiness of guilty passion
was thus enhanced by a momentary
triumph over a beautiful and unfortunate
rival. — Lady Glenarvon lived not to
lament it : the blow which was given
by the hand she loved, went straight as
it was aimed ; it pierced her heart ; she
did not long survive.

Her son, already advancing towards
manhood, she committed to the care of
the Count Gondimar, the only being

GLENARVON. 23

who, amongst the numerous attendants
in the hours of her prosperity, had re-
mained with her in this last trying scene,
and received her dying wishes. — " He
has no father," she said, weeping in re-
membrance of the gallant husband she
had lost ; " but to you I consign this
jewel of my heart, the dear and only
pledge of my true and loyal love. —
Whatever crime I have committed since
the loss of Glenarvon, my only protector,
let not a shade of it be cast upon my son,
or sully the bright splendor of his father's
fame ! Promise a dying mother to pro-
tect her child, should he be restored to
his grandfather's titles and fortunes. To
you, to you I entrust him. Ah ! see
that he be safelv conducted to his own
country."

The Italian Count promised all that
Lady Glenarvon desired ; and wept as he
kissed the faded cheek of the English
boy. But no sooner was the momentary
interest which he had conceived for the

24 GLENARVON.

unhappy sufferer ?t an end — no sooner
had Lady Glenarvon expired, than, dis-
regar'iiug her last request, he sought
only to render himself useful and neces-
sary to her son. For this purpose he
eagerly assisted him in all his pursuits,
however criminal, and whilst he lived
upon the sums which were regularly sent
from Ireland to supply the necessary ex-
penses of his charge, he lost no oppor-
tunity of flattering Lord de Ruthven, the
present possessor of the estate, and of
conniving with him in the means of de-
taing Glenarvon in Italy, and thus de-
priving him of a great share of his pro-
perty. Gondimar*s lessons were, how-
ever, in this instance unnecessary; Gle-
narvon soon emancipated himself from
his tuition ; and the utmost the base
Italian could boast was, that he had
assisted in perverting a heart already by
nature but too well inclined to misuse
the rare gifts with which it had been
endowed.

GLENARYON. 25

Glenarvon passed the first years after
his mother's death, in visiting Rome ad
Florence. He then expressed a wish of
entering the navy; and having obtained
his desire, he served under the comaiand
of Sir George Buchanan. He even dis-
tinguished himself in his new profes-
sion ; but having done so, abruptly left
it.

Love, it was said, was the cause of this
sudden change in Glenarvon's intentions
— love for the most beautiful woman in
Florence. Young as he then was, his
talents and personal attractions soon
gained the object of his pursuit ; but a
dreadful tragedy followed this success.
The husband of Fiorabella revenged the
stigma cast upon his wife's fame, by in-
stantly sacrificing her to his vengeance;
and, since that fatal deed, neither the
Chevalier nor Glenarvon had ever again
appeared in Florence.

Some said that the unhappy victim hnd
found an avenger ; but the proud and

VOL. I. c

26 GLENARVON.

noble family of the Chevalier preserved
a faithful silence concerning that trans-
action. Glenarvon's youth prevented
any suspicion from falling upon him;
and the death of Giardini was ascribed
to another, and a more dangerous hand.
Strange rumours were also circulated in
Ireland, after this event ; it was every
where affirmed that Glenarvon had been
secretly murdered ; and Lady Margaret,
then at Naples, had even written to ap-
prize her brother of the report.

GLENAKVON. 27

CHAPTEK IV.

About the time of the disappearance
of Gienarvon, Captain Buchanan died;
Lady Margaret then expected that Lord
Dartford would immediately fulfil his
engagement, and reward her long and
devoted attachment to himself by the
offer of his hand. Count Gondimar was
with her at the time. In all companies,
in all societies, the marriage was con-
sidered certain. One alone seemed eager
to hear this report contradicted — one
who, dazzled by the charms and beauty
of Lady Margaret, had devoted himself,
from the first hour in which he had be-
held her, entirely to her service. The
name of the young enthusiast was Vi-
viani. A deep melancholy preyed upon
his spirits ; a dark mystery enveloped his
fate. Gondimar had, with some coldness,
c 2

28 GLENARVON.

introduced him to Lady Margaret. He
was the friend of the lost Glenarvon, he
said, and on that account alone he had
strong claims upon his affection. Lady
Margaret received the stranger with more
than common civility: his ill state of
health, his youth, his beauty, were
powerful attractions. He confided his
sorrows to her bosom; and soon he dared
to inform her that he loved.

Lady Margaret was now more than
usually attentive to Lord Dartford : the
day even for her intended nuptials was
supposetl to be fixed. " Oh give not
that hand to one who values not the
prize," said the young Count Viviani,
throwing himself before her: " let not
Dartford call himself your lord ; his love
and mine must never be compared.*' —
" Go, foolish boy,*' said Lady Margaret,
smiling on her new victim: '* I can be
your frienci, as readily when I am Lord
Dartford's wife as now.'' Her young
admirer shuddered, and rose from the

GLENARVON. ^9

earth: ''You must be mine alone: —
none other shall a}3proach you." ** The
disparity of our ages." " What of that?**
" Enough, enough. I will give my hand
to Dartford ; my heart, you know, will
still be at your disposal." A deep blush
covered the pale cheek of Viviani, he
uttered one convulsive sigh, and left her
to ruminate on his hopeless fate ; for
every thing, he was informed, was pre-
pared for the approaching nuptials.

But they knew little of the nature of
man, who could coiiceive that Lord Dart-
ford had one serious thought of uniting
himself to Lady Margaret by any lasting
ties. On the contrary, he suddenly and
secretly, without even taking leave of
her, departed for ngland ; and the first
letter which she received from him, to
inform her of his absence, announced to
her, likewise, his marriao;e with .» la ly of
fortune and rank in his native country.

Lady Margaret was at dinner with a
numerous company, and amongst them

30 GLENARVON.

the young count, when the letters from
England were placed before her. The
quivering of her lip and the rolling of her
dark eye might have betrayed, to a keen
observer, the anguish of a disordered spi-
rit; but, recovering herself with that self-
command which years of crime and deep
dissimulation had taught her, she con-
versed as usual, till it was time for her
to depart; nor till alone in her own
apartment did she suffer herself to give
vent to the fury which opprest her. For
some moments she paced the room in
silent anguish ; then kneeling down and
calling upon those powers, whose very
existence she had so often doubted :
" Curse him ! curse him !" she exclaim-
ed. *' O may the curse of a bitter and
deeply injured heart, blast every promise
of his happiness ; pursue him through
life; and follow him to the grave! —
May he live to be the scorn of his ene-
mies, the derision of the world, without
one friend to soften his afflictions! —

GLENARYOX. 31

May those, whom he has cherished, for-
sake him in the hour of need ; and the
companion he has chosen, prove a ser-
pent to betray him ! — May the tear of
agony, which his falsehood has drawn
from these eyes, fall with tenfold bitter-
ness from his own ! — And nTay this
blooming innocent, this rival, who has
supplanted me in his affections, live to
feel the pangs she has inflicted on my
soul ; or perish in the pride of her youth,
with a heart as injured, as lacerated as
mine 1 — Oh, if there are curses yet un-
named, prepared by an angry God,
against offending man, may they fall
upon the head of this false, this cold-
hearted Dartford !'"

She arose, and gasped for breath. She
threw up the sash of the window; but
the cool air, the distant lashing of the
waves, the rising moon and the fine scene
before her, had no power to calm, even
for one momsnt, a heart torn by guilt
and tortured by self-reproach. A knock

39 GLENARVON.

at the door roused her from her medita-
tions. It was the fair Italian boy ; he
had followerl her ; for, at a glance, he
had penetrated her secret. With a smile
of scorn he upbraided her for her weak-
ness.— *' What! in tears lady \" he said:
*' is it possible? can a marriage, a disap-
pointment in love, overpower you thusT'
Lady Margaret, affecting a calmness she
could not feel, and opposing art to art,
endeavoured to repel his taunting expres-
sions. But he knew her thoughts, he at
once saw through the smiles and assumed
manners which blinded others ; and at
this moment he watched her countenance
with malignant delight. It was the face
of an angel, distorted by the passions of
a daemon ; and he liked it not the less
for the frailty it betrayed.

It happened, however, that he had
just attained the means of turning the
tide of her resentment from its present
channel, ad by awakening her ambition
— her ruling passion, of at once quench-

GLENARVON. 33

ing every softer feeling. " You have
read I perceive/' he said, '' but one of
the epistles with which you have been
favoured; and I am already b- fore hand
with you, in hearing news of fir greater
importance than the loss of a lover — The
Duchess of Altamonte, *' — " What of
her?" " After a few hours illness,"
continued Viviani, drawing one of the
English papers from his pocket, " the
Duchess of Altamonte is safely delivered
of a son and heir." The blood forsook
Lady Margaret's lips: " I am lost then T*
she said : '• the vengeance of Heaven
has overtaken me! where shall I turn
for succour? Is there none upon earth
to whom lean apply for assistanj*e? Will
no one of all those who profess so much
assist me? Sliall Darttbrd triuaiph, and
my son.be supplanted? Revenge — re-
venge me, and I will be your slave/'

If the name of love must be g-iven
alike to the noblest and most dcfiraved
of feelings, the young Viviani loved Lady
c 5

34 GLENARVON.

Margaret with all the fervor of which
his heart was capable. She had made
liim the weak instrument of her arts ;
and knowing him too well to place her-
self in his power, she had detained him
near her, by all the varying stratagems
of which her sex is sometimes mistress.
— He now knelt before her, and, reading
in her fierce countenance her dreadful
wishes, " I will revenge thee," he said :
" yes it shall be done 1" '' Blood —
blood is the price!" said Lady Margaret.
" My son must be Duke of Altamonte,"
returned Lady Margaret, deeply agitat-
ed.— '' He shall." — "Swear it, my love-
liest, my youngest friend 1" — " By the
living God of Heaven, I swear it." —
" Ah ! but your courage will fail at the
moment : your heart, intrepid as I think
it, will shudder and misgive you. — Say
where, and how, it can be done with
safety." " Leave that to me : keep your
own counsel ; I will do the rest.
He spoke, and left her.

GLENARVON. 36

When tb^y met again, the following
day, not one word was uttered upon the
dreadful subject of their former dis-
course : the compact between them was
considered as made : and when once
again the Count Viviani spoke of his
passion, and his hopes, Lady Margaret
reminded him of his vow ; and a fearful
silence ensued. Revenge and ambition
had urged her to a determination, which
a sentiment of prudence inclined her to
retract. Viviani, unconscious of her wa-
vering resolution, enjoyed a momentary
triumph. ''Is not this extacy ?" he
exclaimed, as he viewed the woman he
now considered as entirely bound to him.
" Is it not rapture thus to love?'* " Re-
venge is sweet,'* she answered. " Will
you give yourself to me, Margaret? Shall
I indeed press you to my burning heart!
say — can you love?" ''Aye, and hate
too,'* she replied, as, convulsed with
agony, she shrunk from the caresses of
her importunate admirer.

36 GLENARVO!^,

From that hour he. courted her with
unremitting assiduity : he was the slave
of every new caprice, which long indul-
gence of every selfish feeling could
awaken. But the promised hour of his
happiness was delayed ; and his passion
thus continually fed by hope, and yet
disappointed, overcame in his bosom
every feeling of humanity, till he no
longer cherished a thought that did not
tend to facilitate the immediate gratifi-
cation of his wishes.

GLENARVON. 37

CHAPTER Y.

It was not long after Lady Margaret^s
arrival at the castle that Count Gondi-
mar proposed returning to Italy. Pre-
vious to his departure, he sought his
friend Yiviani, who was at this time con-
cealed in the town of Belfont, and who,
in order to pronnote his designs, had
never openly appeared at the castle.
" How strong must be the love," said
Gondiniar, addressing him, " which can
thus lead you to endure concealment,
straits and difficulty ! Return with me :
there are others as fair: your youthful
heart pictures to itself strange fancies ;
but in reality this woman is not worthy
of you. You love her not, and it is but
imagination which thus deceives you.''
" I will not leave her — I cannot go,'' said
Viviani impatiently : " one burning pas-

38 GLENARVON.

sion annihilates in me every other con-
sideration ! Ah ! can it merit the name
of prission — the phrenzy which rages
within me ! Gondimar, if I worshipped
the splendid star, that flashed along my
course, and dazzled me -with its meteor
blaze, even in Italian climes, imagine
what she now appears to me, in these
cold northern regions. I too can some-
times pause to think whether the sacri-
fice I have made is not too great. But
I have drained the poisoned cup to the
dregs. I have prest the burning fire-
brand to my heart, till it has consumed
me — and come what may, now, I am
resolved she shall be mine, though the
price exacted were blood.'* Gondimar
shuddered. >

It was soon after this that he returned
to Italy. The evening before he depart-
ed, he once more in secret affectionately
embraced his friend. " She has deceived
me,'* cried Viviani ; " Months have
glided by, and she still evades my suit.

GLEN A R VON-. 39

But the hour of success approaches : —
to-morrow :— nay, perhaps, to-night....
If thou, Gondimar — oh ! if thou couldst
believe: yet wherefore should I betray
myself, or shew, to living man, one
thought belonging to the darkest of hu-
man hearts. This alone know — I dare
do every thing: and I will possess her.
See, she appears — that form of majesty —
that brow of refulgent brightness. The
very air I breathe speaks to me of her
charms. What matters it to me, whilst
I gaze entranced upon her, if the earth
shake to its foundations, and rivers of
blood were streaming around me! —
Pity me, Gondimar. — Pardon me.- — Fare-
well!"

Hurried on by mad passion, Viviani,
who constantly visited Lady Margaret,
was now upon the eve of fulfilling her
wishes. Yet once, in the hope of dis-
suading his savage mistress from her
bloody purpose, he placed the infant in
her arms, and bade her tak\3 pity on its

40 GLENARVON.

helpless innocence. " See thy own —
thy brother's image in those eyes — that
smile," he whispered ; " ah ! can you
have the heart?" But Lady Margaret
turned from the child in haughty dis-
pleasure, thrusting it from her as if afraid
to look on it ; and, for many days, would
not vouchsafe to speak to the weak in-
strument of her criminal ambition. Yet
he, even he, whose life had been one
continued course of profligacy, who had
misused his superior talents to the per-
version of the innocence of others, and
the gratification of his own ungoverned
passions, shuddered at the thought of
the fearful crime which he had engaged
himself to commit !

His knowledge of human nature, and
particularly of the worst part of it, was
too profound to depend upon any per-
sonal or immediate aid from Lady Mar-
garet: he, therefore, conceived a project
which, by any one but himself, would,
in every view of it, have been considered

GLENARVON. 41

as altogether desperate and impracticable.
It was, however, a maxim with Viviani,
which his practice and experience had
justified, that nothing is impossible to a
firmly united league of time, money, and
resolution. Alone, he could liave ac-
complished nothing ; but he had a sa-
tellite long trained in his service, who
possessed every quality which fitted him
to assist the designs of such a master.
The name of this man was La Crusca.
In spite of a seeming wish to conceal
himself, in conformity, perhaps, with his
master's designs, this man was known at
the castle to be a servant to the Count,
and, by his flattery and the versatility of
his genius, had become familiar with a
few of its inhabitants; but shortly after
his arrival, he had been dismissed, and it
was now three months and more since
his departure.

One evening, according to custom,
Viviani having secretly entered the castle,
sought Lady Margaret in her own apart-

42 GLENARVON.

ment; his face was fearfully pale; his
hand trembled : he approached her, and
whispered vows of ardour and tenderness
in the ears of his mistress, and urged his
suit with every argument he could de-
vise to overcome her remaining scruples.
But when he had looked, in expectation
of a favourable answer, he sprung back
with terror from her ; for it seemed as if
the fiends of hell were struggling in her
eyes and lips for looks and words with
which to express their horrid desire, al-
ready, without the aid of words, but too
sufficiently manifest ! At length, break-
ing silence, and rising in scorn from her
seat : '' Have I not promised rnyself to
you?" she whispered indignantly, "that
you thus persecute me for the perform-
ance of a voluntary vow? Do you think
your protestations can move, and your
arguments persuade ? Am 1 a timid girl,
who turns from your suit bashful and
alarmed ? Or am I one grown old in
crime, and utterly insensible to its con-

GLENARVON. 43

sequence? — Nothing, you well know,
can make me yours but my own free
will ; and never shall that will consign
me to such fate, till the sickly weed is
destroyed, and the fair and flourishing
plant restored to its wonted vigour and
due honors. " Lady, the deed is already
done ! This night," said the Italian,
trembling in every limb, *' yes, on this
fearful night, I claim the performance of
. thy vow !" He spoke with an emotion
she could not mistake. — " Is it possible ?''
she said, " my beautiful, my beloved
friend :" and his hand trembled as he
gave it her, in token of his assent. —
Fearing to utter another word, dreading
even the sound of their own voices, after
such a disclosure, she soon retired.

Was it to rest that Lady Margaret re-
tired ? — No — to the tortures of suspense,
of dread, ofagony unutterable. A thousand
times sho started from her bed : — she
tancied that voices approached the door
— that shrieks rent the air ; and, if she
closed her eyes, visions of murder floated

44 clenarVon.

before her distracted mind, and pictured
dreams too horrible for words. Half suf-
focated by the fever and delirium of her
troubled imagination, she threw up the
sash of her window, and listened at-
tentively to every distant sound. The
moon had risen in silvery brightness ;
it lighted, with its beams, the deep
clear waters of Elle. The wind blew
loud at times, and sounded mourn-
fully, as it swept through the whis-
pering branches of the pines, over the
dark forest and distant moors. A light
appeared for one moment, near the wood,
and then was lost. Lady Margaret, as
if palsied by terror, remained fixed and
breathless on the spot; — astt^p approach-
ed the door ; — it was the step of one
stealing along, as if anxious no one
should hear it pass. Again, all was si-
lent : — so silent, that the grave itself had
not been more tranquil, and the dead
could not have looked more pale, more
calm, more still, than Lady Margaret !
But how was that silence broken ? and

GLENARVOK. 45

how that calm disturbed ? — By the shrieks
of an agonized parent — by the burning
tears of a heart-broken father — by the
loud unrestrained clamours of the me-
nial train ; and that proud mansion, so
lately the seat of gaiety, whose lighted
porches and festive halls had echoed to
the song of joy and revelry, presented
now a scene of lamentation, terror, and
despair. ...The heir of Altamonte was
dead — the hope so fondly cherished was
cut off — the idol, upon whose existence
so many hearts were fixed, lay in his
gilded cradle and costly attire, affording
a lesson impressive, although every day
repeated, yet unheeded, although impres-
sive— that it is the nature of man to
rest his most sanguine expectations upon
the most frail and uncertain of ail his
possessions.

The women who had been employed
to attend upon him were weeping around
him. His nurse alone appeared utterly
insensible to his fate — her eyes were

46 GLENARVON.

fixed — her lips motionless — she obeyed
every command that was given ; but,
when left to herself, she continued in the
same sullen mood. Some called her hard
and unfeeling, as in loud accents they
bewailed the dire calamity that had
fallen on their master's house; but there
were others who knew that this apparent
insensibility was the effect of a deeper
feeling — of a heart that could not recover
its loss — of a mind totally overthrown.

She had arisen that morning at her ac-
customed hour, to take to her breast the
little infant who slept in the cradle beside
her. But lifeless was that form which,
a few hours before, she had laid on its
pillow, in the full enjoyment of health.
Spasms, it was supposed, had seized the
child in his sleep ; for his face was black
and dreadfully disfigured. All efforts
to recover him were fruitless. Physician
nor medicine could avail — the hand of
death had struck the flower — the vital
spark was extinguished.

GLENARVON. 47

It was in vain that a distracted mother,
pressing his cold lips to hers, declared, in
the agony of hope, that they still retained
a living warmth. — It was in vain that she
watched him till her eyes, deceived, fan-
cied they saw a change imperceptible to
others — a breath of life restored to that
lifeless breathless form. It was in vain :
— and floods of grief, with the sad rites
of a pompons funeral, were all which the
afflicted Duke and his sorrowing family
had to bestow.

The tenants and peasantry were, accord-
ing to ancient custom, admitted to sing
the song of sorrow over the body of the
child : but no hired mourners were re-
quired on this occasion ; for the hearts of
all deeply shared in the affliction of their
master's house, and wept, in bitter woe,
the untimely loss of their infant Lord. — •
It was thus they sung, ever repeating the
same monotonous and melancholv strain.

4?S GLENARVON.

Oh loudly sing the Pillalu,

And many a tear of sorrow shed ;

0<A OTTO^ orro, Olalu ;

Mourn, for the master's child is dead.

At morn, alon^ the eastern sky.

We marked an owl, with heavy wing;

At eve, we heard the benshees cry ;
And now the song of death we sing ;
Och orrOi orro, Olalu,

Ah 1 wherefore, wherefore would ye die ;

Why would ye leave your parents dear:
Why leave your sorrowing kinsmen here,

Nor listen to your people's cry !

How will thy mother bear to part
With one so tender, fair, and sweet !

Thou wast the jewel of her heart.
The pulse, the life that made it beat.

How sad it is to leave her boy.

That tender flow' ret all alone :
To see no more his face of joy,

And soothe no more his infant moan !

But see along the mountain's side.
And by the pleasant banks of Larney,

Straight o'er the plains, and woodlands wide,
13y Castle Brae, and Lock Macharney ;

GLENARVON. 49

See how the sorrowing neighbours throng, •
With haggard looks and faultering breatli ;

And as they slowly wind along,
They sing the mournful song of death !

P loudly sing the Pillalu,

And many a tear of sorrow shed ;
Och orro, orrOy Olalu /

Mourn, for the master's child is dead.

Thus singing, they approached the
castle, and thus, amidst cries and lamen-
tations, was Sidney Albert, Marquis of
Delaval, borne for ever from its gates,
and entombed with his ancestors in the
vault of the ancient church, which, for
many hundred years, had received be-
neath its pavement the successive genera-
tions of the family of Altamonte. Heart-
felt tears, more honourable to the dead
than all the grandeur which his rank de-
manded, were shed over his untimely
grave; while a long mourning and entire
seclusion from the world, proved that the
sorrow thus felt was not momentary, but
lasting as the cause which had occasioned
it was great.

VOL. I. D

;50 GLENARVON.

CHAPTER VL

As sickness falls heaviest on those who
are in the full enjoyment of health, so
grief is most severe, when it comes unex-
pectedly, in the midst of happiness. — It
was from this cause, that the Duke,
more than any one in his family, gave
vent to the sorrows of his heart ; and
murmured at the irrecoverable loss, by
which he had been afflicted. The Duch-
ess in vain attempted to share and lessen
the regret of her husband : — he had that
haughtiness of mind which disdains all
confidence, and flies from all consolation.
But of her far keener suffering, for the
loss she had sustained, little shew was
made ; for real misery delights not in
reproaches and complaints. It is like
charity and love — silent, long suffering,
and mild.

GLENARVOK, 51

There are virtues which admit of no
description — which inspire on the first
mention of them but little interest. Great
faults, and heroic qualities, may be pour-
trayed ; but those milder merits, w^hich
contribute so much to the comfort and
happiness of life — that sweetness of dis-
position, to which every hour that passes
by bears an approving testimony, can be
only felt, enjoyed, and regretted. Bene-
volence that never fails, patience under
the heaviest calamities, firmness in friend-
ship, under every trying change — these
are among its characteristic features; and
these were all possessed by the Duchess
of Altamonte, who seemed to live for no
other purpose than to endear herself to
those who surrounded her.

With this consideration for others, and
forgetfulness of self, she had apparently
endured the loss of her son with greater
fortitude, than had been expected : in-
deed she sustained it with a degree of
firmness which religion alone could have
D 2

UNlVCRSiTY OF
lamoiS UBRARY-

d'^I glenArvon.

inspired : she murmured not ; but sub-
mitted to the trial with the meek spirit
of pious resignation. — '* My dear, dear
t>oy, rny pretty Albert" would sometimes
escape her, and a few tears would wait
upon the exclamation ; but her whole
study was to lighten the sorrows of her
husband ; as well as to check the intem-
perate complaints, and soothe the more
violent agitations of Lady Margaret.

But while her soul rose superior to the
ills of life, her constitution, weakened by
a long period of ill health, and by the
agitations of extreme sensibility, was not
in a state to resist so great a shock ; and
though she lingered upwards of a year,
the real cause of her death could not
be mistaken: — an inward melancholy
preyed upon her spirits, which she com-
bated in vain. — " Many have smiled in
adversity," she would say ; " but it is
left for me to weep in prosperity. — Such
is the will of Heaven, and I resign myself
as becomes me, to that power, which

GLENARVON. 53

»

knows when to give, and when to take
away/*

On her death-bed, she said to the
Duke ; " This is a hard trial for you to
bear; but God, who, when he sends trials,
can send strength also, will, I trust, sup-
port you. You will pursue your career
with that honour and dignity, which has
hitherto distinguished it — nor would my
feeble aid assist you in it. But I, on the
contrary, like a weak unsupported plant,
must have drooped and pined away, had
I lived to survive the tender and faithful
friend, who has guided and sustained
me. It is far better as it is. You will
be a guardian and protector to my Calan-
tha, whose quickness and vivacity make
me tremble for her. I could not have
watche J over her, and directed her as T
ought. But to you, while she smiles and
plays around you, and fills the space
which I so soon must leave — to you, she
will prove a dear and constant interest.
Never, my dearest Altamonte, ah ! never

54> GLENARVON.

suffer her to be absent, if possible, from
your guiding care, her spirits, her pas-
sions, are of a nature to prove a blessing,
or the reverse, according to the direction
they are permitted to take. Watch over
and preserve her— these are my last words
to you. — To protect and save her from
all evil — is also the last prayer I offer to
my God, before I enter into his presence/'
Calantha I unhappy child, whom not
even the pangs of death could tear from
the love, and remembrance of thy mother,
— what hours o«f agony were thine, when
a father's hand first tore thee from that
lifeless bosom — when piercing shrieks
declared the terror of thy mind, oppress-
ed, astonished at the first calamity, by
which it had been tried — when thy lips
tremblingly pronounced for the last time,
the n sue of mother — a name so dear, so
sacr d and beloved, that its very sound
awakens in the heart, all that it can feel
of tenderness and affection ! What is left
that shall replace her ? What friend, what

GLENARVON. S5

tie, shall make up for her eternal absence ?
What even are the present sufferings of
the orphan child, to the dreary void, the
irreparable loss she will feel through all
her future years. It was on that bosom,
she had sought for comfort, when pas-
sion and inadvertence had led her into
error. It was that gentle, that dear
voice, which had recalled her, even when
severity had failed. — There is, in every
breast, some one affection that predo-
minates over the rest — there is still to
all some one object, to which the
heart is rivetted beyond all other : —
in Calanlha's bosom, the love of her
mother prevailed over every other feeling.
A long and violent illness succeeded,
in Calantha ; a torpor which astonish-
ment and terror at her loss had produced ;
and from this state, she recovered only to
give way to a dejection of mind not less
alarming. But even her grief was to be
envied, when compared with the disorder
of Lady Margaret's mind. — Remorse

S6 GLENARVON.

preyed upon her heart, the pride and
hardness ot which, disdained the humili-
ty of acknowledging her offences in the
presence of her Creator.

The great effort of Lady Margaret
was to crush the struggles of passion ;
and when, at times, the agony of her mind
was beyond endurance, she found it some
relief to upbraid the wretch who had ful-
filled her own guilty wishes. — *' Mon-
ster \" she would exclaim, " without one
tender or honourable feeling, take these
detested and bloody hands from my sight:
— they have destroyed the loveliest inno-
cent that was ever born to bless a mo-
ther's wishes : — that mother now appears
in awful judgment against thee : — out,
out, perfidious wretch ! — come not near
— gaze not upon me."~ Viviani marked
the wild expression of her eye — the look
of horror which she cast upon him ; and
a deep and lasting resentment combated
in his breast every feeling of attachment.
Seizing her hand, which he wrung in

GLENARVON. bl

scorn : " What mean you by this mockery
of tardy penitence?" he fiercely cried.
*' Woman, beware how you trifle with the
deep pangs of an injured heart : Not
upon me — not upon me, be the blood of
the innocent : — it was this hand, white
and spotless as it appears, which sealed
his doom. I should have shewn mercy ;
but an unrelenting tygress urged me on.
— On thee— on thine, be the guilt, till it
harrow up thy soul to acts of phrenzy and
despair : — hope not for pardon from man
— seek not for mercy from God. — Away
with those proud looks which once sub-
dued me : — I can hate — I have learned of
thee to hate ; and my heart, released from
thy bonds, is free at last. Spurn me —
what art thou no w.^ — a creature so wretch-
ed and so fallen, that I can almost pity
thee. — Farewell. — For the l^ist time, I
look on thee withonesentiment of love. —
And, when we meet again, tremble : — •
yes — proud as thou art, tremble ; for,
however protracted, thou shalt find the
J) 5

6S GLENARVON.

vengeance of Viviani as certain as it is
terrible.

" Is it possible/' said Lady Margaret,
gazing upon that beautiful and youthful
countenance — upon that form which
scarcely had attained to manhood — " is
it within the compass of possibility that
one so young should be so utterly hard-
ened? Viviani smiled on her, and left her.
Very shortly after this interview, he
quitted Ireland, vainly endeavouring in
the hour of his departure to conceal the
deep emotion by which he was agitated
at thus tearing himself from one who
appeared utterly inditferent to his ha-
tred, his menaces, or his love.

GLENARVON. 59

CHAPTER VII.

The habit of years, though broken and
interrupted by violent affliction or sudden
prosperity, fails not in the end to resume
its influence over the mind ; and the
course that was once pursued with satis-
faction, though the tempest of our pas-
sions may have hurried us out of it, will
be again resumed, when the dark clouds
that gathered over us, have spent their
fury. Even he who is too proud to bow
his mind to the inevitable decrees of an all-
wise Creator — who seeks not to be con-
soled, and turns away from the voice of
piety — even he loses sight at length of
the affliction, upon which his memory
has so continually dwelt : — it lessens to
his view, as he journies onward adown
the vale of life, and the bright beam of

60 GLENARVON.

hope rises at last upon his clouded spirit
and exhaust d frame.

From a state of despondency and vain
regret, in which more than a year had
been passed, the inhabitants of Castle
Delaval, by slow degrees, revived; and
the Duke, wearied of a life so gloomy and
solitary, summoned, as before, his friends
around him. Lady Margaret, however,
was no longer the gay companion of his
morning walks, the life and amusement
of his evening assemblies. The absence
of Viviani filled her with anxiety ; and
the remembrance of her crimes embitter-
ed every hour of her existence. If she
turned her eyes upon Calantha, the de-
jected expression of that countenance
reproached her for the mother whose life
she had shortened, and whose place she
vainly exerted herself to fill ; if upon the
Duke, in that care-worn cheek and brow
of discontent, she was more painfully re-
minde(i of her crime and ingratitude ; and
even the son for whom so much had been
sacrificed, afforded her no consolation.

GLENARVOK. 6\

Buchanan estranged himself from her
confidence, and appeared jealous of her
authority. — He refused to aid her in the
sole remaining wish of her heart ; and
absolutely declined accepting the hand
of Calantha. " Shall only one will,"
he said, "• be studied and followed ;
shall Calantha's caprices and desires be
daily attended to ; and shall I see the
best years of my life pass without plea-
sure or profit for me ? I know — I see
your intention ; and, pardon me, dearest
mother, if I already bitterly lament it.
Is Calantha a companion fitted for one
of my character ; and, even if here-
after it is your resolve to unite me
to her, must I now be condemned to
yearsof inactivity on her account. Give
me my liberty ; send me to college, there
to finish my education ; and permit
me to remain in England for some years.
Lady Margaret saw, in the cool deter-
mined language of her son, that he had
long meditated this escape from her thral-

62 GLENARYON.

dom. She immediately appeared to ap^
prove his intention : — she said that a
noble ambition, and all the highest qua-
lities of the heart and mind were shewn
in his present desire ; but one promise
she must exact in return for the readi-
ness with which she intended instantly
to accede to his request ; — provided he
were left at liberty till a maturer age,
would he promise to take no decisive step
of himself, until he had once more seen
Calantha after this separation? To this
Buchanan willingly acceded. His plans
were soon arranged ; and his departure
was fixed for no very distant period.

The morning before he left the castle,
Lady Margaret called him to her room;
and taking him and Calantha by the hand,
she led them to the windows of the
great gallery. Thence pointing to the
vast prospect of woods and hills, which
extended to a distance the eye could
scarcely reach, '* all are yours my chil-
dren," she said, *' if, obedient to parents

GLENARVON. 63

who have only your welfare at heart, you
persevere in your intention of being one
day united to each other. Ah ! let no dis-
putes, no absence, no fancies have power
to divert you from the fulfilment of this,
my heart's most fervent wish : — let this
moment of parting obliterate every un-
kind feeling, and bind you more than
ever to each other. Here, Buchanan,'*
she continued, " is a bracelet with your
hair: — place it yourself around Calantha's
arm : — she shall wear it till you meet.''
The bracelet was of gold, adorned with
diamonds, and upon the clasp, under the
initial letters of their names, were en-
graved these words : " Stesso sangue,
St€$sa sorte," " Take it," said Bucha-
nan, fastening it upon the arm of Calan-
tha, and remember that, for ray sake, you
are to wear it ever.*'

At this moment, even he was touched,
as he pressed her to his heart, and re-
membered her as associated with all the
scenes of his happiest days. Her vio-

64 GLEAAKVOr<.

lence, her caprices, her mad frolics, were
forgotten ; and as her tears streamed
upon his bosom, he turned away, least
his mother should witness his emotion.
Yet Calantha's tears were occasioned
solely by the thought of parting from
one, who had hitherto dwelt always be-
neath tlie same roof with herself; and to
whom long habit had accustomed, rather
than attached, her. — In youth the mind
is so tender, and so alive to sudden and
vivid impressions, that in the moment of
separation it feels regret and melancholy
at estranging itself even from those for
whom before it had never felt any warmth
of affection. — Still at the earliest age the
difference is distinctly marked between
the transient tear, which fall« for imagi-
nary woe, and the real misery which at-
tends upon the loss of those who have
been closely united to the affections by
ties, stronger and dearer than those of
habit.

GLENARVON. 65

CHAPTER VIIL

The accomplishment of her favourite
views being thus disappointed, or at least
deferred, Lady Margaret resolved to
return to Italy, and there to seek Vi-
viani. Her brother, however, entreated
her to remain with him. He invited his
friends, his relations, his neighbours.
Balls and festivities once more enlivened
the castle : it seemed his desire to raze
every trace of sorrow from the memory
of his child ; and to conceal the ravages
of death under the appearance at least of
wild and unceasing gaiety. The hrilliaut
fites^ and the magnificence of the Duke
of Altamonte and his sister, became the
constant theme of admiration ; and from
far, from near, fashion an<i roily poured
forth their victims to grace and to en-
joy them : Lord and Lady Dart ford na-

66 GbENARVOK.

turally found their place amidst the va-
rious and general assemblage. To see
Lord Dartford again, to triumph over his
falsehood, to win him from an innocent
confiding wife, and then betray him at
the moment in which he fancied himself
secure — this vengeance was yet wanting
to satisfy the restless fever of Lady Mar-
garet^s mind ; and the contemplation of
its accomplishment gave a new object, a
new hope to her existence ; for Lady
Margaret had preferred even the tortures
of remorse to the listless insipidity of stag-
nant life, where the passions of her heart
were without excitement, and those ta-
lents of which she felt the power, useless
and obscured. What indeed would she
not have preferred to the society of Mrs.
Seymour and her daughters?

The Duchess of Altamonte had pos-
sessed a mind, as cultivated as her own,
and a certain refinement of manner which
is sometimes acquired by long intercourse
with the most polished societies, but is

GLENARVON. 67

more frequently the gift of nature, and,
if it be not the constant attendant upon
nobility of blood, is very rarely found in
those who are not distinguished by that
adventitiousand accidental circumstance.
Mrs. Seymour had many of the excel-
lent qualities, but none of the rare en-
dowments possessed by the Duchess :
she was a strict follower of the pat lis of
custom and authority : in the steps
which had been marked by others, she
studiously walked, nor thought it allow-
able to turn aside for any object however
desirable. She might be said to delight
in prejudice — to enjoy herself in the ob-
scure and narrow prison to which she
had voluntarily confined her intellects —
to look upon the impenetrable walls
around her as bulwarks against the hos-
tile attacks by which so many had been
overcome. She was a Roman Catholic,
and all who differed from that persuasion
were, in her opinion, utterly lost. The
daughters were strictly trained in the

6s GLENARVON.

Opinions of their mother. '' The season
of youth" she would s&y. '' is the season
of instruction " — and consequent y every
hour he'd its lUoued task . i-ud every ac-
tion was dire( tec! according u> some es-
tablished ree; Illation.

By these mt ris, Sophia and Frances
were already highly accomplished ; their
manners were formed ; their opinions
fixed and any contradiction of those
opinions, instead of raising doubt, or ur-
ging to inquiry, only excited in their
minds astonishment at the hardihood and
contempt for the folly which thus oppo-
sed itself to the final determination of the
majority, and ventured to disturb the
settled empire and hereditary right of
their sentiments and manners. — " These
are yowr pupils,'* Lady Margaret would
often exultingly cry, addressing the mild
Mrs. Seymour: " these paragons of pro-
priety— these sober minded steady auto-
matons. Well, I mean no harm to them
or you. I only wish I could shake ofl

GLENARVON. 69

a little of that cold formality which pe-
trifies mCi Now see how differently my
Calantha shall appear, when 1 have
opened her mind, and formed her accord-
ing to my system of education — the sys-
tem which nature dictates and every
feeling of the heart willingly accedes to.
Observe well the difference between a
child of an acute understanding, before
her mind has been disturbed by the ab-
surd opinions of others, and after she has
learned their hackneyed jargon : note
her answers — her reflections ; and you
will find in them, all that philosophy can
teach, and all to which science and wis-
dom must again return. But, in your
girls and in most of those whom we meet,
how narrow are the views, how little the
motives, by which they are impelled I
Even granting that they act rightly, that
by blindly following, where others lead,
they pursue the safest course, is there
any thing noble, any thing superior in
the character from which such actions

70 GLENARVON.

spring ? / am ambitious for Calantha.
I wish her not only to be virtuous ; I
will acknowledge it — I wish her to be
distinguished and great.

Mrs. Seymour, when thus attacked,
always permitted Lady Margaret to gain
the victory of words, and to triumph
over her as much as the former thought
it within the bounds of good breeding to
allow herself; but she never varied, in
consequence, one step in her daily course,
or deviated in the slightest degree from
the line of conduct which she had before
laid down.

Sometimes, however, she would re-
monstrate with her niece, when she saw
her giving way to the violence of her
temper, or acting, as she thought, ab-
surdly or erroneously ; and Calantha,
when thus admonished, would acknow-
ledge her errors, and, for a time at least,
endeavour to amend them ; for her heart
was accessible to kindness, and kindness
she at all times met with from Mrs. Sey-
mour and her daughters.

GLENARVON. 71

It was indeed Calantha's misfortune to
meet with too much kindness, or rather
too much indulgence from almost all who
surrounded her. The Duke, attentive
solely to her health, watched her with
the fondest solicitude, and the wildest
wishes her fancy could invent were
heard with the most scrupulous attention,
and gratified with the most unbounded
compliance. Yet, if affection, amount-
ing to idolatry, could in any degree atone
for the pain the errors of his child too
often occasioned him, that affection was
felt by Calantha for her father.

Her feelings indeed swelled with a
tide too powerful for the unequal resis-
tance of her understanding : — her motives
appeared the very best, but the actions
which resulted from them were absurd
and exaggerated. Thoughts, swift as
lightning, hurried through her brain : —
projects, seducing, but visionary crowded
upon her view: without a curb she fol-
lowed the impulse of her feelings ; and

72 GLENARVOK.

those feelings varied with every varying
interest and impression.

Such character is not uncommon,
though rarely seen amongst the higher
ranks of society. Early and constant
intercourse with the world, and that po-
lished sameness which results from it,
smooths away all peculiarities ; and
whilst it assimilates individuals to each
other, corrects many faults, and represses
many virtues.

Some indeed there are who affect to
differ from others : but the very affecta-
tion proves that, in fact, they resemble
the ordinary mass ; and in general this
assumption of singularity is found in low
and common minds, who think that the
reputation of talent and superiority be-
longs to those very defects and absurdi-
ties which alone have too often cast a
shade upon the splendid light of genius,
and degraded the hero and the poet, to
the level of their imitators.

Lovely indeed is that grace of manner,

GLENARVON. 7^

that perfect ease and refinement which
so many attempt to acquire, and for which
it is to be feared so much is too often
renounced — the native vigour of mind,
the blush of indignant and offended in-
tegrity, the open candour of truth, and
all the long list of modest unassuming
virtues, known only to a new and unsul-
lied heart.

Calantha turned with disgust from the
slavish followers of prejudice. She dis-
dained the beaten track, and she thought
that virtue would be for her a safe, a
sufficient guide ; that noble views, and
pure intentions would conduct her in a
higher sphere ; and that it was left to her
to set a bright example of unshaken
rectitude, undoubted truth, and honour-
able fame. All that was base or mean,
she, from her soul, despised : a fearless
spirit raised her, as she fondly imagined,
above the vulgar herd: self-confident,
she scarcely deigned to bow the knee
before her God : and man, as she had

VOL. 1. E

74? GLENARVON.

read of him in history, appeared too
weak, too trivial, to inspire either alarm
or admiration.

It was thus, with bright prospects,
strong love of virtue, high ideas of ho-
nour, that she entered upon life. No
expense, no trouble had been spared in
her education : masters, professors, and
governesses surrounded her. She seemed
to have a decided turn for every thing it
was necessary for her to learn : instruc-
tion was scarcely necessary, so readily
did her nature bend itself to every art,
science and accomplishment. Yet never
did she attain excellence, or make pro-
ficiency in any ; and when the vanity of
a parent fondly expected to see her a
proficient in all acquirements suited to
her sex and age, he had the mortification
of finding her more than usually ignorant,
backward and uninstructed. With an ear
the most sensible and accurate, she could
neither dance nor play ; with an eye
acute and exact, she could not draw ; at

GLENARVON. 76

the same time, with a spirit that bounded
within her from excess of joyous happi-
ness, she was bashful and unsocial in
society ; and with the germs of every vir-
tue that commands esteem and praise,
she was already the theme of discussion,
observation and censure.

Yet was Calantha loved — dearly and
fondly loved ; nor could Mrs. Seymour,
though constantly discovering new errors
in her favourite, prevent her from being
the very idol of her heart. Calantha
saw it through all her assumed coldness ;
and she triumphed in the influence she
possessed. But Sophia and Frances were
not as cordially her friends : — they had
not reached that age, at which lenity and
indulgence take place of severer feelings,
and the world appears in all its reality
before us. To them, the follies and frail-
ties of others carried with them no ex-
cuse, and every course which they them-
selves did not adopt, was assuredly er-
roneous.

E 2

76 GLENARVON.

Calantha passed her time as much as
possible by herself: the general society
at the castle was uninteresting to her.
The only being for whom she felt regard,
was Sir Everard St. Clare, brother to Ca-
mioli the bard, and late physician to her
mother, and he was the usual object of
ridicule to almost all his acquaintance.
Lady St. Clare in pearls and silver; Lau-
riana and Jessica, more fine if possible,
ajid more absurd than their mother; Mrs.
Emmet, a lady from Cork, plaintive and
reclining in white sattin and drapery; and
all the young gentlemen of large pro-
perty and fortune, whom all the young
ladies were daily and hourly endeavour-
ing to please, had no attraction for a mind
like Calantha's. Coldly she therefore
withdrew from the amusements natural
to her age ; yet it was from embarrass-
ment, and not from coldness, that she
avoided iheir society. Some favorites
she already had : the Abbess of Glenaa,
St. Clara her niece, and above all Alice

GLENARVON. 77

Mac Allain, a beautiful little girl of
whom her mother had been fond : —
these had already deeply interested her
affections.

In the company of one or other of
these, Calantha would pass her morn-
ings ; and sometimes she would stand
alone upon the summit of the cliff, hour
after hour, to behold the immense o<;ean,
watching its waves, as they swelled to
the size of mountains, and dashed with
impetuous force against the rocks below :
or she would climb the mountain's side,
and gaze on the lofty summits of Here-
mon and Inis Tara, lost in idle and vi-
sionary thought. At other times joyous,
and without fear, like a fairy riding on a
sun-beam through the air, chasing the
gay images of fancy, she would join in
every active amusement, and suffer her
spirits to lead her into the most extra-
vagant excess.

78 GLENARVON.

CHAPTER X.

Love, it might be conjectured, would
early shew itself in a character such as
Calantha's ; and love, with all its ardour
and all its wildness had already subdued
her heart. \Yhat, though Mrs. Seymour
had laid it down as a maxim, that no
one, before attaining their fourteenth
year, could possibly be in love ! What,
though Lady Margaret indignantly as-
serted, that Calantha could not, and
should not, look even al any other than
him for whom her hand was destined !
She had looked ; she had seen ; and
what is more, she believed the impression
at this time made upon her heart was as
durable as it was violent.

Sophia Seymour, Mrs. Seymour's
eldest daughter, in a month, nay in a
week, had discovered Calantha's secret :

GLENARVOX. 79

the same feeling for the same object had
given her an acuteness in this instance,
with which she was not at all times
gifted : — she herself loved, and, therefore,
perceived her cousin's passion. Calan-
tha's manner immediately confirmed her
in her supposition. She entered one
morning into her room : — she saw the
unfinished drawing; — she could not mis-
take it — that commanding air — that
beaming eye — there was but one whom
it could resemble, and that one was
Henry Mowbrey, Earl of Avondale. She
taxed Calantha with her partiality: " But
he thinks not of you," she said, and
haughtily left the room.

Admiral Sir Richard Mowbrey was an
old and valued friend of the Duke of Al-
tamonte. lie had served with Sir George
Buchanan, brother-in law to Lady Alar-
garet. Fie had no children; fuit his ne-
phew, the young Earl of Avoi.dale was,
next to his country, the strong^^st and
dearest interest of his heart. What happi-

80 GLENAIIVON.

ness must the Admiral then have felt
when he beheld him ; and found that,
in mind and person, he was distinguished
by every fair endowment. Lord Avon-
dale had entered the army young : he
now commanded a regiment : with a
spirit natural to his age and character, he
had embraced his father's profession ;
and like him, he had early merited the
honours conferred upon him. He had
sought distinction at the hazard of his
life; but happily for all who knew him
well, he had not, like his gallant father,
perished in the hour of danger; but,
having seen hard service, had returned to
enjoy, in. his own country, the ease, the
happiness, and the reputation he so well
deserved.

Lord Avondale's military occupations
had not, however, prevented his cultivat-
ing his mind and talents in no ordinary
degree; and the real distinctions he had
obtained, seemed by no means to have
lessened the natural modesty of his c.ha-

GLENARVON. 81

racter. He was admired, flattered, sought
after; and the strong temptations to
which his youth had thus early been ex-
posed, had, in some measure, shaken his
principles, and inflamed his imagination.
Happily a noble mind and a warm un-
corrupted heart soon led him from scenes
of profligacy to a course of life more
manly and useful : — deep anxiety for a
bleeding country, and affection for his
uncle, restored him to himself. He quit-
ted London, where, upon his first return
from abroad, he had for the most part re-
sided, and his regiment being ordered to
Ireland, on account of the growing dis-
affection in that country, he returned
thither to fulfil the new duties which his
profession might require. Allanwater
and Monteith, his father's estates, had
been settled upon him : but he was more
than liberal in the arrangements he mr»de
for his uncle and the other brandies of
his family.

'. Many an humbler mind had escaped.
E 6

82 GLENARVON.

the danger to which Lord Avondale had,
early in life been exposed : — many a less
open character had disguised the too dar-
ing opinions he had once ventured to
cherish ! But, with an utter contempt
for all hypocrisy and art — with a frank-
ness and simplicity of character, some-
times observed in men of extraordinary
abilities, but never attendant on the or-
dinary or the corrupted mind, he appear-
ed to the world as he really felt, and
neither thought nor studied whether such
opinions and character were agreeable to
his own vanity, or the taste of his com-
panions ; for whom, however, he was, at
all times, ready to sacrifice his time, his
money, and all on earth but his honour
and integrity.

Such was the character of Lord Avon-
dale, imperfectly sketched — but true to
nature. — He, in his twenty-first year,
now appeared at Castle Delaval — the
admiration of the large and various com-
pany then assembled there. Flattered,

GLENARVON. 83

perhaps, by the interest shewn hin), but
reserved and distant to every too appa-
rent mark of it, he viewed the motley
groupe before him, as from a superior
height ; and he smiled with something
of disdain, at times, as he marked the
affectation, the meanness, the conceit,
and, most of alU the hearllessness, and
cowardice of many of those around him.
Of a morning, he would not unfrequently
join Calantha and Sophia in their walks :
and of an evening, he would read to the
former, or make her his partner at bil-
liards, or at cards. At such times, So-
phia would work at a little distance ; and
as her needle monotonously passed the
silken thread through the frame to which
her embroidery was fixed, her eyes would
involuntarily turn whither her thoughts,
in spite of her endeavours, too often
strayed. Calantha listened to the oft-
repeated stories of the admiral ; and
heard of his battles, his escapes and his
dangers, when others were weary of the

S4 GLENARVON.

well-known topics ; but he was Lord
Avondale's uncle, and that thought made
every thing he uttered interesting to her.
" You love/' said Alice Mac Allain
one day to her mistress, as they wandered
in silence along the banks of the river
Eile ; " and he who made you alone can
tell to what these maddening fires may
drive a heart like yours. Remember your
bracelet — remember your promises to
Buchanan ; and learn, before it is too
late, in some measure to control your-
self, and disguise your feelings. '^ Ca-
lantha started from Alice ; for love, when
it first exists, is so timid, so sacred, that
it fears the least breath of observation,
and disguises itself under every borrowed
name. " You are wrong,'' said Calan-
tha : *' I would not bend my free spirit
to the weakness of which you would ac-
cuse me, for all the world can offer: your
Calantha will never acknowledge a mas-
ter ;— will never yield her soul's free and
immortal hopes to any earthly affection.

GLENARVON, 85

Fear not, my counsellor, that I will for-
sake my virgin vows, or bow my un-
broken spirit to that stern despot, whose
only object is power and command.

As Calantha spoke, Lord Avondale
approached, and joined them. The deep
blush that crimsoned over her cheek was
a truer answer to her friend's accusation
than the one she had just uttered. —
" Heremon and Inis Tara have charms
I for both of you," he said, smiling : — you
are always wandering either to or from
them/' '* They are our own native
mountains," said Calantha, timidly; —
" the land-marks we have been taught to
reverence from our earliest youth/'
" And could you not admire the black
mountains of Morne as well," he said,
fixing his eyes on Calantha, — '' my na-
tive mountains? — They are higher far
than these, and soar above the clouds
that would obscure them." They are
too lofty and too rugged for such as we
are," said Calantha. " We may gaze at

S5 GLENARVON.

their height and wonder ; but more
would be dangerous." " The roses and
myrtles blossom under their shade/* said
Lord Avondale with a smile ; " and Al-
lanwater, to my mind, is as pleasant to
dwell in as Castle Delaval/' " Shall
you soon return thither, my lord?'' en-
quired Calantha. " Perhaps never/' he
said, mourntuUy; and a tear filled his
eye as he turned away, and sought to
change the subject of conversation.

Lady Margaret had spoken to Lord
Avondale : — perhiips another had engag-
ed his affections : — at all events, it seem-
ed certain to Calantha that she was not
the object of his hope or his grief. To
have seen him — to have admired him,
was enough for her: she wished not for
more than that privilege ; but she felt
that every affection of her heart was en-
gaged, even though those affections were
unreturned.

GLENARVON. 87

CHAPTER XI,

To suffer the pangs of unrequited love
was not, however in the present instance,
the destiny of Calantha. That dark eye,
the lustre of whose gaze she durst not
meet, was, at all times fixed upon her ;
and the quick mantling blush and beam-
ing smile, which lighted the counte-
nance of Lord Avondale, whenever her
name was pronounced before him, soon
betrayed, to all but himself and Calantha,
how much and how entirely his affec-
tions were engaged. He was of a na-
ture not easily to be flattered into admi-
ration of others-— not readily attracted,
or lightly won ; but, once having fixed
his affections, he was firm, confiding and
incapable of change, through any change
of fortune. He was, besides, of that af-
fectionate and independent character,

88 GLENARVOK.

that as neither bribe nor power could
have moved him to one act contrary to
his principles of integrity, so neither
danger, fatigue, nor any personal con-
sideration could have deterred him from
that which he considered as the business
and duty of his life. He possessed a
happy and cheerful disposition, a frank
and winning manner, and that hilarity of
heart and countenance which rendered
him the charm and sunshine of every
society.

When Lord Avondaie addressed Ca-
lantha, she answered him in a cold or
sullen manner, and, if he endeavoured,
to approach her, she fled unconscious
of the feeling which occasioned her em-
barrassment. Her cousins, Sophia and
Frances, secure of applause, ind con-
scious of their own power of pleasing,
bad entered the world neither absurdly
timid, nor vainly presuming: — they
knew the place they were called upon to
fill in society ; and they sought not to

GLENARVON. 89

outstep the bounds which good sense had
prescribed. Calantha, on the other hand,
scarce could overcome her terror and
confusion when addressed by those with
whom she was little acquainted. But
how far less dangerous was this reserve
than the easy confidence which a few
short years afterwards produced! and
how little did the haughty Lady Marga-
ret imagine, as she chid her niece for this
excess of timidity, that the day would,
perhaps, soon arrive, when careless of
the presence of hundreds, Calantha might
strive to attract their attention, by the
very arts which she now despised, or
pass thoughtlessly along, hardened and
utterly insensible to their censure or
their praise !

To a lover's eyes such timidity was not
unpleasing ; and Lord Avondale liked
not the girl he admired the less, for that
crimson blush — that timid look, which
scarcely dared encounter his ardent gaze.
To him it seemed to disclose a heart new

90 tlLENARVON.

to the world — unspoiled and guileless.
Calantha's mind, bethought, might now
receive the impression which should be
given it ; and while yet free, yet un-
tainted, would it not be happiness to
secure lier as his own — to mould her
according to his fancy — to be her guide
and protector through life !

Such were his feelings, as he watched
her shunning even the eyes of him, whom
alone she wished to please : — such were
his thoughts, when, flying from the
amusements and gaiety natural to her
age, she listened with attention, while he
read to her. or conquered her fear of en-
tering into conversation with him. He
seemed to imagine her to be possessed
of every quality which he most admired ;
and the delusive charm ot believing: that
he was not indifferent to her heart, threw
a be-riuty and grace over all her actions,
which blinded him to every error. Thus
then they both acknowledged, and sur-
rendered themselves to the power of love.

GLENARVON. 91

Calantha for the first time yielded up
her heart entirely to its enchantment ;
and Lord Avondale, for the last.

It is said there is no happiness, and no
love to be compared to that which is felt
for the first time. Most persons errone-
ously think so ; but love, like other arts,
requires experience, and terror and igno-
rance, on its first approach, prevent our
feeling it as strongly as at a later period.
Passion mingles not with a sentiment so
pure, so refined as that which Calantha
then conceived, and the excess of a lover's
attachment terrified and overpowered the
feelings of a child.

Storms of fury kindled in the eye of
Lady Margaret, when she first observed
this mutual regard. Words could not
express her indignation ; — to deeds she
had recourse. Absence was the only
remedy to apply ; and an hour, a mo-
ment's delay, by opening Calantha's
mind to a consciousness of her lover's
sentiments and wishes, might render

99 GLENARVON.

even this ineffectual. She saw that the
flame had been kindled in a heart too sus-
ceptible, and in which opposition would
increase its force: — she upbraided her
brother for his blindness, and reproached
herself for her folly. There was but one
way left, which was to communicate the
Duke*s surmises and intentions to the
Admiral in terms so positive, that he
could not mistake them, and instantly to
send for Buchanan. In pursuance of
this purpose, she wrote to inform him
of every thing which had taken place,
and to request him without loss of time
to meet her at Castle Delaval. Mrs.
Seymour alone folded Calantha to her bo-
som without one reproach, and, consign-
ing her with trembling anxiety to a fa-
ther's care, reminded him continually,
that she was his only remaining child,
and that force, in a circumstance of such
moment, would be absolute crueltv.

GLENARVON. 93

CHAPTER XIL

Lady Margaret insisted upon removing
Calantha immediately to London ; but
Lord Avondale having heard from the
Admiral the cause of her intended depar-
ture, immediately declared his intention
of quitting Ireland. Every thing w^as now
in readiness for his departure ; the day
fixed; the hour at hand. It was not
perhaps till Lord Avondale felt that he
wds going to leave Calantha for ever,
that he v^^as fully sensible how much,
and how entirely his affections were en-
gaged.

On the morning previous to his depar-
ture, Calantha threw the bracelet, which
Lady Margaret and her cousin had given
her, from her arm ; and, weeping upon
the bosom of x\lice, bitterly lamented her
fate, and informed her friend that sjie

94 GLENARVON.

never, never would belong to Buchanan.
— Lord Avondale had in vain sought an
opportunity of seeing her one moment
alone. He now perceived the bracelet on
the floor of the room she had just quitted :
and looking upon it, read, without being
able to comprehend the application of
the inscription, " Stesso sangue, Stessa
sorteJ*^ — He saw her at that moment : —
she was alone : — he followed her : — she
fled from him, embarrassed and agitated ;
but he soon approached her: — they fly
so slowly, who fly from what they love.
Lord Avondale thought he had much
to say — many things to ask : — he wished
to explain the feelings of his hearts — to
tell Calantha, once at least before he
quitted her, how deeply — how dearly he
had loved — how, though unworthy in
his own estimation of aspiring to her
hand, the remembrance of her should
stimulate him to every noble exertion,
and raise him to a reputation which,
without her influence, he never could

GLENARVON. 95

attain: — he thought that he could have
clasped her to his bosom, and pressed
upon her lips the first kiss of love — the
dearest, the truest pledge of fondness
and devotion. But, scarcely able to
speak, confused and faultering, he dared
not approach her: — he saw one before
him robed in purity, and more than ves-
tal innocence — one timidly fearful of
even a look, or thought, that breathed
aught against that virtue which alone it
worshipped.

" I am come," he said, at length,
^' forgive my rashness, to restore this
bracelet, and myself to place it around
your arm. Permit me to say — farewell,
before I leave you, perhaps for ever.'*
As he spoke, he endeavoured to clasp
the diamond lock ; — his hand trembled ;
Calantha started from him. •' Oh!" she
said. " you know not what you do: — I
am enough his already : — be not you the
person to devote me to him more com-
pletely:— do not render me utterly mi-

96 CLENARVON.

serable. Though not entirely under-
standing her he scarcely could command
himself. Her look, her manner — all
told him too certainly that which over-
came his heart with delight. — " She loves
me," he thought, " and I will die sooner
than yield her to auy human being: — ^
she loves me ; and, regardless of fears —
of prudence — of every other feeling, he
pressed her one moment to his bosom.
*' Oh, love me, Calantha," was all he
had time to say ; for she broke from him,
and fled, too much agitated to reply.
That he had presumed too far, he feared;
but that she was not indifferent to him,
he had heard and seen. The thous^ht
filled him with hope, and rendered him
careless of all that might befall him.

The Duke entered the room as Calan-
tha quitted it. — " Avondale," he said,
offering him his hand, " speak to me, for
I wish much to converse with you before
we part : — ail I ask is, that you will not
deceive me. Something more than com-

GLENARVO.V. ^

mon engrosses your thoughts : — even
now I observed you with my child."
— " I must indeed speak with you/'
said Lord Avondale firmly, but with
considerable agitation. " Every thing
1 hold dear — my life-— my happiness —
* depend on what I have to say.'* He
then informed the Duke with sincerity
of his attachment for Calantha — proud
and eager to acknowledge it, even though
he feared that his hopes might never be
realized.

'' I am surprised and grieved,'' said
the Duke, " that a young man of your
high rank, fortune, and rising fame,
should thus madly throw away your af-
fections upon the only being perhaps
who never must, never ought, to return
them. My daughter's hand is promised
to another. When 1 confess this, do not
mistake me: — No force will ever be made
use of towards her; her inclinations will
at all times be consulted, even though
she should forget those of her parent ; but

VOL. I. F

98 GLENAllVON.

she is now a mere child, and more infan-
tine and volatile withal, than it is pos-
sible for vou to conceive. There can
be no necessity for her being now called
upon to make a decided choice. Bucha-
nan is my nephew, and since the loss of
my son, I have centered all my hopes in
him. He is heir to my name, as she is
to my fortune ; and surely then an union
between them, would be an event the
most desirable for me and for my family.
But such considerations alone would
not influence me. I will tell you those
then which operate in a stronger manner:
— I have given my solemn promise to my
sister, that I will do all in my power to
assist in bringing about an event upon
which her heart is fixed. Judge then,
if, during her son's absence, I can dispose
of Calantha's hand, or permit her to see
more of one, who has already, I fear, made
some impression upon her heart."

Lord Avondale appeared much agi-
tated.— The Duke paused — then conti-
nued— " Granting that your attachment

GLENARVON. 99

for ray child is as strong as you would
have me believe — granting, my dear
young friend, that, captivated by your
very superior abilities, manners, and
amiable disposition, she has in part re-
turned the sentiments you acknowledge
in her favour — cannot you make her the
sacrifice I require of you? — Yes. —
Though you now think otherwise, you
can do it. So short an acquaintance
with each other authorizes the term I
use : — this is but a mere fancy, which
absence and strength of mind will soon
overcome.

Lord Avondale was proud even to a
fault. He had listened to the Duke
without interrupting him ; and the Duke
continued to speak, because he was afraid
of hearing the answer, which he con-
cluded would be made. For protesta-
tions, menaces, entreaties, he was pre-
pared; but the respectful silence which
continued when he ceased, disconcerted
him. — '' You are not angry?" he said:
F 2

100 GLENARVON.

*' let us part in friendship r—do not go
from me thus : — you must forgive a fa-
ther:— remerpber she is my child, and
bound to me by still dearer ties — she is
my only one." His voice faultered, as
he said this : — he thought of the son
who had once divided his affections, and
of whom he seldom made mention since
his loss.

Lord Avondale, touched by his man-
ner and by his kindness, accepted his
hand, and struggling with pride — with
love, — " I will obey your commands,"
he at length said, " and fly from her pre-
sence, if it be for her happiness : — her
happiness is the dearest object of my life.
Yet let me see her before I leave her.'' —
'' No," said the Duke, '' it is too dan-
gerous." " If this must not be," said
Lord Avondale, " at least tell her, that
for her sake, I have conquered even my
own nature in relinquishing her hand,
and with it every hope, but soo strongly
cherished by me. Tell her, that if I do

GLENARVON. 101

this, it is not because I do not feel for her
the most passionate and most unalterable
attachment. I renounce her only, as I
trust, to consign her to a happier fate.
You are her father: — you best know the
affection she deserves: — if she casts away
a thought sometimes on me, let her not
suffer for the generosity and goodness of
her heart : — let her not" — He would
have said more, but he was too deeply
affected to continue : — he could not act,
or dissemble : — he felt strongly, and he
shewed it.

102 GLENARVON

CHAPTER XIII.

After this conversation, Calantha saw
no more of her lover : yet he was very
anxious to see her once again, and much
and violently agitated before he went.
A few words which he had written to her
he gave into Mrs. Seymour's own hands;
and this letter, though it was such as to
justify the high opinion some had formed
of his character, was but little calculated
to satisfy the expectations of Calantha^s
absurdly romantic mind; or to realize
the hopes she had cherished. It was not
more expressive of his deep regret at
their necessary separation, than of his
anxiety that she should not suffer her
spirits to be depressed, or irritate her
father by an opposition which would
prove fruitless. — " He does not love
you, Calantha," said Lady Margaret, with

GLEN A R VON. lOS

a malicious smile, as soon as she had
read the letter — (and every one would
read it): — '-' when men begin to speak
of duty, they have ceased to love/*
This remark gave Calantha but little
consolation. Lord Avondale had quitted
her too, without even bidding her fare-
well; and her thoughts continually dwelt
on this disappointment.

Calantha knew not then that her nai-
sery was more than shared — that Lord
Avondale, though too proud to acknow-
ledge it, was a prey to the deepest grief
upon her account — that he lived but in
the hope of possessing the only being
iipon earth to whom he had attached
himself — and that the sentence pro-
nounced against both, was a death stroke
to his happiness, as well as to her own.
When strong love awakes for the first
time in an inexperienced heart it is so
diffident, so tremblingly fearful, that it
dares scarcely hope even for a return ;
and our own demerits appear before us,

104 GLENARVON.

in such exaggerated colours, and the su-
perior excellence of the object we wor-
ship arises so often to our view, that it
seems but the natural consequence of
our own presumption, that we should be
neglected and forgotten.

Of Admiral Sir II. Mowbrey, Calan-
tba now took leave without being able
to utter one vv^ord : she wept as children
weep in early days, the heart's convul-
sive sob free and unrestrained. He was
as much affected as herself, and seeking
Lady Margaret, before he left the castle,
and followed his nephew, who had gone
straight to England, began an eager at-
tack upon her, with all the blunt asperity
of his nature. Indeed he bitterly re-
proached himself, and all those who had
influenced him, in what he termed his
harsh unfeelinsr conduct in this affair.
— " And as to you, madam,'' he cried,
addressing Lady Margaret, " you make
two young people wretched, to gratify
the vanity of your son, and acquire

GLENARVON. 105

a fortune, which I would willingly yield
to you, provided the dear children
might marry, and go home with me
to Allanwater, a place as pretty, and
far more peaceful than any in these
parts : there, I warrant, they would live
happy, and die innocent — which is more
than most folks can say in these great
palaces and splendid castles.

A smile of contempt was the only an-
swer Lady Margaret deigned to give.—
Sir Richard continued, " you are all a
mighty fine set of people, no doubt, and
your assemblies, and your balls are
thronged and admired ; but none of
these things will make the dear child
happy, if her mind is set upon my ne-
phew. I am the last in the world to
disparage any one ; but my nephew is
just as proper a man, in every point of
view, as your son ; aye, or any body's
son in the whole world; and so there is
my mind given free and hearty ; for there
is not a nobler fellow, and there never
F 5

106 GLENARVON.

can be, than Henry Avondale : — he is as
brave a soldier as ever fought for his
country; and in what is he deficient?*'
Lady Margaret's lips and cheeks were
now become livid and pale — a fatal
symptom, as anger of that description, in
all ages, has led to evil deeds ; whereas
the scarlet effusion has, from the most
ancient times been accounted harmless.
'* Take Lady Calantha then," exclaimed
Lady Margaret, with assumed calmness,
while every furious passion shook her
frame ; " and may she prove a serpent
to your bosom, and blast the peace of
your whole family.'^ " She is an angel 1"
exclaimed the Admiral, *' and she will
be our pride, and our comfort/' She is
a woman," returned Lady Margaret with
a malicious sneer ; " and, by one means
or other, she will work her calling."
Calantha's tears checked Sir Richard's
anger ; and, his carriage being in readi-
ness, he left the castle immediately after
this conversation.

QLENARVON. 10?

CHAPTER XIV

It may be easily supposed that Lady
Margaret Buchanan and Mrs. Seymour
had a most cordial dislike for each other.
Happily, at present, they agreed in one
point: they were both desirous of rousing
Calantha from t,he state of despondency
into which Lord Avondale's departure
had thrown her. By both, she was ad-
monished to look happy, and to restrain
her excessive grief. Mrs. Seymour spoke
to her of duty and self-control. Lady
Margaret sought to excite her ambition
and desire of distinction. One only sub-
ject was entirely excluded from conver-
sation: Lord Avondale's name was for-
bidden to be mentioned in her presence,
and every allusion to the past was to be
studiously avoided.

Lady Margaret, however, well aware

103 GLENARVON.

that whosofever transgressed this regula-
tion would obtain full power over her
niece's heart, lost no opportunity of thus
gaining her confidence and affection.

Having won, by this artifice, an easy
and favorable audience, after two or three
conversations upon the subject most
interesting to Calantha, she began, by
degrees, to introduce the name, and with
the name such a representation of the
feelings of her son, as she well knew to
be best calculated to work upon the
weakness of a female heart. Far different
were his real feelings, and far different
his real conduct from that which was
described to her niece by Lady Margaret.
She had written to him a full account of
all that had taken place; but his answer,
which arrived tardily, and, after much
delay, had served only to increase that
lady's ill humour, and add to her disap-
pointment. In the letter which he sent
to his mother, he openly derided her ad-
vice ; professed entire indifference to-

GLENARVON. 109

wards Calantha ; and said that, indubi-
tably, he would not waste his thoughts
or time in humouring the absurd fancies
of a capricious girl ; — that Lord Avon-
dale, or any other, were alike welcome to
her hand; — that, as for himself, the world
was wide, and contained women enough
for him ; he could range amongst those
frail and fickle charmers without sub-
jecting his honour and his liberty to their
pleasure; and, since the lady had already
dispensed with the vows given and re-
ceived at an age when the heart was
pure, he augured ill of her future con-
duct, and envied not the happiness of the
man it was her present fancy to select: —
he professed his intention of joining the
army on the continent : talked of leaden
hail, glory and death! and seemed re-
solved not to lessen the merit of any
exploits he might achieve, by any want
of brilliancy in the colouring and descrip-
tion of them.

Enraged at this answer, and sickening

110 GLENARVON*

at his conceit. Lady Margaret sent imme-
diately to entreat, or rather to command,
his return. In the mean time, she talked
much to Calantha of his sufferings and
despair; and soon perceiving how greatly
the circumstance of Lord Avondale's
consenting to part from her had wounded
her feelings, and how perpetually she
recurred to it, she endeavoured, by the
most artful interpretations of his conduct,
to lower him in her estimation. Sarcas-
tically contrasting his coldness with Bu-
chanan's enthusiasm: "Your lover,'*
she said, *' is, without doubt, most dis-
interested!— His eager desire for your
happiness is shown in every part of his
conduct!— Such warmth— such delicacy!
How happy would a girl like my Calan-
tha he with such a husband ! — What filial
piety distinguishes the whole of his be-
haviour!— " Obey your father," is the
burthen of his creed! He seems even to
dread the warmth of your affection ! —
He trembles when he thinks into what

GLENARVON. Ill

ittiprudeiice it may carry you !— Why he
is a perfect model, is he not ? But let me
ask you, my dear niece, is love, accord-
ing to your notions and feelings, thus
cool and considerate ?~-does it pause to
weigh right and duty ?— is it so very ra-
tional and contemplative ?...." Yes/'
replied Calantha, somewhat picqued.
" Virtuous love can make sacrifices ;
but, when love is united with guilt, it
becomes selfish and thinks only of the
present moment/* " And how, my lit-
tle philosopher, did you acquire so pre-
maturely this wonderful insight into the
nature of love?" " By feeling it," said
Calantha, triumphantly ; " and by com-
paring my own feelings with what I have
heard called by that name in others/'

As she said this, her colour rose, and
she fixed her quick blue eyes full upoQ^..
Lady Margaret's face ; but vainly did
she endeavour to raise emotion there ;
that countenance, steady and unruffled,
betrayed not even a momentary flash of

112 GLENARYON.

anger : her large orbs rolled securely, as
she returned the glance, with a look of
proud and scornful superiority. "My
little niece," she said, tapping her gently
on the head, and taking from her cluster-
ing locks the comb that confined them,
" my little friend is grown quite a sati-
rist, and all who have not had, like her^
every advantage of education, are to be
severely lashed, 1 find, for the errors they
may, inadvertently, have committed. "
As she spoke, tears started from her eyes.
Calantha threw herself upon her bosom.
*' O, my dear aunt," she said, " my dear-
est aunt, forgive me, 1 entreat you. God
knows I have faults enough myself, and
it is not for me to judge of others, whose
situation may have been very different
from mine. Is it possible that I should
have caused your tears? My words, must
indeed, have been very bitter ; pray for-
give me." '' Calantha," said Lady Mar-
garet, " you are already more than for-
given ; but the tears I shed were not

GLENARVON. 113

occasioned by your last speech ; though
it is true, censure from one's children,
or those one has ever treated as such, is
more galling than from others. But,
indeed, my spirits are much shaken. I
have had letters irom my son, and he
seems more hurt at your conduct than
I expected: — he talks of renouncing his
country and his expectations ; he says that
if indeed his Calantha, who has been the
constant object of his thoughts in ab-
scence, can have already renounced her
vows and him, he will never intruo/- his
griefs upon her, nor ever seek to bias her
inclinations: yet it is with deep and last-
ing regret that he consents to tear you
from his remembrance and consign you
to another/'

Calantha sighed deeply at this unex-
pected information, to condemn any one
to the pangs of unrequited love was
hard : she had already felt that it was no
light suffering ; and Lady Margaret, see-
ing how her false and artful representa-

114' GLENARVOX.

tions had worked upon the best feelings
of an inexperienced heart, lost no oppor-
tunity of improving and increasing their
effect.

These repeated attempts to move Ca-
lantha to a determination, which was
held out to her as a virtuous and ho-
nourable sacrifice made to duty and to
justice, were not long before they were
attended with success. Urged on all
sides continually, and worked upon by
those she loved, she at last yielded with
becoming inconsistency ; and one eve-
ning, when she saw her father somewhat
indisposed, she approached him, and
whispered in his ear, that she had
thoughtbetter of her conduct, and would
be most happy in fulfilling his commands
in every respect. " Now yt)u are a he-
roine, indeed,'* said Lady Margaret, who
had overheard the promise : " you have
shewn that true courage which I ex-
pected from you— you have gained a
victory over yourself, and I cannot but

GLENARVON. 115

feel proud of you." '^ Aye," thought
Calantha, *' flattery is the chain that will
bind me ; gild it but bright enough, and
be secure of its strength : you have
found, at last, the clue ; now make use
of it to my ruin/*

*' She consents,'* said Lady Margaret ;
" it is sufficient ; let there be no delay ;
let us dazzle her imagination, awaken
her ambition, and gratify her vanity by
the most splendid presents and prepa-
rations !*'

116 GLENARVON

CHAPTER XV.

Calantha's jewels and costly attire—
her equipages and attendants, were now
the constant topic of conversation.
Every rich gift was ostentatiously exhi-
bited ; while congratulations, w^ere on all
sides, poured forth on the youthful
bride. Lady Margaret, eagerly dis-
playing the splendid store, asked her
if she were not happy. — *' Do not,"
she replied, addressing her aunt, " do
not fancy that 1 am weak enough to
value these baubles : — My heart is
at least free from a folly like this : I de-
spise this mockery of riches." " You
despise it !*' repeated Lady Marga-
ret, with an incredulous smile: — "you
despise grandeur and vanity I Child be-
lieve one who knows you well, you wor-
ship them : they are your idols ; and

GLENARYOK. 117

while your simple voice sings forth ro-
mantic praises of simplicity and retire-
ment, you have been cradled in luxury,
and you cannot exist without it/*

Buchanan was now daily, nay even
hourlyexpectedt—LadyMargaret awaited
him with anxious hope; Calantha, with
increasing fear. Having one morning
ridden out to divert her mind from the
dreadful suspense under which she la-
boured, and meeting with Sir Everard,
she enquired of him respecting her former
favourite : " Miss Elinor/' said the doc-
tor, '' is still with her aunt, the abbess
of Glanaa ; and, her noviciate being over,
she will soon, I fancy, take the veil. You
cannot see her; but if your Ladyship
will step from your horse, and enter into
my humble abode, I will shew you a por-
trait of St. Clara, for so we now call her,
she being indeed a saint; and sure you
will admire it." Calantha accompanied
the doctor, and was struck with the sin-
gular beauty of the portrait. '' Happy

IIS GLENARVON.

St. Clara,*' she said, and sighed: — *'your
heart, dedicated thus early to Heaven,
will escape the struggles and temptations
to which mine is already exposed. Oh !
that I too, might follow your example;
and, far from a world for which I am not
formed, pass my days in piety and peace."
Thatevening,astheDukeof Altamonte
led his daughter through the crowded
apartments, presenting her to every one
previous to her marriage, she was sud-
denly informed that Buchanan was ar-
rived. Her forced spirits and assumed
courage at once forsook her; she fled to
her room ; and there giving vent to her
real feelings, wept bitterly. — "Yet why
should 1 grieve thus?" she said: — *' What
though he be here to claim me? my hand
is yet free: — I will not give it against
the feelings of my heart.'* Mrs. Seymour
had observed her precipitate flight, and
following, insisted upon being admitted.
She endeavoured to calm her ; but it was
too late.

GLENARVOxN'. 119

From that day, Calantha sickened : —
the aid of the physician, and the care of
her friends were vain : — an alarming ill-
ness seized upon her mind, and affected
her whole frame. In the paroxysm of her
fever, she called repeatedly upon Lord
Avondale^s name, which confirmed those
around her in the opinion they enter-
tained, that her malady had been occa-
sioned by the violent effort she had made,
and the continual dread under which she
had existed for some time past, of Bu-
chanan's return. Her father bitterly
reproached himself for his conduct;
watched by her bed in anxious suspence;
and under the impression of the deepest
alarm, wrote to his old friend the admiral,
informing him of his daughter's danger,
and imploring him to urge Lord Avon-
dale to forget what had passed, and to
hasten again to Castle Delaval.— Restated
that, to satisfy his sister's ambition, the
greater part of his fortune should be set-
tled upon Buchanan, to whom his title

120 GLENARVON.

descended; and if, after this arrangement,
Lord Avondale still continued the same
as when he had parted from Calantha,
he only requested his forgiveness of his
former apparent harshness, and earnestly
besouo^ht his return without a moment's
loss of time.

His sister he strove in vain to ap-
pease:— Lady Margaret was in no temper
of mind to admit of his excuses. Her
son had arrived and again left the castle,
without even seeing Calantha; and when
the Duke attempted to pacify Lady Mar-
garet, she turned indignantly from him,
declaring, that, if he had the weakness to
yield to the arts and stratagems of a
spoiled and wayward child, she would
instantly depart from under his roof,
and never see him more. No one event
could have grieved him so much, as this
open rupture with his sister. Yet
his child's continued danger turned his
thoughts from this and every other con-
sideration : — he yielded to her wishes : —

GLJiNARVON. 121

be could not endure the sight of her mi-
sery : — he had from her infancy never
refused her slightest request : — and could
he now, on so momentous an occasion,
could he now force her inclinations and
constrain her choice.

The kind intentions of the Duke were,
however, defeated. Stung to the soul,
Calantha would not hear of marriage with
Lord Avondale : — pride, a far stronger
feeling than love, at that early period,
disdained to receive concessions even
from a father : and a certain moroseness
began to mark her character, as she slowly
recovered from her illness, which never
had been observed in it before. She be-
came austere and reserved ; read nothing
but books of theology and controversy ;
seemed even to indulge an inclination
for a monastic life ; was often with Miss
St. Clare ; and estranged herself from all
other society.

" Let her have her will," said Lady
Margaret, *' it is the only means of curing

VOL. I. e

1:99 GLENARVON.

her of this new fancy." — The Duke,
however, thought otherwise : he was
greatly alarmed at the turn her disposi-
tion seemed to have taken, and tried every
means in his power to remedy and coun-
teract it. A year passed thus away; and
the names of Buchanan and Lord Avon-
dale were never or rarely mentioned at the
castle ; when one evening, suddenly and
unexpectedly, the latter appeared there
to answer in person, a message which the
Duke had addressed to him, by means of
the Admiral, during his daughter's illness.
Lord Avoudale had been abroad since
last he had parted from Calantha ; he
had gained the approbation of the army
in which he served ; and, what was bet-
ter, he knew that he deserved it. His
uncle's letter had reached him when still
upon service. He had acted upon the
staff: he now returned to join his own
regiment, which v/ns quartered at Lei-
trim ; and i)is first care, before he pro-
ceeded upon the duties of his profession,

GLENARVO^. 193

was, to see the Duke, and to claim, with
diminished fortune and expectations, the
brfde his early fancy had chosen. — "I
will not marry him — I will not see him:"
— These were the only words Calantha
pronounced, as they led her into the
room where he was conversing with her
father.

When she saw him, however, lier feel-
ings changed. Every heart which has
known what it is to meet, after a
long estrangement, the object of its first,
of its sole, of its entire devotion, can
picture to itself the scene which followed.
Neither pride, nor monastic vows, nor
natural bashfulness, repressed the full
flow of her happiness at the moment
when Lord A von dale rushed forward to
embrace her, and, calling her his own
Calantha, mingled his tears with hers. —
The Duke, greatly affected, looked upon
them both. '' Take her,'' he said, ad-
dressing Lord A von dale, ''and be as-
sured, whatever her faults, she is my
g2

Ifi GLENARVON.

heart's pride — my treasure. Be kind to
her: — that I know you will be, whilst
the enthusiasm of passion lasts : but ever
be kind to her, even when it has subsided:
remember, she has yet to learn what it
is to be controuled. " She shall never
learn it,*' said Lord Avondale, again
embracing her : " by day — by night,
I have lived but in this hope: she shall
never repent her choice." " The God
of Heaven vouchsafe his blessing upon
you," said the Duke. — " My sister may
call this weakness ; but the smile on my
child's countenance is a sufficient re-
ward."

GLENARYON. 125

CHAPTER XVI.

What Lord Avondale had said was true,
— One image had pursued him in every
change of situation, since he had parted
from Calantha ; and though he had
scarcely permitted his mind to dwell on
hope ; yet he felt that, without her, there
was no happiness for him on earth ; and
he thought that once united to her, he
was beyond the power of sorrow or mis-
fortune. ^ So chaste, even in thought, she
seemed — so frank and so affectionate,
could he be otherwise than happy with
such a companion ? How then was he
astonished, when, as soon as they were
alone, she informed him that, although
she adored him, she was averse to the
fetters he was so eager to impose. How
was he struck to find that all the chime-
rical, romantic absurdities, which he most

19G GLENARVON.

despised, were tenaciously cherished by
her ; to be told that dear as he was,
her freedom was even dearer ; that shje
thought it a crime to renounce her vows,
her virgin vows ; and that she never
would become a slave and a wife ; — he
must not expect it.

Unhappy xVvondale ! even such an
avowal did not open his eyes, or deter
him from his pursuit. Love blinds the
wisest : and fierce passion domineers
over reason. The dread of another sepa-
ration inspired him with alarm. Agitated
— furious— he now combatted every ob-
jection, ventured every promise, and loved
even with greater fondness from the in-
creasing dread of again losing what he
had hoped was already his own.—" Men
of the world are without religion/^ said
Calantha with tears ; " Women of the
world are without principle. Truth is
regarded by none. I love and honor
my God, even more than I love you ;
and truth is dearer to me than life. I am

GLENARVON. 127

not like those I see :—my education, my
habits, my feelings are different ; I am
like one uncivilized and savage; and if
you place me in society, you will have
to blush every hour for the faults I shall
involuntarily commit. Besides this ob-
jection, my temper— I am more violent
— Oh that it were not so ! but can T,
ought I, to deceive you V You are ail
that is noble, frank, and generous : you
shall guide me," said Lord Avondale,
'^ and I will protect you. Be mine:
fear me not: your principles I venerate:
your religion I w^ill study, will learn,
will believe in. What more ?'^

Lord Avondale sought and won that
strange uncertain being, for whom he
was about to Sdcrifice so much. He con*
sidered not the lengthened journey of
life— the varied scenes through which
they were to pass ; where all the quali-
ties in which she was wholly deficient
would be so often and so absolutely
required — discretion, prudence, firm and

128 GLENARVON.

Steady principle, obedience, humility.
But to all her confessions and remon-
strances he replied : '' I love, and you
return my passion : can we be otherwise
than blest ! You are the dearest object
of my affection, my life, my hope, my
joy. If you can live without me, which
I do not believe, I cannot without you,
and that is sufficient. Sorrows must
come on all, but united together we can
brave them. My Calantha, you torture
me but to try me. Were I to renounce
you, were I to take you at your word,
you, you would be the first to regret and
to reproach me." " It is but the name
of wife I hate,"' replied the spoiled and
wayward child. " I mu«t command :
my will — '' *' Your will shall be my
law,** said Lord Avondale, as he knelt
before her : *' you shall be my mistress,
my guide, my monitress, and 1 a willing
slave.'* So spoke the man, who, like
the girl he addressed, had died sooner
than have yielded up his freedom or his

GLENARVON. 129

independence to another ; who, high
and proud, had no conception of even the
sligrhtest interference with his conduct
or opposition to his wishes ; and, who, at
the very moment that in words he yielded
up his liberty, sought only the fulfilment
of his own desire, and the attainment of
an object upon which he had fixed his
mind.

The day arrived. A trembling bride,
and an impassioned lover faintly articu-
lated the awful vow. Lord Avondale
thought himself the happiest of men ;
and Calantha, though miserable at the
moment, felt that, on earth, she loved
but him. In the presence of her assem-
bled family, they uttered the solemn en-
gagement, which bound them througli
existence to each other ; and though
Calantha was deeply affected, she did not
regret the sacred promise she had made.

When Lord Avondale, however, ap-
proached to take her from her father's
arms — when she heard that the carriages
G 5

130 GLENARVON*

awaited which were to bear them ta
another residence, nor love, nor force
prevailed. " This is my home," she
cried: " these are my parents. Share
all I have — dwell with me where I have
ever dwelt ; but think not that I can quit
them thus/' No spirit of coquetry, no
petty airs, learned or imagined, suggested
this violent and reiterated exclamation :
*' I will not go." I will not, was suffi-
cient, as she imagined, to change the most
determined character ; and when she
found that force was opposed to her vio-
lence, terror, nay, abhorrence took posses-
sion of her mind ; and it was with shrieks
of despair she was torn from her father'^
bosom.

'' Unhappy Avondale!'' said Sophia,
as she saw her thus borne away, " may
that violent spirit grow tame and tract-
able, and may Calantha at length prove
worthy of such a husband !" This ex-
clamation was uttered with a feeling
which mere interest for her cousin could

GLENARVON. 131

not have created. In very truth, Sophia
loved Lord Avondale. And Alice Mac
Allain, who heard the prayer with sur-
prise and indignation, added fervently :
" that he may make her happy; that he
may know the value of the treasure he
possesses ; this is all I ask of Heaven.
Oh ! my mistress — my protectress — my
Calantha — what is there left me on earth
to love, now thou art gone ? Whatever
they may say of thy errors, even those
errors are dearer to my heart than all the
virtues thou hast left behind/'

132 GLENARVON.

CHAPTER XVII

It was at Allan water, a small villa amidst
the mountains, in the county of Leitrim,
that Lord and Lady Avondale passed
the first months of their marriage. This
estate had been settled upon Sir Richard
Mowbrey, during his life time, by his
brother, the late Earl of Avondale. It
was cheerful, though retired ; and Xq
Calantha's enchanted eyes appeared all
that was most romantic and beautiful
upon earth. What indeed had not ap-
peared beautiful to her in the company of
the man she loved! Everyone fancies that
there exists in the object of their peculiar
admiration a superiority over others.
Calantha, perhaps, was fully justified in
this opinion. Lord Avondale displayed
even in his countenance the sensibility of
a warm, ardent, and generous character.

GLENARVON. 133

He had a distinguished and prepossessing
manner, entirely free from all affectation.
It is seldom that this can be said of any
man, and more seldom of one possessed
of such singular beauty of person. He
appeared indeed wholly to forget himself;
and was ever more eager in the interests
of others than his own. Many there are,
who, though endowed with the best un-
derstandings, have yet an inertness, an
insensibility to all that is brilliant and
accomplished ; and who, though correct
in their observations, yet fatigue in the
long intercourse of life by the sameness
of their thoughts. Lord Avondale's un-
derstanding, however, fraught as it was
with knowledge, was illumined by the
splendid light of genius, yet not over-
thrown by its force. In his mind, it
might be truly said, that he did not
cherish one base, one doubtful or worldly
feeling. He was so sincere that, even in
conversation, he never mis-stated, or ex-
aggerated a fact. He saw at a glance the

134 GLENARVON.

faults of others ; but his extreme good
nature and benevolence prevented his
taking umbrage at them. He was, it is
true, of a hot and passionate temper, and
if once justly offended, firm in his re-
solve, and not very readily appeased ;
but he was too generous to injure or to
hate even those who might deserve it.
When he loved, and he never really
loved but one, it was with so violent, so
blind a passion, that he might be said to
doat upon the very errors of the girl to
whom he was thus attached. To the
society of women he had been early ac-
customed ; but had suffered too much
from their arts, and felt too often the
effects of their caprices, to be easily
made again their dupe and instrument.
Of beauty he had ofttimes been the wil-
ling slave. Strong passion, opportunity,
and entire liberty of conduct, had, at an
early period, thrown him into its power.
His profession, and the general laxity of
morals, prevented his viewing his former

GLENARVON. 135

conduct in the light in which it appeared
to his astonished bride; but when she
sighed, because she feared that she was
not the first who had subdued his affec-
tions, he smilingly assured her, that she
should be the last — that no other should
ever be dear to him again.

Calantha, in manner, in appearance, in
every feeling, was but a child. At one
hour, she would look entranced upon
Avondale, and breathe vows of love and
tenderness ; at another, hide from his
gaze, and weep for the home she had left.
At one time she would talk with him
and laugh from the excess of gaiety she
felt ; at another, she would stamp her
foot upon the ground in a fit of childish
impatience, and exclaiming, " You must
not contradict me in any thing," she
would menace to return to her father,
and never see him more.

If Lord Avondale had a defect, it w^as
too great good nature, so that he suffered
his vain and frivolous partner, to com-

136 GLENAKVON.

mand, and guide, and arrange all things
around him, as she pleased, nor foresaw
the consequence of her imprudence,
though too often carried to excess.
With all his knowledge, he knew not
how to restrain ; and he had not the ex-
perience necessary to guide one of her
character: — he could only idolize; he
left it to others to censure and admonish.
It was also for Calantha's misfortune,
that Lord Avondale's religious opinions
were different from those in which she
had been early educated. She, as has
been heretofore related, was a Roman
Catholic, and had adopted with that ex-
cess and exaggeration, which belonged
to her character, the most enthusiastic
devotion to that captivating and delusive
worship. It was perhaps to shew him
the necessity of stricter doctrines, and
observances, that heaven permitted one so
good and noble, as he was, to be united
with one so frail and weak. Those doc-
trines which he loved to discuss, au

GLENARVON. 137

support in speculation, she eagerly seized
upon, and carried into practice ; thus
proving to him clearly, and fatally, their
dangerous and pernicious tendency.
Eager to oppose and conquer those opi-
nions in his wife, which savoured as he
thought of bigotry and rigour, he tore the
veil at once from her eyes, and opened
hastily her wondering mind to a world
before unknown. He foresaw not the
peril to which he exposed her: — he
heeded not the rapid progress of her
thoughts — the boundless views of an
over-heated imagination. At first she
shrunk with pain and horror, from every
feeling which to her mind appeared less
rigid, less pure, than those to which
she had long been accustomed ; but
when her principles, or rather her preju-
dices, yielded to the power of love, she
broke from a restraint too severe, into a
liberty the most dangerous from its no-
velty, its wildness and its uncertainty.
The monastic severity which she had

J38 GLENARVON.

imposed upon herself, from exaggerated
sentiments of piety and devotion, gave
way with the rest of her former maxims
— She knew not where to pa^ise, or rest ;
her eyes were dazzled, her understanding
bewildered ; and she viewed the world,
and the new form which it wore before
her, with strange and unknown feelings,
which she could neither define, nor com-
mand.

Before this period, her eyes had never
even glanced upon the numerous pages
which have unfortunately been traced by
the hand of unrestrained enquiry, and
daring speculation ; even the more inno-
cent fictions of romance had been with-
held from her ; and her mother's precepts
had, in this respect, been attended to by
her with sacred care. Books of every
description, the works of Historians,
Philosophers, and Metaphysicians, were
now eagerly devoured by her ; horror and
astonishment at first retarded the course
of curiosity and interest : — and soon the

GLENARVON. 139

surprise of innocence was converted into
admiration of the wit and beauty with
which some of these works abounded.
Care is taken when the blind are cured,
that the strong light of day should not
fall too suddenly upon the eye; but of
what avail was caution to Cakntha —
ever in extremes, she threw off at once
the sb?.ckles, the superstition, the re-
strictions, which, perhaps, overstrained
notions of purity and piety had im-
posed.

Calantha*s lover had become her mas-
ter; and he could not tear hrmseff one
moment from his pupil. He laughed at
every artless or shrewd rtmiirk, and
pleased himself with contemplating the
first workings of a mind, not unapt in
learning, though till then exclusively
wrapt up in the mysteries of religion,
the feats of heroes, the poetry of classic
bards, and the history of nations the most
ancient and the most removed. — " Where
have you existed, my Calantha ?" he

140 GLENARVON.

continually said: — " who have been your
companions?" ''I had none," she re-
plied ; '' but wherever I heard of cruelty,
rice, or irreligion, I turned away."
" Ah, do so still, my best beloved," said
Lord Avondale, with a sigh. " Be ever
as chaste, as frank, as innocent, as now."
'* 1 cannot," said Calantha, confused
and grieved. " I thought it the greatest
of all crimes to love : — no cen mony of
marriage — no doctrines men have invent-
ed, can quiet my conscience : — 1 know
no longer what to believe, or what to
doubt: — hide me in your bosom: — let
us live far from a world which you say
is full of evil : — and never part from my
side ; for you are — Henry you are, all
that is left me now. I look no more for
the prQtection of Heaven, or the guidance
of parents; — you are my only hope: —
do you preserve and bless me ; for I have
left every thing for you."

Such is the transient nature of en-
thusiasm; such the instability of over

GLENARVON. 141

zeal ; and so short the adherence to
the firmest, and most austere deter-
minations, which are not founded in
right principle, and accompanied by
a tranquil and humble spirit. To a
mind so ardent, and so irregular as Ca-
lantha's, knowledge and information are
full of danger and hazard. It is impos-
sible to foresee the impressions which
may be made, or in any degree to regu-
late the course which may be taken by
such an imagination. Some mistaken
conclusion is eagerly seized upon, some
false interpretation is easily seized upon,
and tenaciously maintained, and reason
labours in vain to counteract and remedy
the mischief. The productions of such
a soil are all strange, new, uncertain ;
and the cultivator sees with astonish-
ment a plant arise, entirely different
from the usual result of the seed which
has been sown, mocking his toil, and
frustrating his expectations.

142 CLENARV01X

CHAPTER XVIIL

There is nothing so difficult to describe
as happiness. Whether some feeling of
envy enters into the mind upon hearing
of it, or whether it is so calm, so unas-
suming, so little ostentatious in itself,
that words give an imperfect idea of it,
who can say? It is easier to enjoy it
than to define it. It springs in the heart,
and shews itself on the countenance;
but it shuns all display; and is oftener
found at home, when home has not been
embittered by dissensions, suspicions,
and guilt, than any where else upon
earth. Yes, it is in home, and in those
who watch there for us. Miserable is
the being who turns elsewhere for conso-
lation ! Desolate is the heart which has
broken the ties that bownd it there.
Calantha was happy ; her home was

GLENARVON. 143

bliessed ; and in Lord Avondale's societv
every hour brought her joy. Perhaps
the feelings which at this time united
them were too violent — too tumultuous.
Few can bear to be thus loved — thus
indulged : very few minds are strong-
enough to resist it. Calantha was ut-
terly enervated by it ; and when the cares
of life first aroused Lord x\vondale, and
called him from her, she found herself
unfit for the new situation she was
immediatey required to fill. When
for a few hours he left her, she waited
with trembbng anxiety for his return ;
and though she murmured not at the
necessary change, her days were spent
in tears, and ner nights in restless agita-
tion He more than shared in her dis-
tress : he even encouraged the excess of
sensibility which gave rise to it ; for men,
whilst they love, think every new caprice
and weakness in the object of it but a new
charm ; and whilst Calantha could make
him grave or merry — or angry or pleased,

14-4 GLENARVON.

just as it suited her, he pardoned every
omission — he forgave every fault.

Used to be indulged and obeyed, she
was not surprised to find him a willing
slave; but she had no conception that
the chains he now permitted to be laid
upon him, were ever to be broken ; and
tears and smiles, she thought, must, at all
times, have the power over his heart which
they now possessed. She was not mis-
taken : — Lord Avondale was of too fine
a character to trifle with the aflPections
he had won ; and Calantha had too much
sense and spirit to wrong him. He
looked to his home therefore for comfort
and enjoyment. He folded to his bosom
the only being upon earth, for whom he
felt one sentiment of passion or of love.
Calantha had not a thought that he did
not know, and share : his heart was as
entirely open as her own.

Was it possible lo be more happy i It
was : and that blessing too, was granted.
Lady Avondale became a mother : — She

GLENAllVOX. 145

gave to Avondale, the dearest gift a wife
can offer — a boy, lovely in all the grace
of childhood— whose rosy smiles, and
whose infant caresses, seemed even more
than ever to unite them together. He
was dear to both ; but they were far
dearer to each other. At i\l Ian water,
in the fine evenings of summer, they
wandered out upon the mountains, and
saw not in the countenance of the vil-
l?igers half the tenderness and happiness
they felt themselves. They uttered, there-
fore, no exclamations upon the superior
joy of honest industry: — -a cottage of-
fered nothing to their view, which could
excite either envy or regret : they gave
to all, and were loved by ail; but in all
resj)ects they felt themselves as innocent,
anxl more happy than those who sur-
rounded them.

In truth, the greater refinement, the
g^^dter polish the mind and manner
receive, the more exquisite must be the
enjoyment of which the heart is capable.

VOL. 1, H

146 GLENARVON.

Few know how to love : — it is a word
which many misuse ; but they who have
felt it, know that there is nothing to
compare with it upon earth. It cannot
however exist in union with guilt. If
ever it does spring up in a perverted
heart, it constitutes the misery that heart
deserves: — it consumes and tortures till
it expires. Even, however, when lawful
and virtuous, it may be too violent: — it
may render those who are subject to it
negligent of other duties, and careless of
other affections : this in some measure
w^as the case of Lord and Lady Avondale.
From Allan water, Lord and Lady Avon-
dale proceeded to Monteith, an estate of
Lord Avondale's, where his aunt, Lady
Mowbrey, and his only sister, Lady Eli-
zabeth Mo wbrey resided . Sir Richard and
Lady Mowbrey had never had any ciiil-
dren, but Elizabeth and Lord Avondale
were as dear to them, and perhaps dearer,
than if they had been their own. The
society at Monteith was large. There
pleasure and gaiety and talent were

GLENARVON. H7

chiefly prized and sought after, while a
strong party spirit prevailed. Lady Mon-
teithj a woman of an acute and penetrat-
ing mind, had warmly espoused the cause
of the ministry of the day. Possessed of
every quality that could most delight in
society — brilliant, beautiful, and of a
truly masculine understanding, she was
accurate in judgment, and at a glance
could penetrate the secrets of others; yet
was she easily herself deceived. She had
a nobleness of mind, which the inter-
course with the world, and exposure to
every temptation had not been able to
destroy. Big'otted and prejudiced in
opinions which early habit had conse-
crated, she was sometimes too severe in
her censures of others ; but her heart,
too warm, too kind, repented even any mo-
mentary severity she might have shewn.
At Castle Delaval,the society was even
too refined ; and a slight tinge of affec-
tation might, by those who were inclined
to censure, be imputed to it. Though
H 2

148 GLENARVOX.

ease was not wanting, there was a polish
in manner, perhaps in thought, which
removed the general tone somewhat too
far from the simplicity of nature ; senti-
ment, and all the romance ofvirtue, was
encouraged.

At Monteith, on the contrary, this over
refinement was the constant topic of ri-
dicule. Every thought was there uttered,
and every feeling expressed: — there was
neither shyness, nor reserve, nor affecta-
tion. Talent opposed itself to talent
with all the force of argument. The
loud laugh that pointed out any new
folly, or hailed any new occasion of mirth,
was different from the subdued smile,
and gentle hint to which Calantha had
been accustomed. Opinions were there
liberally discussed ; characters stripped
of their pretences ; and satire mingled
with the good humour, and jovial mirth,
which on every side abounded.

Lady Avondaie heard and saw every
thing with surprise ; and ti)ough she
loved and admired the individuals, she

CLENARVON. 149

felt herself unfit to live among them.
There was a liberality of opinion and a
satiric turn which she could not at once
comprehend ; and she said to herself,
daily, as she considered those around her,
" They are different from me. 1 can
never assimilate myself to them. I was
every thing in my own family, and I am
nothing here.'' What talents she had
were of a sort they could not appreciate ;
and all her defects were those which they
most despised. The refinement, the
romance, the sentiment she had imbibed,
appeared in their eyes assumed and un-
natural ; her strict opinions, perfectly
ridiculous ; her enthusiasm, absolute in-
sanity ; and the violence of her temper,
if contradicted or opposed, the petiish-
ness of a spoiled and wayward child.
Yet too indulgent, too kind to reject her,
they loved her, they caressed her, they
bore with her petulance and mistakes.
It was, however, as a child they consi-
dered her : — they treated her as one not
arrived at maturity of judgment.

1;50 GLENARVON.

Her reason by degrees became con-
vinced by the arguments which she con-
tinually heard ; and all that was spoken
at random, she treasured up as truth :
even whilst vehemently contending and
disputing in defence of her favourite
tenets, she became of another opinion.
So dangerous is a little knowledge — so
unstable is violence. Her soul's immor-
tal hopes seemed to be shaken by the
unguarded jests of some who casually
visited at Monteith, or whom she met
with elsewhere : — she read till she con-
founded truth and falsehood, nor knew
any longer what to believe: she heard
folly censured, till she took it to be cri-
minal ; but crime she saw tolerated, if
well concealed. The names she had set
n her very heart as pure and spotless,
she heard traduced and ridiculed: indig-
nantly she defended them with all the
warmth of ardent youth : — they were
proved guilty ; she wept in agony, she
loved them not less, but she thought

GLENARVON. 151

less favourably of those who had unde«
ceived her.

The change in Calantha^s mind was
constant, was daily ; it never ceased, it
never paused; and none marked its pro-
gress, or checked her career. In eman-
cipating herself from much that was no
doubt useless, she stripped herself by
degrees of all, till she neither feared, nor
cared, nor knew any longer what was,
from what was not.

Nothing gives greater umbrage than a
misconception and mistaken application
of tenets and opinions which were never
meant to be thus understood and acted
upon. Lady Mowbrey, a strict adherent
to all customs and etiquettes, saw with
astonishment in Calantha a total disre-
gard of them ; and her high temper
could ill brook such defect. Accus-
tomed to the gentleness of Elizabeth,
she saw with indignation the liberty her
niece had assumed. It was not for her
to check her ; but rigidity, vehemence in

152 GLENARVON.

dispute, and harsh truths, at times too
bitterly expressed on both sides, gave an
appearance of disunion between them,
which happily was very far from being
real, as Calantha loved and admired
Lady Mowbrey with the warmest affec-
tion.

Lord Avondale, in the mean time,
solely devoted to his wife, blinded him-
self to her danger. He saw not the
change a few months had made, or he
imputed it alone to her enthusiasm for
himself. He thought others harsh to
what he regarded as the mere though t-
lassness of youth; and, surrendering him-
self wholly to her guidance, he chided,
caressed, and laughed, with her in turn.
*^ I see how it is, Henry," said Sir
Richard, before he left Ireland, " you
are a lost man ; I shall leave you another
year to amuse yourself; and I fancy by
that time all this nonsense will be over.
I love you the better for it, however, my
dear boy; a soldier never looks so well,

GLENARVOX. } 53

to my mind, as when kneeling to a pretty
woman, provided he does his duty
abroad as well as at home, and that
praise every one must give you.

H 6

1^4 GLENARVON

CHAPTER XIX

The threatening storm of rebellion now
darkened around. Acts of daily rapine
and outrage alarmed the inhabitants of
Ireland, both in the capital and in the
country : all the military posts were
reinforced ; Lord Avondale's regiment,
then at Leitrim, was ordered out on
actual service ; and the business of his
profession employed every moment of his
time. The vigorous measures pursued,
soon produced a favorable change; tran-
quillity was apparently restored; and the
face of things resumed its former appear-
ance; but the minds which had been
aroused to action were not as easily qui-
eted, and the charms of an active life
were not as readily laid aside. Lord
Avondale was still much abroad; much
occupied ; and the time hanging heavy

GLENARVON. 165

upon Calantha's hands, she was not
sorry to hear that they were going to
pass the ensuing winter in London.

In the autumn, previous to their depar-
ture for England, they passed a few weeks
at Castle Delavai, chiefly for the purpose
of meeting Lady Margaret Buchanan, who
had, till then, studiously avoided every
occasion of meeting Lady Avondale.
Buchanan had neither seen her nor sent
her one soothing message since her mar-
riage, so angry he affected to be, at what,
in reality, gave him the sincerest delight.

Count Gondimar had returned from
Italy, and was now at the castle. He
had brought letters from A^iviani to Lady
Margaret, who said at once when she had
read them : " You wish to deceive me.
These letters are dated from Naples, but
our young friend is here — here even in
Ireland.'' '^ And his vengeance," said
Gondimar, laughing. Lady Margaret
affected, also, to smile: " Oh, his ven-
geance!" she said, " is yet to come: —

156 r.LENARVON.

save me from his love now ; and I will
defend myself from the rest.*'

Lord and Lady Dartford were, like-
wise, at the castle. He appeared cold
and careless. In his pretty inoffensive
wife, he found not those attractions,
those splendid talents which had en-
thralled him for so long a period with
Lady Margaret. He still pined for the
tyranny of caprice, provided the load of re-
sponsibility and exertion were removed :
and the price of his slavery were that ex-
emption from the petty cares of life, for
which he felt an insurmountable disgust.
From indolence, it seemed he had fallen
again into the snare which was spread
for his ruin ; and having, a second time,
submitted to the chain, he had lost all
desire of ever again attempting to shake
it off. Lady Dartford, too innocent to see
her danger, lamented the coldness of her
husband, and loved him with even fond-
er attachment, for the doubt she enter-
tained of his affection. She was spoken

GLENARVON. 157

of by all with pity and praise: her con-
duct was considered as exemplary, when
in fact it was purely the effect of nature ;
for every hope of her heart was centered
in one object, and the fervent constancy
of her affection arose, perhaps, in some
measure from the uncertainty of its being
returned. Lady Margaret continued to
see the young Count Yiviani in secret : —
he had now been in Ireland for some
months :— ,his manner to Lady Margaret
was, however, totally changed : — he
had accosted her upon his arrival, with
the most distant civility, the most studied
coldness : — he affected ever that marked
indifference which proved him but still
too much in her power ; and, while his
heart burned with the scorching flames
of jealousy, he waited for some oppor-
tunity of vengeance, which might, by
its magnitude, effectually satisfy his rage.
Lord Dartford saw him once as he was
retiring in haste from Lady Margaret's
apartment ; and he enquired of her ea-

15S GLENARVON.

gerly who he was. — '' A young musi-
cian, a friend of Gondimar's, an Italian/'
said Lady Margaret. " He has not an
Italian countenance/' said Lord Dart-
ford, thoughtfully. '' I wish I had not
seen him : — it is a face which makes a
deep and even an unpleasant impression.
You call him Viviani, do you? — whilst
I live, I never shall forget Viviani 1"

Cards, billiards and music, were the
usual nightly occupations. Sir Everard
St. Clare and the Count Gondimar en-
tered into the most tedious and vehe-
ment political disputes, an evil which
Calantha endeavoured to avert as often
as she could, by inducing the latter to
sing, which he did in an agreeable,
though not in an unaffected manner.
At these times, Mrs. Seymour, with So-
phia and Frances, heeding neither the
noise nor the gaiety, eternally embroi-
dered fancy muslins, or, with persevering
industry, painted upon velvet. Calan-
tha mocked at these innocent recreations.

GLENARVOX. 1^9

" Unlike music, drawing and reading,
which fill the niind/' she said ; — '' un-
like even to dancing which, though ac-
counted an absurd mode of passing away
time, is active, and appears natural to the
human form and constitution."

" Tell me Avondale," Calantha would
say, " can any thing be more tedious
than that incessant irritation of the fin-
gers—that plebeian, thrifty and useless
mode of increasing in women a love of
dress— a selfish desire of adorning their
own persons ?— I ever loathed it. — There
is a sort of self-satisfaction about these
ingenious working ladies, which is per-
fectly disgusting. It gratifies all the
little errors of a narrow mind, under the
appearance of a notable and domestic
turn. At times, when every feeling of
the heart should have been called forth,
I have seen Sophia examining the pat-
terns of a new gown, and curiously
noting every fold of a stranger's dress.
Because a woman who, like a mechanic,

160 GLENARVON.

has turned her understanding, and hopes,
and energies, into this course, remains
uninjured by the storms around her, is
she to be admired ? — must she be ex-
tolled?" "It is not their occupation,
but their character, you censure : — I fear,
Calantha, it is their very virtue you de-
spise.'* " Oh no '/' she replied indig-
nantly : " when real virtue, struggling
with temptations of which these sen^-
less, passionless creatures have no con-
ception, clinging for support to Heaven,
yet preserves itself uncorrupted amidst
the vicious and the base, it deserves a
crown of glory, and the praise and admi-
ration of every heart. Not so these
spiritless immaculate prejudiced stick-
lers for propriety. I do not love Sophia :
no, tholigh she ever affords me a cold
extenuation for my faults — though
through life she considers me as a sort of
friend whom fate has imposed upon her
through the ties of consanguinity. I did
not — could not — cannot love her; but

GLENARYOX. l6l

there are some, far better than herself,
noble ardent characters, unsullied by a
taint of evil ; and I think, x\vondide,
without flattery, you are in the list
whom I would die to save ; whom 1
would bear every torture and ignominy,
to support and render happy." — " Try
then my Calantha, " said Lord Avon-
dale, '' to render them so ; fbr, believe
me, there is no agony so great as to re-
member that we have caused one mo-
ment's pang to such as have been kind
and good to us/' " You are right,"
said Calantha, looking upon him with
affection.

Oh ! if there be a pang of heart too
terrible to endure and to imagine, it
would be the consideration that we have
returned unexampled kindness by in-
gratitude, and betrayed the generous
noble confidence that trusted every thing
to our honour and our love. Calantha
had not, however, this heavy charge to
answer for at the time in which she

162 GLENARVO^.

spoke, and her thoughts were gay, and
all those around seemed to share in the
happiness she ^elt.

Lord Avondale one day reproved Ca-
lantha for her excessive love of music. —
*' You have censured work/' he said,
" and imputed to it every evil, the cold
and the passionless can fall into:— I now
retort your satire upon music/' Some
may smile at this ; but had not Lord
Avondale*s observation more weight than
at first it may appear. Lady Avondale
often rode to Glenaa to hear Miss St.
Clare sing. Gondimar sung not like
her ; and his love-breathing ditties went
not to the heart, like the hymns of the
lovely recluse. But for the deep flushes
which now and then overspread St.
Clara's cheeks, and the fire which at
times animated her bright dark eye, some
might have fancied her a being of a purer
nature than our own — one incapable of
feeling any of the fierce passions that
disturb mankind ; but her voi^e was

GLENARVOK. l63

such as to shake every fibre of the heart,
and might soon have betrayed to an ex-
perienced observer the impassioned vio-
lence of her real character.

Sir Everard, who had one day accom-
panied Calantha to the convent, asked
his niece in a half serious, half jesting
manner, concerning her gift of prophecy.
** Have not all this praying and fasting,
cured you of it, my little Sybil ?" he
said. — '' No,*' replied the girl ; *' but
that which you are so proud of, makeg
me sad: — it is this alone which keeps
me from the sports which delight my
companions : — it is this which makes me
weep when the sun shines bright in the
•clear heavens, and the bosom of the sea
is calm.**—'' Will you shew us a speci-
men of your art ?" said Sir Everard,
eagerly. — Miss St. Clare coloured, and
smiling archly at him, *' The inspiration
is not on me now uncle,** she said ;
'^ when it is, I will send and let you

164 GLENARYCN.

know." — Calantha embraced her, and
returned from her visit more and more
enchanted with her singular acquaint-
aBce.

GLENARVON. 1(3^

CHAPTER XX.

As soon as Lord and Lady Avondale liad
quitted Castle Delaval, they returned to
Allanvvater, previous to their departure
for England. Buchanan, as if to mark
his still continued resentment against
Calantha arrived at Castle Delaval, ac-
companied by some of his London ac-
quaintance^ almost as soon as she had
quitted it. He soon distinguished him-
self in that circle by his bold liljertine
manners, his daring opinions, and his
overbearing temper. He declared him-
self at utter enmity with all refinement,
and professed his distaste for what is
termed good society. It was not long,
however, before Lady Margaret observed
a strange and sudden alteration in her
son's manners and deportment : — he en-
tered into every amusemeiit proposed ;

166 GLENARVON.

he became more than u&iially conde-
scending; and Alice Mac Allain, it was
supposed, was the sole cause of his re-
form.

Alice was credulous; and when she
was first told that she was fair as the
opening rose, and soft and balmy as the
summer breeze, she listened with delight
to the flattering strain, and looked in the
mirror to see if all she heard were true.
She beheld there a face, lovely as youth
and glowing health could paint it, dimp-
ling with ever-varying smiles, while hair,
like threads of gold, curled in untaught
ringlets over eyes of the lightest blue ;
and when she heard that she was loved,
she could not bring herself to mistrust
those vows which her own bosom was
but too well prepared to receive. She
had, perhaps, been won by the first who
had attempted to gain her affections ;
but she fell into hands where falsehood
had twined itself around the very heart's
core: — she learned to love in no common

GLENARVON. 167

school, and one by one every principle
and every thought was perverted ; but it
was not Buchanan who had to answer
for her fall ! She sunk into infamy, it is
true, and ruin irreparable; but she passed
through all the glowing course of passion
and romance ; nor awoke, till too late,
from the dream which had deluded her.

Her old father, Gerald Mac AUain,
had, with the Duke*s permission, pro-
mised her hand in marriage to a young
man in the neighbourhood, much es-
teemed for his good character. Linden
had long considered himself as an ap-
proved suitor. When, therefore, he was
first informed of the change which had
occurred in her sentiments, and, more
than all, when he was told with every
aggravation of her misconduct and du-
plicity, he listened to the charge with in-
credulity, until the report of it was con-
firmed from her own lips, by an avowal,
that she thought herself no longer worthy
of accepting his generous offer — that to

\6S GLENARVON.

be plain, she loved another, and wished
never more to see iiiin, or to hear the re-
proaches which she acknowledged were
her due. "I will ofTcryou no reproaches,'*
said Linden, in the only interview he
had with her; ** but remember, Miss
Mac Aliain, when I am far away, that
if ever those, who, under the name of
friends, have beguiled and misled you,
should prove false and fail you — remem-
ber, that, whilst Linden lives, there is
one left who will gladly lay down his life
to defend and preserve you ; and who,
being forced to quit you, never will re-
proach you : no, Alice — never !

" Gerald,*' said Lady Margaret, on the
morning when Alice was sent in disgrace
from the castle, " I will have no private
communication between yourself and
your daughter. She will be placed at
present in a respectfible family; and her
future conduct will decide in what man-
ner she will be disposed of hereafter.'*
The old man bent to the ground in silent

GLENARVON. 169

grief; for the sins of children rise up in
judgment against their parents. " Oh
let me not be sent from hence in dis-
grace/* said the weeping girl ; " drive
me not to the commission of crime. I
am yet innocent. Pardon a first offence.''
— '' Talk not of innocence/* said Lady
Margaret, sternly : " those guilty looks
betray you. Your nocturnal rambles,
your daily visits to the western cliff, your
altered manner — all have been observed
by me and Buchanan'* — "Oh, say not, at
least, that he accuses me. Whatever my
crime, I am guiltless, at least, towards
him.*' — '' Guiltless or not, you must quit
our family immediately; and to-morrow,
at an early hour, see that you are* pre-
pared.'*

It was to Sir Everard's house that Alice
was conveyed. There w^ere many rea-
sons which rendered this abode more
convenient to Lady Margaret than any
other. The Doctor was timid and sub-
servient, and Count Gondimar was al-

VOL. I. I

170 GLENARVON.

ready a great favourite of the youngest
daughter's, so that the whole family were,
in some measure, in Lady Margaret's
power. Her ladyship accordingly in-
sisted upon conveying Alice, herself, to
Lady St. Clare's house ; and having safely
lodged her in her new apartment, re-
turned to the castle, in haste, and appeared
at dinner, pleased with her morning's
adventure; — her beauty more radiant from
success.

It is said that nothing gives a brighter
glow to the complexion, or makes the
eyes of a beautiful woman sparkle so in-
tensely, as triumph over another. Is this,
however, the case with respect to women
alone? Buchanan's florid cheek was
dimpled with smiles ; no sleepless night
had dimmed the lustre of his eye; he
talked incessantly, and with unusual af-
fability addressed himself to all, except
to his mother ; while a look of gratified
vanity was observable whenever the ab-
sence of Alice was alluded to. He had

GLENARVON. 171

been pleased with being the cause of ruin
to any wonman ; but his next dearest gra-
tification was the having it supposed that
he was so. He was much attacked upon
this occasion, and much laughing and
whispering was heard. The sufferings
of love are esteemed lightly till they are
felt : and there were, on this occasion,
few at the Duke's table, if any, who had
ever really known them.

I 2

172 GLENARTON.

CHAPTER XXr.

Time, which passes swiftly and thought-
lessly for the rich and the gay, treads
ever with leaden foot, for those who are
miserable and deserted. Bright pro-
spects carry the thoughts onward ; but
for the mourning heart, it is the direct
reverse : it lives on the memory of the
past: traces ever the same dull round;
and loses itself in vain regret and useless
retrospections. No joyous morn now
rose to break the slumbers of the once
innocent and happy Alice: peace of
mind vi^as gone, like the lover who had
first won her affections, only it seemed
to abandon her to shame and remorse.

At Sir Everard's, Alice was treated
with impertinent curiosity, tedious ad-
vice, and unwise severity. *' I hate peo-
ple in the clouds," cried the Doctor, as

GLENARVON. 173

he led her to her new apartment. " Who
would walk in a stubble field with their
eyes gazing upon the stars ? You would,
perhaps ; and then, let me say, nobody
would pity you, Miss, if you tumbled
into the mire." — '* But kind people would
help me up again, and the unkind alone
would mock at me, and pass on.*' —
" There are so many misfortunes in this
life, Miss Mac Allain, which come unex-
pectedly upon us, that, for my life, I
have not a tear to spare for those who
bring them on themselves.*' — " Yet,
perhaps, Sir, they are, of all others, the
most unfortunate." — " Miss Alice, mark
me, 1 cannot enter into arguments, or
rather, shall not, for we do not always
think proper to do what we can. Con-
scious rectitude is certainly a valuable
feeling, and I am anxious to preserve it
now : therefore, as I have taken charge
of you, Miss, uhirh is not what I am
particularly fond of doing, I must exe-
cute what I think my duty. Please, then.

174 GLENARVON.

to give over weeping, as it is a thing in
a w^oman which never excites commise-
ration in me. Women and children cry
out of spite: I have noticed them by the
hour : therefore, dry your eyes ; think
less of love, more of your duty ; and re-
collect, that people who step out of their
sphere are apt to tumble downwards till
the end of their days, as nothing is so
disagreeable as presumption in a woman.
I hate presumption, do I not L»ady St.
Clare ? So no more heroics, young Miss,**
continued he, smiling triumphantly, and
shaking his head : " no more heroics, if
you value my opinion. I hate romance
and fooleries in women , do I not, Lady
St. Clare ? and heaven be praised, since
the absence of my poor mad brother, we
have not a grain of it in oqr house. We
are all downright people ; not afraid of
being called vulgar, because we are of
the old school : and when you have lived
a little time with us, Miss, we shall, I
hope, teach you a little sound common

GLENARVOX. 175

sense — a very valuable commodity let me
tell you, though your fine people hold it
in disrepute."

In this manner Miss Mac Allain's
mornings were spent, and her evenings
even more tediously; for the Doctor,
alarmed at the republican principles
vrhich he observed fast spreading, was
constantly employed in writing pam-
phlets in favour of government, which he
read aloud to his family, when not at the
castle, before he committed them to the
Dublin press. Two weeks were thus
passed by Alice with resignation; a third,
it seems, was beyond her endurance ; for
one morning Sir Everard's daughters en-
tering in haste, informed their father and
mother that she was gone. " Gone T*
cried Lady St. Clare — " the thing is im-
possible.'*— " Gone !" cried Sir Everard
— " and where ? apd how ?^' — The maids
were called, and one Charley Wright,
who served for footman, coachman, and
every thing else upon occasion, was dis-

17^ GLENARVON.

patched to seek her, while the doctor,
without waiting to hear his wife's sur-
mises or his daughter's lamentations,
seized his hat and slick and walked in
haste to the castle.

His body erect, his cane still under his
arm, the brogue stronger than ever, from
inward agitation, he immediately ad-
dressed himself to the Duke and Lady
Margaret, and soon converted their smiles
into fear rmd anger, by informing them
that Alice Mac Allain had eloped.

Orders were given, that every enquiry
should be made for the fugitive ; and the
company at the castle being informed
one by one of the event, lost themselves
in conjectures upon it. Lady Margaret
had no doubt herself, that her son was
deeply implicated in the affair, and, in
consequence, every search was set on
foot, but, as it proved in the event, with-
out the least success. Mr. Buchanan
had left Castle Delaval the week before,
which confirmed the suspicions already
entertained on his account.

GLENARVON. 17^7

Lady Avondale was in London when
she was informed of this event. Her
grief for Alice's fate was very sincere,
and her anxiety for her even greater ;
but Lord Avondale participated in her
sorrow — he endeavoured to sooth her
agitation ; and how could he flnl in his
attennpt : even n)isery is lightened, if it
is shared ; and one look, one word, from
a heart which seems to comprehend our
suffering, alleviates the bitterness.

Though Lady Avondale had not seen
Buchanan since her marriage, and had
heard that he was offended with her, she
wrote to him immediately upon hearing
of Alice's fate, and urged him by every
tie she thought most sacred and dear — by
every impression most likely to awaken
his compassion, to restore the unfortw-
nate girl to her suffering father, or at
least to confide her to her care, that she
might if possible protect and save her
from farther misfortune. To her ex-
treme astonishment, she received an an-
I 5

178 GLENARVON.

swer to this letter, with a positive assur-
ance from him, that he had no concern
whatever in Miss Mac Allain's departure ;
that he was as ignorant as herself whither
she could be gone ; and that it might be
recollected he had left Castle Delaval
some days previous to that event.

Lady Dartford, who had returned to
London, and sometimes corresponded
with Sophia, now corroborated Bucha-
nan's statement, and assuned her that she
had no reason to believe Buchanan con-
cerned in this dark affair, as she had seen
him several times and he utterly denied it.
Lady Dartford was, however, too inno-
cent and inexperienced to know how men
of the world can deceive ; she was even
ignorant of her husband's conduct ; and
though she liked not Lady Margaret, she
doubted not that she was her friend : —
who indeed doubts till they learn by bit-
ter experience the weakness of confiding !

GLENARVON. 179

CHAPTER XXII.

The whole party at Castle Delaval now
proceeded to London for the winter,
where Lord and Lady Avondale were al-
ready established in the Duke's mansioa
in Square.

A slight cold and fever, added to the
anxiety and grief Lady Avondale had
felt for her unhappy friend, had confined
her entirely to her own apartment ; and
since her arrival in town, Count Gondi-
mar was alnaost the only person who
had been hitherto admitted to her pre-
sence.

He and Yiviani now lodged in the
same house; but the latter still concealed
himself, and never was admitted to Lady
Margaret's presence, except secretly, and
with caution. He often enquired after
Calantha ; and one evening the following

180 GLENARVON.

conversation took place respecting her
between himself and the Count :

'* You ren^ember her/' said Gondi-
mar, " a wild and wayward girl. Is
she less, do you suppose, an object of
attraction now in the more endearing
character of mother and of wife ? So
gentle, so young she seems, so pure, and
yet so passionately attached to her hus-
band and infant boy, that I think even
you, Viviani, would feel convinced of
her integrity. She seems, indeed, one
born alone to love, and to be loved, if
love itselfmight exist in a creature whom
purity and every modest feeling seem
continually to surround/*

Vivjani smiled in scorn. " Goridimar,
this Calantha, this fair and spotless flower
is a woman, and, as such, she must be
frail. Besides, I know that she is so in
a thousand instances, though as yet too
innocent to see her danger or to mistrust
our sex. You have often described to me
her excessive fondness for music. What

GLENARVON. 181

think you of it ? She does not hear it as
the Miss Seymours hear it, you tell me.
She does not admire it, as one of the
lovers of harmony might. Oh no ; she
feels it in her very soul — it awakens
every sensibility — it plays upon the
chords of her overheated imagination —
it fills her eyes with tears, and strengthens
and excites the passions which it appears
to soothe and to compose. There is no-
thing which the power of music cannot
effect, when it is thus heard. Your
Calantha feels it to a dangerous excess.
Let me see her, and I will sing to her till
the chaste veil of every modest feeling is
thrown aside. Oh, I would trust every
thing to the power of melody ! Calantha
is fond of dancing, too, I hear ; and
dancing is the order of the night. This
is well ; and once, though she saw me
not, amidst the crowd, I marked her, as
she lightly bounded the gayest in the
circle, from the mere excess of the ani-
mal spirits of youth. Now Miss Sey-

189 GLENARVON.

mour dances ; but it is with modest dig-
nity : her sister Frances dances also, and
it is with much skill and grace, her side-
long glance searching for admiration as
she passes by; but Calantha sees not,
thinks not, when she dances : her heart
beats with joyous pleasure — her counte-
nance irradiates — and almost wild with
delight, she forgets every thing but the
moment she enjoys. Let Viviani but for
one night be her partner, and you shall
see bow pure is this Calantha. She
boasts, too, of the most unclouded hap-
piness, you tell me, and of the most per-
fect state of security and bliss ; but they
who soar above others, on the wings of
romance, will fall. Oh, surely they will
fall! Let her continue in her present
illusion only a few short years — let her
but take the common chances of the life
she will be called upon to lead ; and you,
or I, or any mnn, may possess her affec-
tions, nor boast greatly of the conquest.
In one word, she is now in London..

GLEN A R VON. 183

Give but Viviani one opportunity of
beholding her: it is all I ask/^

Gondimar listened to bis young friend
with regret. " There are women enough,
Viviani/' he said mournfully ; ** spare
this one. I have an interest in her safety."
''I shall not seek her/' replied Viviani
proudly: "please your own fancy: I
care not for these triflers — not I."

184 GLENARVON,

CHAPTER XXIII.

To that heartless mass of affectation, to
that compound of every new and every
old absurdity, to that subservient, spirit-
less, world of fashion, Lady Avondal^
was now for the first time introduced.
It burst at once upon her delighted view,
like a new paradise of unenjoyed sweets
— like a fairy kingdom peopled with
ideal inhabitants. Whilst she resided
at Monteith and Castle Delaval, she had
felt an eager desire to improve her mind;
study of every sort was her delight, for
he who instructed her was her lover —
her husband : one smile from him could
awaken every energy ; one frown repress
every feeling '<bf gaiety ; for every word he
uttered amused and pleased : she learned
with more aptness than a school-boy ;
and he who wondered at the quickness

GLENARVON* 185

of his pupil, forgot to ascribe her exer-
tions and success to the power which
alone occasioned them — a power which
conquers every difficulty and endures
every trial.

Arrived in that gay city, that fair mart
where pleasure and amusement gather
around their votaries, where incessant
hurry after novelty employs every energy,
and desire of gaiety fills every hour, every
feeling, and every thought, Calantha
hailed every new acquaintance, every
new amusement, and her mind, unpo-
lished and ignorant, opened with admi-
ration and wonder upon so new, so diver-
sified a scene. To the language of praise
and affection she had been used ; to un-
limited indulgence and liberty, she was
accustomed ; but the soft breathing voice
of flattery sounded to her ear far sweeter
than any other more familiar strain;
though often, in the midst of ils blan-
dishments, she turned away to seek for
Lord Avondale's approbation.

186 GLENARVON.

Calantha was happy before; but now it
was like a dream of enchantment ; and
her only regret was that her husband
seemed not to partake as much as she
could have wished in her delight. Yet
he knew the innocence of her heart, the
austerity with which she shrunk from the
bare thought of evil, and he had trusted
her even in the lion's den, so certain was
he of her virtue and attachment. Indeed,
Lord Avondale, though neither puffed
with vanity, nor overbearing with pride,
could not but be conscious, as he looked
around, that both in beauty of person,
in nobility of parentage, and more than
these, in the impassioned feelings of an
uncorrupted heart, and the rich gifts of
a mind enlightened by wisdom and study,
none were his superiors, and very few
his equals ; and if his Calantha could
have preferred the effeminate and frivo-
lous beings who surrounded her, to his
sincere and strong attachment, would
she be worthy, in such case, of a single

GLENARVON. 187

sigh of regret, or the smallest struggle to
retain her! — No: — he was convinced
that she would not ; and, as in word
and deed he was faithful to her, he fear-
ed not to let her take the course which
others trod, or enjoy the smiles of for-
tune, while youth and happiness were in
her possession.

The steed that never has felt the curb,
as it flies lightly and wildly, proud of its
liberty among its native hills and valleys,
may toss its head and plunge as it snuffs
the air and rejoices in its existence, while
the tame and goaded hack trots along
the beaten road, starting from the lash
under which it trembles, and stumbling
and falling, if not constantly upheld. —
Now see the goal before her. Calantha
starts for the race. Nor curb, nor rein,
have ever fettered the pupil of nature —
the proud, the daring votress of liberty
and love. What though she quit the
common path, if honour and praise ac-
company her steps, and crown her with

188 GLENARVOX.

success, shall he who owns her despise
her? or must he, can he, mistrust her?
He did not; and the high spirits of un-
curbed youth were in future her only
guide — the gayest therefore, where all
were gay — the kindest, for excess of
happiness renders every heart kind. In
a few months after Lady Avondale's ar-
rival in London, she was surrounded, as
it appeared, by friends who would have
sacrificed their lives and fortunes to give
her pleasure. Friends ! — it was a name
she was in the habit of giving to the first
who happened to please her fancy. This
even was not required : the frowns of
the world were sufficient to endear the
objects of its censure to her affection ;
and th-y who had not a friend, and de-
served not to have one, were sure, with-
out f)thfcfr reco iimendation, to find one in
Calantiia. All looked fresh, beautiful
and new to her eyes ; every person she
met app ared kind, honourable, and sin-
cere ; and every party brilliant ; for her

CLENARVON. 189

heart, blest in itself, reflected its own
sunshine around.

Mrs. Seymour, after her arrival in
town, was pleased to see Calantha so
happy. No gloomy fear obtruded itself;
she saw all things with the unclouded
eye of virtue; yet when she considered
how many faults, how many imprudences,
her thoughtless spirits might lead her to
commit, she trembled for her ; and once,
when Calantha boasted of the extacy she
enjoyed — " long may that innocent heart
feel thus,*' she said, " my only, my be-
loved niece ; but whilst the little bark is
decked with flow^ers, and sails gaily in a
tranquil sea, steer it steadily, remember
ing that rough gales may come, and we
should ever be prepared.'' She spoke
with an air of melancholy : she had, per-
haps, herself, suffered from the goodnes-s
and openness of her heart ; but whatever
the faults and sorrows into which she had
fallen, no purer mind ever existed than
he4''s — no heart ever felt more strongly.

190 GLENARVON.

The affectation of generosity is com-
mon ; the reality is so rare, that its con-
stant and silent course passes along un-
perceived, whilst prodigality and osten-
tation bear away the praise of mankind.
Calantha was esteemed generous; yet
indifference for what others valued, and
thoughtless profusion were the only
qualities she possessed. It is true that
the sufferings of others melted a young
and ardent heart into the performance of
many actions which would never have
occurred to those of a colder and more
prudent nature. But was there any self-
denial practised ; and was not she who
bestowed possessed of every luxury and
comfort her varying and fanciful caprices
could desire ! Never did she resist the
smallest impulse or temptation. If to
give had been a crime, she had commit-
ted it ; for it gave her pain to refuse, and
she knew not how to deprive herself of
any gratification. She lavished, there-
fore, all she had, regardless of every con-

GLENARYON. 191

sequence; but, happily for her, she was
placed in a situation which prevented
her from suffering as severely for her
faults as probably she deserved.

Two friends now appeared to bless her
further, as she thought, by their affection
and confidence — Lady Mandeville and
Lady Augusta Selwyn. The former she
loved ; the latter she admired. Lord
Avondale observed her intimacy with
Lady Mandeville With regret ; and once,
though with much gentleness, reproved
her for it. '* Henry," she replied, " say
not one wordagainst my beautiful, though
perhaps unfortunate friend : spare Lady
Mandeville ; and I will give you up Lady
Augusta Selwyn ; but remember the
former is unprotected and unhappy."

Mrs. Seymour was present when Lord
Avondale had thus ventured to hint his
disapprobation of Calantha's new ac-
quaintance.— " Say at once, that Calan-
tha shall not see any more of one whom
you disapprove : — her own character is

192 CLEXARVOK.

not established. Grace and manner are
prepossessing qualities; but it is decorum
and a rational adherence to propriety
which alone can secure esteem. Tell
me not of misfortunes/* continued Mrs.
Seymour, with increasing zeal in the
good cause, and turning from Lord Avon-
dale to Calantha, " a woman who
breaks through the lesser rules which
custom and public opinion have esta-
blished, deserves to lose all claim to re-
spect; and they who shrink not at your
age from evea the appearance of guilt,
because they dread being called severe
and prudish, too generally follow the
steps of the victims which their false
sentiments of pity have induced them to
support. Lord Avondale,*' continued
she, with more of warmth than it was
her custom to shew — " you will lament,
when it is too late, the ruin of this child.
Those who now smile at Calantha's fol-
lies will soon be the first to frown upon
her faults. She is on the road to perdi-

GLENAIIYON. 193

tioii ; and now is the moment, the only
moment perhaps, in which to check her
course. You advise: — I command. My
girls at least shall not associate with
Lady Mandeville, vvhom no one visits.
Lady Avondale of course is her own
mistress.'*

Piqued at Mrs. Seymour's manner,
Calantha appealed to her husband : *' and
shall I give up my friend, because she
has none but m.e to defend her? Shall
my friendship — " Alas, Calantha," said
Lord Avondale, " you treat the noblest
sentiment of the heart as a toy, which is
to be purchased to-day, and thrown aside
to-morrow. Believe me, friendship is
not to be acquired by a few morning
visits; nor is it to be found, though I fear
it is too often lost, in the crowd of fa-
shion." He spoke this mournfully. The
ready tears trembled in Lady Avondale's
eyes. — " I will see no more of her, if it
gives you pain. I will never visit her

VOL. I. K

194 GLENARVON.

again." — Lord Avondale could not bear
to grieve her.

A servant entered with a note, whilst
they were yet together: — a crimson blush
suffused Calantha's cheeks. " I see,"
said Lord Avondale smiling, as if fearful
of losing her confidence, " it is from your
new friend." It was so : — she had sent
her carriage, with a request that Lady
Avondale would immediately call upon
her.' — She hesitated ; looked eagerly for a
permission, which was too soon granted;
and without making any excuse, for she
had not learned the art, she hastened
from the lowering eyes of the deeply of-
fended Mrs. Seymour,

GLENARVOK. 1^^

CHAPTER XXIV,

Long as she had now been known to
Lady Mandeviile, she had only once be-
fore seen her at her own house. She now
found her reclining upon a sofa in an
apartment more prettily than magnifi-
cently ornamented : — -a shawl was thrown
gracefully over her ; and her iiair, in
dark auburn ringlets, half concealed her
languishing blue eyes. Lady Mandeviile
was at this time no longer in the very
prime of youth. Her air and manner
had not that high polish, which at first
sight seduces and wins. On the contrary,
it rather was the reverse, and a certain
pedantry took off much from the charm
of her conversation. Yet something
there was about her, which attracted.
She seemed sincere too, and had less of
that studied self-satisfied air, than most
k2

196 GLENARVON.

women, who affect to be well informed.
*' I am glad you are come, my beloved
friend," she said, extending her hand to
Calantha when she entered. '' I have
just been translating an Ode of Pindar:
his poetry is sublime : it nerves the soul
and raises it above vulgar cares ; — but
you do not understand Greek, do you ?
Indeed to you it would be a superfluous
acquisition, married as you are, and to
such a man.'* — Lady Avondale, rather
puzzled as to the connection between
domestic happiness, and the Greek lan-
guage, listened for further explanation ;
— but with a deep sigh, her lovely ac-
quaintance talked of her fate, and re-
ferred to scenes and times long passed,
and utterly unknown to her. She talked
much too of injured innocence, of the
malignity of the world, of contempt
for her own sex, and of the superiority of
men.

Children as fair, and more innocent
than their mother, entered whilst she

GLENARVON. 197

was yet venting her complaints. A
husband she had not ; — but lovers.
What man was there who could see her,
and not, at all events wish himself of the
number! Yet she assured Lady Avon-
dale, who believed her, that she despised
them all ; that moreover she was mise-
rable, but not vicious ; that her very
openness and frankness ought to prove
that there was nothing to conceal. The
thought of guilt entered not at that time
into Calantha's heart ; and when indeed
a women affirmed that she was innocent,
it excited in her no other surprise, than
that she should, for one moment, sup-
pose her so barbarous, and so malevolent
as to think her otherwise. Indeed there
seemed to her hs great a gulph between
those she loved, and vice, as that which
separates the two extremes of wickedness
and virtue ; nor had she yet learned to
comprehend the language of hypocrisy
and deceit.

Though the presence of the childrerjt

198 GLENARVON.

had not made any difference, the en trance
of three gentlemen, whom Lady Man-
deville introduced to Lady Avondale, as
her lovers, gave a new turn to the con-
versation ; and here it should be ex-
plained, that the term lover, when Lady
Mandeviile used it, was intended to
convey no other idea than that of an
humble attendant — a bearer of shawls,
a writer of sonnets, and a caller of car-
riages. " With Lord Dallas you are
already acquainted," she said, sighing
gently. " I wish now to introduce Mr.
Clarendon to you, a poet : and Mr. Fre-
more, what are you ? speak for yourself;
for I hardly know in what manner to
describe you." " I am anything, and
everything that Lady Mandeviile plea-
ses," said Mr. Fremore, bowing to the
ground, and smiling languidly upon her.
Mr. Fremore was one of the most un-
sightly lovers that ever aspired to bear
tl^ name. He was of a huge circumfe-
rence, and what is unusual in persons of

GLENARVON. 199

that make, he was a mass of rancour and
malevolence — gifted however with a wit
so keen and deadly, that with its razor
edge, he cut to the heart most of his
enemies, and all his friends. Lord Dal-
las, diminutive and conceited, had a
brilliant wit, spoke seldom, and studied
deeply every sentence which he uttered.
He affected to be absent ; but in fact
no one ever forgot himself so seldom.
His voice, untuned and harsh, repeated
with a forced emphasis certain jests and
bon mots which had been previously
made, and adapted for certain conversa-
tions. Mr. Clarendon alone seemed
gifted with every kind of merit : he had
an open ingenuous countenance, expres-
sive eyes, and a strong and powerful
mind.

The conversation alternately touched
upon the nature of love, the use and
beauty of the Greek language, the plea-
sures of maternal affection, and the insi-
pidity of all English society. It was

200 GLENARVON.

rather metaphorical at times : — there was
generally in it a want of nature — an at-
tempt at display : but to Calantha it ap-
peared too singular, and too attractive to
wish it otherwise. She had been used,
however, to a manner rather more re-
fined— more highly polished than any
she found out of her own circle and fa-
mily. A thousand things shocked her
at first, which afterwards she not only
tolerated but adopted. There was a
want of ease, too, in many societies, to
which she could not yet accustom her-
self; and she knew not exactly what it
was which chilled and depressed her when
in the presence of many who were, upon
a nearer acquaintance, amiable and agree-
able. Perhaps too anxious a desire to
please, too great a regard for trifles, a
sort of selfishness, which never loses
sight of its own identity, occasions this
coldness among these votaries of fashion.
The dread of not having that air, that
dress, that refinement which they value

GLENARVON. 201

SO much, prevents their obtaining it ;
and a degree of vulgarity steals unper-
ceived amidst the higher classes in En-
gland, from the very apprehension they
feel of falling into it. Even those, who
are natural, do not entirely appear so.

Calantha's life was like a feverish
dream : — so crowded, so varied, so swift
in its transitions, that she had little time
to reflect ; and when she did, the me-
mory of the past was so agreeable and so
brilliant, that it gave her pleasure to think
of it again and again. If Lord Avondale
was with her, every place appeared even
more than usually delightful ; but, when
absent, her letters, no longer filled with
lamentations on her lonely situation,
breathed from a vain heart, the lightness
and satisfaction it enjoyed.

It may be supposed that one so frivo-
lous and so thoughtless, committed every
possible fault and folly which opportu-
nity and time allowed. It may also be
supposed, that such imprudence met
K 5

202 GLENARVON.

with its just reward ; and that every
tongue was busy in itscensure, and every
gossip in exaggerating the extraordinary
feats of such a trifler. Yet Calantha,
upon the whole, was treated with only
too much kindness ; and the world,
though sometimes called severe, seemed
wiUing to pause ere it would condemn,
and was intent alone to spare or to re-
claim a young offender.

When the World is spoken of in these
volumes, it means alone that frivolous
part of the community who dwell with
delight upon the busy scene before them,
and take interest in the momentary di-
versions which every little novelty and
every little event occasions.

GLENARVON. 203

CHAPTER XXV.

How different from the animated dis-
cussion at Lady Mandeville's, was the
loud laugh and boisterous tone of Lady
Augusta Selwyn, whom Calantha found,
on her return, at that very moment step-
ping from her carriage, and enquiring for
her. " Ah, my dear sweet friend,^' she
cried, flying towards Calantha, and
shaking her painfully by the hand, " this
fortuitous concurrence of atoms, fills my
soul with rapture. But I was resolved
to see you. I have promised and vowed
three things in your name ; therefore,
consider me as your sponsor, and indeed
I am old enough to be such. In the first
place, you must come to me to-night, for
I have a little supper, and all my guests
attend only in the hope of meeting you.
You are the bribe I have held out — you

204 nLKNARVOK.

are to stand me in lieu of a good house,
good cook, agreeable husband, and
pretty face — in all of which I am most
unfortunately deficient. Having con-
fessed thus much, it would be barbarous,
it would be inhuman you know to refuse
me. Now for the second favour/^ con-
tinued this energetic lady : — '' come ^
alone ; for though I have a great respect ;
for Mrs. and Miss Seymour, yet I never :
know what I am about when their very
sensible eyes are fixed upon me.'' — " Oh \
you need not fear, Sophia would not come
if I wished it ; and Mrs. Seymour" —
" 1 have something else to suggest, ''in-
terrupted Lady Augusta: " introduce
me immediately to your husband: he is
(^ivine, I hear — perfectly divine 1" *' I j
cannot at this moment; but" — *' By the j
bye, why were you not at the ball last i
hight. I can tell you there were some I
who expected you there. Yes, I assure
you, a pair of languid blue eyes watching {
for you — a fascinating new friend waiting

GLEXARVON. 205

to take you home to a petit souper ires
hien assorti. I went myself. Tt was
monstrously dull at the ball • insupport-
able, I assure you ; perfectly so. Mrs.
Turner and her nine daughters'. .It is
quite a public calamity, Mrs. Turner
being so very prolific — the produce so
frightful. Amongst other animals when
they commit such blunders, the brood is
drowned ; but we christians are suffered
to grow up till the land is overrun.**
'' Heieho/* '' What is the matter? You
look so triste to-day, not even my wit
can enliven you. — Is'nt it well, love ?
or has its husband been plaguing it ?
Now 1 have it : you have, perchance,
been translating an Ode of Pindar. I
was there myself this morning ; and it
gave me the vapours for ten minutes ;
but I am used to these things you know
child, and you are a novice. By the
bye, where is your cousin, le beau capi'
taine^ le chef des brigands P I was quite
frappe with his appearance." " You

20i6 GLENARVON.

may think it strange/* said Calantha,
"but I have not seen him these eight
years — not since he was quite a child/*
" Oh, what an interview there wnll be
then/' said Lady Augusta : " he is a
perfect ruffian."

'' Now areyou aware that we have three
sets of men much in request ? — There
are these ruffians, who affect to be des-
perate, who game, who drink, who fight,
who will captivate you, 1 am sure of it ;
for they are always just going to be de-
stroyed, or rather talk as if they were; and
every thing they do, trhey must do it to
desperation. Then come the exquisites.
Lord Dallas is one, a sort of refined /^e^eV
maitre, quite thorough bred though, and
yet full of conceit. As to the third set,
your useful men, who know how to read
and write, in which class critics, reviewers,
politicians and poets stand, you may
always know them by their slovenly ap-
pearance. But you are freezing, moti
enfant. What can be the matter ? I

GLENARVON. 20?

will release you in a moment from my
visitation; yet I have ten thousand
things to say. — Will you come to my
opera box Tuesday ? Are you going to
the masked ball Thursday ? Has Mrs.
Churchill sent to you for her dejeune
pare. I know she wishes, more than I
can express, to have you. Perhaps you
will let me drive you there. My ponies
are beautiful arabians : have you seen
them ? Oh, by the bye, why were you
not at your aunt Lady Margaret^s con-
cert ? I believe it was a concert : there
was a melancholy noise in one of the
rooms ; but I did not attend to it. — Do
you not like music ?" — " O yes 1 do; but
I must own I am not one who profess to
be all enchantment at the scraping of a
fiddle, because some old philharmonic
plays on it ; nor can I admire the gurgling
and groaning of a number of foreigners,
because it is called singing. .. .As to
you, they tell me you think of nothing
but love and poetry. I dare say you

208 GLENARVON.

write sonnets to the moon — the chaste
moon, and your husband. How senti-
mental!" " And you," — " No, my dear,
I thank heaven, I never could make a
rhyme in my life. — Farewell — adieu —
remember to-night — bring Lord Avon-
dale — that divine Henry : though be-
ware too ; for many a lady has to mourn
the loss of her husband, as soon as she
has introduced him into the society of
fascinating friends." ^' He is out of
town." '' Then so much the better.
After all, a wife is only pleasant when
her husband is out of the way. She must
either be in love, or out of love with him.
If the latter, they wrangle ; and if the
former, it is ten times worse. Lovers are
at all times insufferable; but when the
lioly laws of matrimony give them a law-
ful right to be so amazingly fond and af-
fectionate, it makes one sick." " Which
are you, in love or out of love with Mr.
Selwyn?*' — ''Neither, child, neither.
He never molests me, never intrudes his

GLEN A R VON. 209

dear dull personage on n)y society ; and
I leave him entirely to himself in return:
for he is the best of his race, and only
married me out of pure benevolence. V/e
were fourteen raw Scotch girls — all hide-
ous, and no chance of being got rid of,
either by marriage or death — so healthy
and ugly. I believe we are all alive and
flourishing some where or other now.
Think then of dear good iMr. Selwyn,
who took me for his mate, because I let
him play at cards whenever he pleased,
and he is so fond of cheating, he never
can get anyone but me to play with him.
Farewell. — A revoir, — I shall expect you
at ten. — Adieu, chere petite.'* Saying
which Lady Augusta descended the
stairs, her voice murmuring on to herself
as she re-entered her carriage, and drove
from the door.

10 GLEN A R VON,

CHAPTER XXVI.

Calantha now imagined, and was re-
peatedly assured, that her husband ne-
glected her: the thought gave her pain :
she contrasted his apparent coldness and
gravity with the kindness and flattery of
others. Even Count Gondimar was more
interested for her welfare, and latterly she
observed that he watched her with in-
creasing solicitude. At a masked ball,
in particular, the Italian Count followed
her till she was half offended. " Why do
you thus persecute me as to the frivolity
and vanity of my manner? Why do you
seem so infinitely more solicitous con-
cerning me than my husband and my
relations?" she said, suddenly turning,
and looking earnestly at him. " What
is it to you with whom I may chance to
converse ? How is it possible that you

GLENARVON. 211

can see imperfections in me, when others
tell me I am faultless and delightful?*'
'* And do you believe that the gay troop
of flatterers who now follow you/' said
a mask who was standing near the Count,
" do you believe that they feel any other
sentiment for you than indifference ?'' —
" Indifference I" repeated Calantha,
*' what can you mean ? I am secure of
their affection ; and I have found more
friends in London since I first arrived
there, than I have made in the whole
previous course of my life/' " You are
their jest and their derision/' said the
same mask. *' Am I/' she said, turning
eagerly round to her partner, Lord Trelaw-
ny, '* am I your jest and your derision?"
'' You are all that is amiable and ador-
able/' he whispered. •' Speak louder,"
said Lady Avondale, " tell this Italian
Count, and his discourteous friend, what
you think of me, or will they wait to
hear what we all think of them ?" Gon-
dimar, offended, left her ; and she passed

S19 GLENARVON.

the night at the ball, but felt uneasy at
what she had said.

Monteaole House, at which the mas-
querade was given, was large and magni-
ftcent. The folding doors opened into
fine apartments, each decorated with
flowers, and filled with masks. Her
young friends, Sophia and Lady Dart-
ford, in the first bloom and freshness of
youth, attracted much admiration. Their
dress was alike, and while seeming sim-
plicity was its greatest charm, every fold,
ever\' turn, was adapted to exhibit their
figure, and add to their natural grace.
If vanity can give happiness to the heart,
how must theirs have exulted ; for enco-
mium and flattery was the only language
they heard.

Lady Avondale, in the mean time, fa-
tigued with the ceremonious insipidity of
their conversation, and delighted at hav-
ing for once escaped from Count Gondi-
mar, sought in vain to draw her compa-
nions into the illuminated gardens, and

GLEN A R VON. 21.3

not succeeding, wandered into them
alone, followed by some masks in the
disguise of gipsies, by whom she was
soon surrounded; and one of them whom
she recognized to be the same who had
spoken to her with Gondimar, under
the pretence of telling her fortune, said
to her every thing that was most severe.
" What, said he, turning to one of his
companions, " do you think of the line
in this lady's hand? It is a very strange
one : I augur no good from it.'* The
dress of the mask who spoke was that of
a friar, his voice was soft and mournful.
" Caprice,*' said the young man, whom
he addressed : " I read no worse fault.
Come, I will tell her fortune. — " Lady,
you were born under a favoured planet,"
— " Aaron," interrupted the Friar, " you
are a flatterer, and it is my privilege to
speak without disguise. Give me the
hand, and I will shew her destiny. After
pausing a moment, he fixed his dark eyes
upon Calantha, the rest of his face being

214 GLENARVON.

covered by a cowl, and in a voice like
music, so soft and plaintive, begun —

The task to tell thy fate be mine.
To guard against its ills be thine ;
For heavy treads the foot of Care
On those who are so young and fair.

The star, that on thy birth shone bright.
Now casts a dim uncertain light :
A threatening sky obscures its rays.
And shadows o'er thy future days.

la fashion's magic circle bound.
Thy steps shall tread her mazy round,
While pleasure, flattery, and art,
Shall captivate thy fickle heart.

Insatiate vanity shall pine,
As honour, and as health decline.
The transient favorite of a day,
Of folly and of fools the prey ;
Till reft of fame, without a friend,
Thou'lt meet, unwept, an early end.

Lady Avondale coloured ; and the
young nnan who had accused her of ca-

GLENARVON. 916

price, watching her countenance, and
seeing the pain these acrimonious lines
had given her, reproved the friar — " No,
no/' he cried, ** if she must hear her des-
tiny, let me reveal it.**

The task to tell thy fate be mine.

And every bliss I wish thee, thine.

So heavenly fair, so pure, so blest.

Admired by all, by all carest.

The ills of life thou ne'er shalt know.

Or weep alone for others' woe ;

Nor malice shall, with v«nomM dart.

Have power to reach thy spotless heart.

" For the honour of our tribe cease,
Aaron," said a female gipsey advancing;
" positively I will not hear any more of
this flat parody. Thefriar's malice I could
endure; but this will mar all.** — Yet,
whatever the female gipsey might say,
Aaron had a certain figure and counte-
nance, which were sufficiently command-
ing and attractive. He had disengaged
himself from his companions; and now
approached Calantha, and asked her to
allow him to take care of her through

216 GLENARVON,

the crowd. " This is abominable trea-
chery," said the female gipsey: this con-
duct is unpardonable : good faith and
good fellowship were ever our characte-
ristics.*'— " You should not exert your
power,"answeredtheyoungman, '-'against
those who seem so little willing to use
the same weapons in return. I will an-
swer for it, that, though under a thousand
masks, the lady the friar has attacked,
would never say an ill-natured thing.'' —
'' Take care of her good-nature then,"
said the gipsey archly; " it may be more
fatal."

The gipsey and friar then went off, with
the restof their party; but Aaron remain-
ed,and, asifmuch pleased with thegentle-
ness of Lady Avondale's behaviour, fol-
lowed her. *' VV^ho are you ?" she said.
I will not take the arm of one who is
ashamed of his name." — '' And yet it is
only thus unknown, I can hope to find fa-
vour.'— -'Did I over see you beibre?" —
"I have often had the happiness of seeing
you : but am I then really so altered ?"

GLENARVOiT, 217

said he, turning to her, and looking full
in her face, *• that you canu i even
guess my name?" — '* Hiid 1 ever beheld
you before,** answered Lady Avondale,
" I could not have forgotten it." He
bowed with a look of conceit, and !«ady
Avondale coloured at his comprehending
the compliment, she had snfficientiy in-
tended to make* Smiling at her confu-
sion, he assured her he had a right to her
attention — " Stesso sangu£, Stessu sorter''
he said in a low voice.

Calantha could hardly believe it pos-
sible : the words he pronounced were
those inscribed on her bracelet. " And
are you my cousin ?*' she said; " is it in-
deed so? no: I cannot believe it." Bu-
chanan bowed again. •• Yes," he said;
" and a pretty cousin you have proved
yourself to me. I had vowed never to for-
give you ; but you are much too lovely^
and too dear for me to wish to keep my
oath." A thousand remembrances now
crowded on her mind — the days oof her

VOL. I. L

218 GLENARVON.

infancy — the amusements and occupa-
tions of her childhood : and she looked
vainly in Buchanan's face for the smallest
traces of the boy she had known so well.
Delighted with her evening's adventure,
and solely occupied with her companion,
the masquerade, the heat and all other
annoyances were forgotten, till Lady
Dartford being fatigued, entreated her to
retire.

She had conversed, during the greater
part of the evening, with Lord Dartford,
The female gipsey to whose party he be-
longed, and who had attacked Lady
Avondale, was Lady Margaret Buchanan.
He had asked Lady Dartford many ques-
tions about himself, to all of which she
had answered with a reserve that had
pleased him, and with a praise so unaf-
fected, so heartfelt, and so little deserved,
that he could not but deeply feel his own
demerit. He did not make himself
known, but suffered Lady Margaret to
rally and torment his unoffending wife ;

GLEKARVOK. 219

asking her repeatedly, why so pretty, and
so young, Lord Dartford permitted her
to go to a masquerade without a protec-
tor. " It is," replied Lady Dartford in-
nocently, " that he dislikes this sort of
amusement, and knows well, that those
who appear unprotected, are sure of find-
ing friends/* At this speech Lady Mar-
garet laughed prodigiously ; andturningto
her companion, who, much disguised,stili
followed her, asked him if he had never
seen Lord Dartford at a masquerade^ giv-
ing it as her opinion, that he was very
fond of this sort of amusement, and was
probably there at that very moment.

In the mean time, Calantha continued
to talk with Buchanan, and eagerly en-
quired of him who it was who, in the dress
of a friar, had with so much acrimony at-
tacked her. " I do not know the young
man," he answered : " my mother calls
him Viviani : — he is much with her; but
he ever wears a disguise, I think ; for no
one sees him: and, except Gondimar, he
l2

990 GLENARVON.

seems not to have another acquaintance
in England."

It has been said that the weak-minded
are alone attracted by the eye ; and they
who say this best know what they mean.
To Calantha it appeared, that the eye
was given to her for no other purpose
than to admire all that was fair and beau-
tiful. Certain it is, she made tliat use
of hers ; and whether the object of such
admiration was man, woman, or child,
horse or flower, if excellent in its kind,
she ever gave them the trifling homage
of her approbation. Her new-found
cousin was, therefore, hailed by her with
the most encouraging smile ; and how
long she might have listened to the ac-
count he was giving her of his exploits,
is unknown, had not Frances approached
her in a hasty manner, and said, *' Do
come away: — the strangest thing possible
has happened to me: Lord Trelawney
has proposed to me, and I — I have ac-
cepted his offer." — "Accepted his offer !^'

GLEXARVON. 221

Calantha exclaimed, with a look of hor-
ror.— '' Oh, pray keep my secret till we
^et home," said Frances. " I dare not
t^ll Sophia ; but you must break it to
my mother."

Lord Trelawney was a silly florid young
man, who laughed very heartily and good
humouredly, without the least reason.
He wore the dress, and had been received
in that class of men, whom Lady Au-
gusta called the exquisites. He had
professed the most extravagant adoration
for Lady Avondale, so that she was quite
astonished at his having attached himself
so suddenly to Frances ; but not being
of a jealous turn, she wished her joy most
cordially, and when she did the same by
him — " Could not help what Tve done,"
he said, looking tenderly at her through
a spying-glass : " total dearth of some-
. thing else to say : — can never aifection
her much : — but she*s your cousin, you
know :" — and then he laughed.

Lady Avondale prevailed on Frances

222 GLENARVOJf.

to keep this important secret from her
mother thnt night, as that good lady
had been long in bed, and to arouse her
with such unexpected news at three
o'clock had been cruel and useless. The
next morning, long before Lady Avondale
had arisen, every one knew the secret ;
and very soon after, preparations for the
marriage were made. The young bride
received presents and congratulations :
her spirits were exuberant ; and her lover,
perfect and delightful. Even Lady Avon-
dale beheld him with new eyes, and the
whole family, whenever he was men-
tioned, spoke of him as a remarkably
sensible young man, extremely well in-
formed, and possessed of every quality
best adapted to ensure the happiness of
domestic life.

GLEN A R vox. 223

CHx\PTER XXVII.

FRom the night of the masquerade, Lady
Avondale dared hardly confess to herself,
how entirely she found her thoughts en-
grossed by Buchanan. She met him
again at a ball. He entreated her to let
him call on her the ensuing day: — he
said he had much to tell her: — his man-
ner was peculiar ; and his eyes, though
not full of meaning in general, had a cer-
tain look of interest that gratified the
vainest of human hearts. " I shall be at
home till two," said Calantha. — " 1 shall
be with you at twelve," he answered.
Late as the hour of rest might appear to
some, Calantha was up, and attired with
no ordinary care to receive him at the
time he had appointed. Yet no Bucha-
nan came. Oh! could the petty triflers
in vanitv and vice, know the power they

224 GLENAUVON.

gain, and the effect they produce by
these arts, they would contemn the fa-
cility of their own triumph. It is ridicu-
lous to acknowledge it, but this disap-
pointment increased Calantha*s anxiety
to see him to the greatest possible degree t
she scarce could disguise the interest it
created.

Gondimar unfortunately called at the
moment when Calantha was most impa-
tient and irritable. " You expected an-
other," he said sarcastically; " but I care
uot. I came not here in the hope of
pleasing Lady Avondale. I came to in-
form her — '* " I cannot attend now." —
'^ Read this letter," said Gondimar. Ca-
lantha looked carelessly upon it — it was
from himself: it contained an avowal of
attachment and of interest for her; in
proof of which he asked permission to
offer her a gift, which he said he was com-
missioned to bring her from Italy. Lady
Avondale returned the letter coldly, and
with a little affectation of dignity, de-

GLENARVON. 225

clined the intended present. It is so easy
to behave well, when it is our pleasure
to do so as well as our duty. Gondimar,
however, gave her but little credit for
her conduct. " You like me not?" he
said. " Do you doubt my virtue ?" she
replied eagerly. " Aye, Lady ; or, at all
events, your power of preserving it,"

Whilst Gondimar yet spoke, Buchanan
gallopped by the window, and stopped at
the door of the house. His hands were
decorated with rings, and a gold chain
and half-concealed picture hung around
his neck : his height, his mustachios,
the hussar trappings of his horse, the
high colour in his cheek, and his dark
flowing locks, gave an air of savage wild-
ness to his countenance and figure, which
much delighted Calantha. He entered
with familiar ease ; talked much of him-
self, and more of some of his military
friends ; stared at Gondimar, and then
shook hands with him. After which, he
began a vehement explanation of his con-
L 6

9^6 GLENARA^ON.

duct respecting Alice; assuring Calantha
upon his honour — upon his soul, that he
had no hand in her elopement. He then
talked of Ireland ; described the dread-
ful, the exaggerated accounts of what had
occurred there ; and ended by assuring
Gondimar, that the young Glenarvon was
not dead, but was at this time at Belfont,
concealed there with no other view than
that of heading the rebels. The accounts
which the Duke of Altamonte had re-
ceived in part corroborated Buchanan's
statement.

Calantha listened, however, with more
interest to the accounts Buchanan now
gave: and, as he said he was but just
returned from Dublin, even Gondimar
thought the news which he brought wor-
thy of some Jicention. " Send that
damnecl Italian away,^' said Buchanan in
a loud whisper: "I have a million of
things to tell you. If you keep him here,
1 shall go : — my remaining will be of no
use/' Unaccustomed to curb herself in

GLENARVON. 297

the least wish, Calantha now whispered to
Gondimar, that she wished him to leave
her, as she had soaiething very particular
to say to her cousin ; but he only smiled
contemptuously upon him, and sternly
asking her, since when this amazing in-
timacy had arisen ? — placed himself at
the piano-forte, and struck its chords
with accompaniments till the annoyance
was past bearing.

Buchanan consoled himself by talking
of his dogs and horses; and having given
Calantha a list of the names of each, be-
gan enumerating to her the invitations
he had received for the ensuing week.
Fortunately, at this moment, a servant en-
tered with a note for Gondimar. '' Does
the bearer wait ?'' he exclaimed with
much agitation upon reading it; and im-
mediately left the room.

Upon returning home, Count Gondimar
perceived with surprise, in the place of
the person he had expected, one of the at-

228 GLENARVON,

tendantsofthelate Countess of Gienarvou
—a man whose countenance and person
he well remembered from its peculiarly
harsh and unpleasant expression. — " Is
my young Lord alive }" said the man in
astern manner. Count Gondimar replied
in the negative.** " Then, Sir, I must
trouble you with those affairs which most
nearly concern him." " Your name, I
think, is Macpherson?" said Count Gon-
dimar. '* You lived with the Countess
of Glenarvon.*' The man bowed, and
giving a letter into the hands of the Count,
" I am come from Italy at this time,'* he
replied, " in search of my late master —
La Crusca and myself.'* " Is La Crusca
with you ?*' said Gondimar, starting.
*' The letter will inform you of every
particular,*' replied the man with some
gravity. " I shall stay with the child
for your farther orders.** Saying this, he
left the Count's apartment ; and returned
into the anti-chamber, where a beautiful
little boy was waiting for him.

GLENARVON. 529

On that very evening, after a long con-
versation witii Macpherson, Count Gon-
dimar again sought Calantha at her fa-
ther's house, where, upon enquiring for
her, he was immediately adoiitted. After
some little hesitation, he told her that he
had brought her the present of which he
had made mention in his letter ; that if
she had the unkindness to refuse it, some
other perhaps would take charge of it: —
yet it was a gift which, however unworthy
he was to offer it, he thouglit would be
dearer in her estimation than the finest
jewels, and the most costly apparel : — it
was a fair young boy, he said, fitted to
be a lady's page, and trained in every
cunning art his tender years could learn.
" He will be a play-mate," he said, smil-
ing, for your son, and when, " added he
in a lower voice, " the little Mowbrey
can speak, he will learn to lisp in that
language which alone expresses all that
the heart would utter — all that in a barba-
rous dialect it dares not — must not say/'

230 GLEN A R vox.

As he yet spoke, he took the liat from
off Zerbellini's head, and gently pushing
him towards Calantha, asked him to sue
for her protection. The child immediately
approached, hiding himseU with singu-
lar fear from the caresses of the Count.
" Zerbellini,** said Gondimar in Italian,
*' will you love that lady?" " In'my
heart/' replied the boy, shrinking back
to Calantha, as if to a late found, but only
friend. Sophia was called, and joined in
the general interest and admiration the
child excited. Frances shewed him to
Lord Trelawney, who laughed exces-
sively at beholding him. Lady Margaret,
who was present, looking upon him sted-
fastly, shrunk as if she had seen a serpent
in her way, and tlien recovering herself,
held her hand out towards him. Zerbel-
lini fixed his eyes on Calantha, as if
watching in her countenance for the only
commands which he was to obey ; and
when she drew him towards her aunt,
he knelt to her, and kissed her hand

G1.EXARY0.V. 231

with the customary grace and courtesy
of an Italian.

From that day, Calantha thought of
nothing but Zerbellini. He was a new
object of interest: — to dress him, to
amuse him, to shew him about, was her
great dehght. Wherever she went he
must accompany her: in whatever she
did or said, Zerbellini must bear a part.
The Duke of Myrtlegrove advised her
to make him her page ; and for this pur-
pose he ordered him the dress of an
Eastern slave. Buchanan gave him a
chain with a large turquoise heart ; and
as he placed it around the boy, he glanced
iiis eye on Calantha. Presents, how-
ever, even more magnificent, were in re-
turn immediately dispatched by her to
the Duke and to Buchanan.

Count Gondimar read the letters Ca-
lantha had written with the gifts ; for she
had left them, as was her custom, open
upon the table. All she wrote, or re-
ceived, were thus left ; not from osten-

232 GLENARVON.

tation, but indifference or vanity, —
*' Are you mad,'* said the Italian, " or
worse than mad ?" "I affect it not,"
replied Lady Avondale. *' 1 conclude,
therefore, that it is real.*' Indeed, there
was a strange compound in Calantha's
mind. She felt but little accountable
for her actions ; and she often had ob-
served, that if ever she had had the mis-
fortune to refl( ct, and consequently to
resolve against any particular mode of
conduct, the result was, that she ever
fell into the error she had determined to
avoid. She might, indeed, have said,
that the spirit was willing, but the flesh
was weak; for whatever she resolved,
on the slightest temptation to the con-
trary, she failed to execute.

GLENARVON^. 933

CHAPTER XXVIIL

*' I AM astonished, my dear Gondimar,"
said Viviani one day, addressing him,
'* at the description which you gave me
of Lady Avondale. I have seen her
since we conversed about her, more than
once; and there is not, I think, much
trace left of that excessive timidity of
manner — that monastic rigidity in her
opinions and conduct, of which you made
mention in one of your letters from
Castle Delaval.'* '' I was wrong, utterly
wrong,'' said Gondimar, " and you may
now rank this model of purity, this para-
gon of wives, this pupil of nature, whom
I have so often praised to you, on a level
with the rest of her fellow mortals."
" Not on a level — not on a level,'' re-
plied Viviani with gravity;" but falling
far beneath it."

234 GLENARVON.

The Count then repeated, in a solemn
tone, the description of Rome, which
Lncian has placed in the month of Ni-
grinus, applying the enumeration of vices,
temptations, and corruptions, attributed
to the fairest capital of the world, to
London ; and then asked of Gondimar,
if it were possible for one like Calantha,
to sojourn long amidst such scenes, with-
out in some measure acquiring the man-
ners, if not falling into the errors to
which the eyes and ears were every hour
accustomed ? He spoke of her with regret,
as he thus pronounced her on the verge
of ruin : — "a prey," he said indig-
nantly, " for the spoiler — the weak and
willing victim of vanity.'* *' The courts
of her father are overrun with petitioners
and mendicants," said Gondimar: "her
apartments are filled with flatterers, who
feed upon her credulity : she is in love
with ruin : it stalks about in every pos-
sible shape, and in every shape she hails

GLEN AR vox. S3.3

it : — vvoos it, alas ! the willing victim of
prosperity, luxury, and self-indulgence."
'^ And Avondale,'* said Viviani," Lord
Avondale," replied the Count, " knows
not, thinks not, comprehends not her
danger or his own. But the hour of per-
dition approaches; thefirst years of peace
and love are past; folly succeeds; and
vice is the after game. These are the
three stages in woman's life. Calantha
is swiftly passing through the second : —
the third will succeed. The days and
months once glided away in a dream of
joy, dangerous and illusive — in a dream,
I repeat ; for all that depends on the ex-
cess and durability of any violent passion
must be called a dream. Such passion,
even though sanctioned by the most sa-
cred ties, if it engrosses every thought, is
not innocent — cannot be lawful. It plants
the seeds of corruption, which flourish
and gain strength hereafter. This is the
clinrdte in which they will soonest ripen:

93^ GLENARVON.

— this is the garden and soil where
they take the most rapid, and the deepest
root. And think you that Calantha and
Avondale are already weary of each
other? that the warm and vivid imagina-
tion of youthful love is satiated with ex-
cess ? or that disappointment has follow-
ed upon a nearer view?" '' All passion,"
replied Gondimar, falling back, and im-
pressively raising his hand — *' all passion

is founded on *' Friend,**

said V^iviani, ** thy prate is unmercifully
tedious." — '*' \ half believe that ihou art
thyself in love with this Calantha; but
for an explanation and detail of that
master passion, I know not why I ap-
plied to ^ou — Calantha is the object of
your pursuit, not miee." '' Of my pur-
suit ! in truth I believe you feel more
interest in her conduct than I do ; I am
old and weary of these follies ; life is
just opening upon you; Calantha is your
idol." '' No," replied Yiviani, with a
smile of scorn, " it is not that party-co-

GLENARVOK. 257

loured butterfly, which ranges ever from
flower to flower, spreading its lio^ht pi-
nions in the summer breeze, or basking
in the smiles of fortune, for which my
life is consumed. Wild fifncy, stimu-
lated by keen sensibility and restless acti-
vity of mind, without employment, ren-
der her easy to be approached, and easy
to be influenced and worked upon. Love
is the nature of these favourites of for-
tune : from earliest infancy, they feel its
power ! and their souls, enervated, live
but upon its honied vows.

" Yet Lady Margaret, you say, is un-
moved." " What of Lady Margaret?"
interrupted Viviani, while bitter smiles
quivered upon his lip. " Do you mark
the pavement of stone upon which you
tread ? Do you see the steel of which
this sabre is composed — once heated by
the flames, now hard and insensible ? —
so cold — so petrified is the heart, when
it has once given full vent to passion.
Marble is that heart, which only beats

238 GLENARYON.

for my destruction. The time is not yet
arrived, but I will dash the cup of joy
from her lips ; then drink the dregs my-
self, and die/' '' Mere jealous threats,"
said Gondimar, " The curse of innocent
blood is on her,'' replied Viviani, as his
livid cheeks and lips resumed a purple
dye. " Name her no more." " Explain
yourself," cried his astonished friend.
*' You frequently allude to scenes of
deeper guilt and horror, than I dare even
suffer myself to imagine possible." "The
heart of man is unfathomable," replied
Viviani ; — " that which seems, is not: —
that which is, seems not : w^e should
neither trust our eyes nor ears in a world
like this. But time, which ripens all
things, shall disclose the secrets even of
the dead."

A short time after this conversation
with Gondimar, Viviani took leave of
him. He informed him fully of his pro-
jects ; and Lady Margaret was also con-
sulted upon the occasion. '' What is

GLEN A R VON. ^39

become of your menaced vengeance?"
she said, smiling upon him, in their last
parting interview. He laughed at the
remembrance of his words. *' Am I the
object now of your abhorrence ?'' she
said, placing her white hand carelessly
upon his head. '' Not absolutely," re-
plied the young Count, shrinking, how^
ever, from the pressure of that hand.
" Touch me not," he whispered more
earnestly, '' it thrills through my soul. —
Keep those endearments for Dartford :
leave me in peace." Immediately after
this he left London ; and by the first
letter Lady Margaret received from him,
she found that he was preparing to em-
bark.

240 CLENAliVON

CHAPTER XXIX.

Frances Seymour's marriage with
LordTrelawney was now celebrated, after
which the whole family left London for
Ireland.

Sophia, previous to her departure, re-
proved Calantha for her obstinacy, as she
called it, in remaining in town. " I
leave you with pain,** she said : " forgive
me if I say it, for I see you have no con-
ception of the folly of your conduct.
Ever in extremes, you have acted as I
little expected from the wife of Lord
Avondale; but 1 blame him equally for
giving you such unbounded freedom : —
only the very wise and the very good
know how to use it.** " Sophia,** re-
plied Calantha, " I wish not for re-
proaches:— have confidence in me :— we
cannot all be exactly alike. You are a

GLENARVONT. 241

pattern of propriety and virtue, and verily
you have your reward : 1 act othev ise,
and am prepared for censures : — f^ven
yours cannot offend me. Lord Avondale
talks of soon returning to Ireland : I
shall then leave this dear delipiitful
London without regret ; and you shall
find me when we all meet for the spring
at Castle Delaval, just the same, as when
1 quitted it. Never the same, thv^ught
Sophia, who marked, with astonishment,
the change a few months had made.

1 hey w^ere yet speaking, and taking a
cold farewell of each other, when a thun-
dering rap at the door interrupted them,
and before Sophia could retreat, Mr.
Fremore, Count Gondimar and Lady
Mandeville were ushered in. A frozen
courtesy, and an austere frown, were the
only signs of animation Sophia gave, as
she vanished from their view.

" You have been ill," said Lady Man-
deville, accosting Calantha. " It is a
week since I have seen you. Think not,

VOL. I. M

g42 GLENARVON*

however, that I am come to intrude upon
your time : I only called as I passed your
door, to enquire after you. Mr. Fre-
more tells me you are about to visit the
Princess of Madagascar. Is this true ?
for I never believe any thing I hear?
'' For once/' said Calantha, " you may
do so ; and on this very evening, my in-
troduction is to take place.*' " It is
with regret I hear -it," said Lady Man-
deville with a sigh : " we shall never
more see any thing of you. Besides, she
is not my friend." Calantha assured
Lady Mandeville her attachment could
endure all sorts of trials ; and laughingly
enquired of her respecting her lovers,
Apollonius, and the Greek Lexicon she
was employed in translating. Lady Man-
deville answered her with some indiffe-
rence on these subjects ; and having said
all that she could in order to dissuade her
against visiting the Princess, took her
leave.

That evening, at the hour often, Lord

gl*:naiivon. 243

Avondale and Mr. Fremore being in rea-
diness, Calantha drove according to ap-
pointment to visit the wife of the great
Nabob; the Princess of Madagascar.
Now who is so ignorant as not to know
that this Lady resides in an old-fashioned
gothic building, called Barbary House,
three miles beyond the turnpike ? and
who is so igHorant as not to be aware.
that her highness would not have fa-
voured Lady Avondale with an audience,
had she been otherwise than extremely
well with the world, as the phrase is — for
she was no patroness of the fallen ! the
caresses and petits mots ohligeantes
which dropt from her during this her
first interview, raised Lady Avondale in
her own opinion ; but that was unneces-
sary. What was more to the purpose, it
won her entirely towards the Princess.

Calantha now, for the first time, con-
versed with the learned of the land : —
she heard new opinions started, and old
ones refuted— and she gazed unhurt, but
M 2

!244 GLENARVON.

not unawed, upon reviewers, poets,
critics, and politicians. At the end of a
long gallery, two thick wax tapers ren-
dering '• darkness visible,'* the prin<-ess
was seated. Fevv events, if any, were
ever known to move her from her posi-
tion. Her pages — her foreiq:n attire, but
genuine English manners, voice and com-
plexion, attracted universal admiration.
She was beautiful too, and had a smile it
was difficult lo learn to hate or to mis-
trust. She spoke of her own country
with contempt ; and, even in her dress,
which was magnificent, attempted to
prove the superiority of every other over
it. Her morals were simple and uncor-
rupt, and in matters of religious faith she
entirely surrendered herself to the gui-
dance of Hoiaouskim. She inclined her
head a little upon seeing Lady Avondaie,
and Hoiaouskim, her high priest, cast his
eyes, with unassuming civility, upon
Calantha, thus welcoming her to Bar-
bary House.

GLENARVON. 24^

The princess then spoke a little sen-
tence— ^just enough to shew how much
she intended to protect Lady Avontale.
She addressed herself, besides, in many
dialects, to an outlandish set of menials ;
appointing every one in the room some
trifling task, which was performed in ^
moment by young and old, with sur-
prising alacrity. Such is the force of fa-
shion and power, when skilfully applied.
After this, she called Calantha : a slight
exordium followed — then a wily pointed
^atechism ; her Highness nodding at. in-
tervals, and dropping short epigrammatic
sentences, when necessary, to such as
were in attendance around her. *' Is she
acting r" said Calantha, at length, in a
w^hisper addressing Mr. Fremore, who
stood sneering and simpering behind her
chair. '' Is she acting, or is this reality?*'
'^ It is the only reality you will ever find
in the Princess," returned her friend.
She acts the Princess of Madagascar
from morning till night, and from night

246 GLENARVON.

till morning. You may fall from favor,
but you are now at the height: no one
ever advanced further — none ever con-
tinued there long."

" But why," said Lady Avondale, '' do
the great Nabob, and all the other Lords
in waiting, with that black horde of sa-
vages"— '' Reviewers, you mean, and
men of talents.'* Well, whatever they
are, tell me quickly why they wear col-
lars, and chains around their necks at
Barbary House ? "It is the fashion,*'
said Mr. Fremore. " This fashion is un-
becoming your race," said Lady Avon-
dale : " I would die sooner than be thus
enchained.*' '' The great Nabob,'* quoth
Mr. Fremore, " is the best, the kindest,
the cleverest man 1 know; but like some
philosophers, he would sacrifice much
for a peaceable life. The Princess is fond
of inflicting these lesser tyrannies ; she is
so helplessly attached to these trifles —
so overweaningly fond of exerting her
powers, it were a pity to thwart her.

GLENARVON. ^AJ

For my own part I could willingly bend
to. the yoke, provided the duration were
not eternal ; for observe that the chains
are .well gilded ; that the tables are well
stored ; and those who bend the lowest
are ever the best received." '* And if I
also bow my neck/* said Calantha, will
she be grateful? May I depend upon
her seeming kindness ?'' Mr. Fremore's
naturally pale complexion turned to a
bluish green at this enquiry.

Cold Princess ! where are your boasted
professions now ? You taught Calantha
to love you, by every petty art of which
your sex is mistress. She heard, from
your lips, the sugared poisons you were
pleased to lavish upon her. You laughed
at her follies, courted her confidence, and
flattered her into a belief that you loved
her. — Loved her ! — it is a feeling you
never felt. She fell into the mire ; the
arrows of your precious crew were shot
at her — like hissing snakes hot and
sharpened with malice and venomed

248 GLENARVON.

fire; and yoti, yes — you were the first
to scorn her: you, by whom she had
stood faithfully and firmly amidst a host
of foes— aye, amidst the fawning rabble,
who still crowd your doors, and laugh at
and despise you. Thanks for the helping
hand of friendship in the time of need —
the mud and the mire have been washed
from Calantha ; the arrows have been
drawn from a bleeding bosom ; the
heart is still sound, and beats to disdain
you. The sun may shine fairly again
upon her ; but never, whilst existence is
prolonged, will she set foot within the
gates of the Palace of the great Nabob,
or trust to the smiles and professions of
the Princess of Madagascar.

CrLENARVON. 249

CHAPTER XXX

^' And what detains you in town ?*' said
Gondimar, on the eve of Mrs. Seymour
and Sophia's departure. " Will this love
of gaiety never subside. Tell me, Lady
Avondale, do you believe all that the
Duke of Myrtlegrove, and your more
warlike cousin have said to vou ? — What
means the blush on your indignant cheek !
The young duke is more enamoured of
the lustre of his diamond ring and brooch j
than of the brightest eyes that ever gazed
on him ; and though the words glory and
renown drop from the mouth of Bu-
chanan, love, I think, has lost his time
in aiming arrows at his heart. Has he
one? — 1 think not ?" — " But who has one
in London ?" — ''You have not assuredly,''
said the Count : "and, if you knew the
censures that are every where passed
uponiyou, L think, for Lord Avondale's

250 GLENARYON.

sake, you would regret it.*' — "I do;
but indeed — 1 know enough. I have
friends, have 1 not? and who, that has
friends, is ignorant of what is said ? it is
the office of a friend, I believe," said
Lady Avondale, smiling, " to say to us
what a foe would not/'

The entrance of Buchanan put a stop
to this conversation. "Are you ready?"
he cried. " Ready ! I have waited for
you three hours : it is five, and you pro-
raised to come before two." — "You
would excuse me, I am sure, if you knew
how excessively ill I have been. I am
but this moment out of bed. That ac-
cursed hazard kept me up till ten this
morning. Once, I sat two days and nights
at it ; but it's no matter." — '' You take
no care of yourself I wish for my sake
you would." The manner in which Ca-
lantha said this, was most particularly
flattering and kind : it was, indeed, ever
so ; but the return she met with (like
the lady who loved the swine) ; " Honey ,'^

GLEN A R VON. 251-

quoth she, " thou shalt in silver salvers
dine :" '' Humph," quoth he, was most
uncourteous. — '' Truly I care not if I am
knocked on the head to-morrow," replied
Buchanan. " There is nothing worth
living for : every thing annoys me : I am
sick of all society — love, sentiment, is
my abhorrence." — "But driving, dearest
Buchanan — riding — your mother — your
— your cousin." — '* Oh, d...n it;, don^t
talk about it. It's all a great bore."

" And can Lady Avondale endure this
jargon?'* — ''What is that Italian here
again?" whispered Buchanan. "But
come, let's go. My horses must not wait,
they are quite unbroke ; and the boy can't
hold them. Little Jem yesterday had
his ribs broke ; and this youngster *s no
hand. Where shall we drive?*' — "To
perdition," whispered Gondimar. " Can't
wait," said Buchanan, impatiently : and
Calantha hurried away.

The curricle was beautiful ; the horses
ii^ry ; Buchanan in high spirits; and.

^^2 6LENARV0X.

Calantha — ah ! must it be confessed ? —
more elated with this exhibition through
the crowded streets, than she could have
been at the most glorious achievement.
" Drive faster — faster still.*' she conti-
nually said to shviW tier courage. Alas 1
real courage delights not in parade ; but
any thing that had the appearance of risk
or danger, delighted Calantha. '' Damn
it, how^ Alice pulls.*' — *' Alice!*' said
Calantha. ''Oh hang it; do'nt talk
of that. Here's Will Rattle, let me
speak to him ; and Dick, the boxer's
son. Do you mind stopping ?" — *' Not
in the least*" "Saying which they pulled
in, as Buchanan termed it : and a con-
versation ensued, which amused Calan-
iha extremely. " How soon shall you
be off?" said Will Rattle, as they pre-
pared to drive on. — " It's a devilish bore
staying in London now,^' replied Bucha-
nan : " only I've been commanded to
stay," saying which he smiled, and turned
to Lady AvondalCj *' or I should have

GLENARTON. 953

been with my regiment before this. The
moment I am released, however, I shall
go there. Hope to see you to-night,
Will. Mind and bring Charles Turner.
There's a new play. Oh, I forgot: — -
perhaps I shan't be let off; shall I ? —
''No/'replied Calantha, extremely pleas-
ed at this flattering appeal. Will bowed
with conceit, and off they galloped,
Buchanan repeating as they went, " A
damned strange fellow that — cleverer
than half the people though, who make
such a noise. I saved his life once in an
engagement. Poor Will ! he's so grate-
ful, he would give all he has for me —

ril be d d if he would not."— Let this

suffice. The drive was not very long ;
and, the danger of being overturned ex-
cepted, utterly devoid of interest.

Lady Dartford had returned to town.
Perhaps no one ever heard that she had
5eft it : like the rose leaf upon the glass
full of water, her innocent presenile made
laot the slightest difference, nor was her

2o4 GLENARVOX.

absence at any time observed. She, how-
ever called upon Calantha, a few mo-
ments after Buchanan had taken her
home. Lady Avondale was with her
lord in the library, when she came.
" Why did you let her in ?" she said
rather crossly to the servant ; when ano-
ther loud rap at the door announced Lady
Mandeville and Lady Augusta Selwyn..
Calantha was writing a letter ; and Lord
Avondale was talking to her of the ar-
rangements for their departure. " I wish
I could ever see you one moment alone,''
he said. — ''Say 1 am coming — or shall
not come/' she replied; and during the
time she remained to finish the conver-
sation with her husband, she could not
help amusing herself with the thought of
Lady Dartford*s alarm at finding herself
in the presence of Lady Mandeville,
whom she did not visit. *' You do not
attend at all," said Lord Avondale. Alas !
he had already found, that the mistress
of his momentary passion, was not the

GLENARVON. 255

friend and companion of his more seilous
thoughts.

Eager to amuse Lady Dartford, Lady
Augusta, who knew her well, entertained
her till Lady Avondale joined them, with
a variety of anecdotes of all that had taken
place since her departure; and, having
soon exhausted other subjects, began
upon Calantha herself. '' She is posi-
tively in love with Captain Buchanan/'
she said. ''At every ball he dances with
hers at every supper he is by her side ;
all London is talking of it. Only think
too how strange, just as it is said that he
has proposed to Miss Macvicker — a for-
tune—twenty thousand a year — a nice
girl, who really looks unhappy. Poor
thing ! it is very hard on her. I always
feel for girls. — " Come," said Lady Man-
deville, '' last night you know, they did
not interchange a w^ord : he talked the
whole evening to that young lady with
the singular name. How I detest gos-
siping and scandal. Calantha deserves
not this."—** Bless us ! how innocent

^o6 GLEN A II VON.

we are all of a sudden !'* interrupted
Lady Augusta ; — '' have you any preten-
sions, dearest lady, to that innoxious
quality? Now are you not aware that
this is the very perfection of the art of
making love — this not speaking? But
this is what always comes of those who
are so mighty fond of their husbands.
Hea-vens ! how sick I have been of all
the stories of their romantic attachment.
There is nothing, my dear, like Miss
Seymour for making one sick. She al-
ways gives me the vapours.''

" Where do you go to-night?" said
Lady Dartford, wishing to interrupt a
conversation which gave her but little
pleasure. *' Oh, to fifty places ; but I
came here partly too in the hope of en-
gaging Lady Avondale to come to me to-
night. She is a dear soul, and I do not
like her the worse for shewing a little
spirit." — '' I cannot," said Lady Mande-
ville, '' think there is much in this ; a
mere caprice, founded on both sides, ip a
little vanity. After seeing Lord Avon-

GLENARVON. 257

dale, I cannot believe there is the small-
est danger for her. Good heavens ! if I
had possessed such a husband !" — " Oh,
now for sentiment," said Lady Augusta :
*' and God knows, if I had possessed a
dozen such, 1 should have felt as 1 do at
this moment. Variety — variety I Better
change for the worse than always see the
same object/' — " Well, if you do not
allow the merit of Henry Avondale to
outweigh this love of variety, what say
you to Mr. Buchanan, being her cousin,
brought up with her from a child ?''—
" Thanks for the hint ; you remember
the song of

** Nous nous aimions dcs Vevfance
Tete-d'tUe d chaque instant.''*

and I am certain, my dear sentimental
friend, that

-'" ^ noire place
Vq'US en auriezfait auiant.*'

Then going up to the glass. Lady Au-
gusta bitterly inveighed against perverse
nature, who with such a warm heart had
given her snch an uolv face. " Do vou

!258 GLENARVON.

kwow/" she said, still gazing upon her
uncouth features, addressing herself to
Lady Dartford — " do you know that I
have fallen in love nnyself since I saw
you ; — and with whom do you think ?"
*' I think I can guess, and shall take great
credit to myself if I am right. Is not
the happy man an author?" said Lady
Dartford. — " You have him, upon my
honour — Mr. Clarendon, by all that is
wonderful : — he is positively the clever-
est man about town. — Well, I am glad
to see my affairs also make some little
noise in the world/* — '* I can tell you
however,*' said Lady Mandeville, '' that
he is already engaged; — and Lady Moun-
teagie occupies every thought of his
heart."

" Good gracious, my dear, living and
loving have done but little for you ; and
the dead languages prevent your judging
of living objects — Engaged! you talk
of falling in love as if it were a matri-
monial contract for life. Now don't you
know that every thing in nature is sub-

GLENARVOX. 2.59

ject to change: — it rains to-day — it shines
to-morrow ; — we laugh, we cry ; — and
the thermometer of love rises and falls,
like the weather glass, from the state of
the atmosphere: — one while it is at freez-
ing point; — another it is at fever heat*
— How then should the only imaginary
thing in the whole affair — the object I
mean which is always pureh/ ideal — how
should that remain the same ?'*

" Lady Mandeville smiled a little, and
turning her languid blue eyes upon Lady
Dartford, asked her if she were of the
Christian persuasion ? Lady Dartford
was perfectly confounded : — she hesitat-
ingly answered in the affirmative. Upon
which, Lady Augusta fell back in her
chair, and laughed immoderately ; but
fearful of offending her newly made ac-
quaintance, observed to her, that she
wore the prettiest hat she had ever seen.
'' Where did you get it?** said she. — The
question was a master ke}'^ to Lady Dart-
ford's thoughts: — caps, hats, and works
of every description were as much a so-

960 GLENARYON.

lace to her, in the absence of her hus-
band, as the Greek language, or the pa-
gan philosophy could have ever been to
Lady Mandeville, under any of her mis-
fortunes.— " I got it," she said, *^ bright-
ening up with a grateful look, at the only
enquiry she had heard, that was at all
adapted to her understanding, at Madame
de la Roche's : — it is the cheapest thing
you can conceive: — I only gave twenty
guineas for it: — and you know I am not
reckoned very clever at making — bar-
gains?' '* 1 should think not," answered
Lady Augusta, adverting only to the first
part of the sentence.

Calantha entered at this moment. —
'' Oh, my sweet soul/* said Lady Au-
gugusta, embracing her, " I began to
despair of seeing you. — But what was
the matter with you last night ? I had
just been saying that you looked so very
grave. Notwithstanding which, Lord
Dallas could think, and talk only of you.
He says your chevelure is perfectly Gre-
cian—the black ringlets upon the white

GLENARVON. 261

skin; but 1 never listen to any compli-
ment that is not paid directly or indi-
rectly to myself. He is quite adorable:
— do you not think so, hey? — No — I
see he is too full of admiration for you —
too refined. Lady Avondale's heart must
be won in a far different manner ; — insult
— rudeness — is tlie way to it. What!
blush so deeply! Is the affair, ihen, too
serious for a jest ? Why, in on enfant, you
look like Miss Alacvicker this moirjing.
— And is it true she will soon be united
to you by the ties of blood, as she now
seems to be by those of sympathy and
congeniality of soul ?"

The eternal Count Gondimar, and af-
terwards Buchanan, interrupted Lady
Augusta's attack. New topics of dis-
course were discussed : — it will be need-
less to detail them : — time presses. Balls,
assemblies, follow: — every day exhibited
a new scene of frivolity and extrava-
gance ; every night was passed in the
same vortex of fashionable dissipation.

262 GLENARVON.

CHAPTER XXXI.

The spring was far advanced. Calan-
tba's health required the sea air ; but her
situation rendered a long journey hazar-
dous. Lord Avondale resolved to await
her confinement in England. The birth
of a daughter was an additional source
of happiness : Anabel was the name given
to the little infant. Harry Mowbrey was
now in his second year. The accounts
from Ireland were more satisfactory.
Mrs. Seymour wrote constantly to Ca-
lantha, regretting her absence. Weeks,
however, flew by in the same thoughtless
vanities : months passed away without
regret or care. Autumn was gone; —
winteragain approached. London, though
deserted by the crowd, was still gay.
Calantha lived much with her aunt Mar-
garet, Lady Mandevillc, and the Princess

GLENARVON. 263

f JNIadagascar. The parks and streets,
but lately so thronged with carriages,
were now comparatively lonely and de-
serted. Like the swallows at the ap-
pointed hour, the gay tribe of fashionable
idlers had vanished ; and a new set of
people appeared in their place: — whence,
or why, nobody could guess.

One day Zerbellini, Calantha's little
page, had just returned with a note from
Buchanan ; a French hair dresser was cut-
ting her hair ; milliners and jewellers were
displaying upon every table new dresses-
caps, chains, rings, for the ensuing win-
ter; and Calantha's eye was dazzled — her
ear was charmed — when her aunt Mar-
garet entered. — " God bless your Lady-
ship, God preserve you,'' said a woman
half starved, who was waiting for an an-
swer to her petition. — " 3Ii Lady ; ne
prendra-t'elle pas ce petit bonnet P^^ said
Madame la Roche. '' Yes, every thing,
any thing," she answered impatiently,
as she got up to receive her aunt. — She

264 GLEK.4RV0N.

was unusually grave. Calantha trembled;
for she thought she was prepared to speak
to h^r about Buchanan. She was ex-
tremely relieved when she found that her
censures turned solely upon her page.
" Why keep that little foreign minion?"
she said, indignantly. " Is the Count
Yiviani so very dear, that any present of
his must be thus treasured up and va-
lued r' " The Count Yiviani,*' said Ca-
lantha astonished: who is he ?'* — '' Well,
then, Gondimar," replied Lady Margaret.
•• Calantha — as a favour, I request you to
send back that boy.** — Lady Avondale's
prayers were at first her sole reply ; and
like Titania in her second, when Oberon
demanded the trusty Henchman, she
boldly refused. Lady Margaret left her
immediately: — she was calm, but offend-
ed. She was then going toCastle Delaval.
Calantha told her they should join her
there in the course of the next month.
She only smiled with a look of incredu-
lity and contempt, asking her, if her be-

GLFNARVON. 9^0

loved Henry v/ould really be so cruel a$
to tear her away at last from London r
and saying this she took leave.

Lord Avondale and Calantha had beeo
conversing on this very subject in the
morning. He was surprised at her ready
acquiescence in his wish to return to Ire-
land. " You are then still the same," be
said affectionately. — '* I am the same,"
she replied, rather fretfully, but you are
changed : — every one tells me you neg-
lect rae.*' " And have they who tell j^ou
so," said he with a sigh, any very good
motive in thus endeavouring to injure
me in your opinion ? ^f I attended to
what every one said, Calantha, perhaps I
too should have some reason to complain.
—Business of importance has alone en-
gaged my attention. You know I am
not one who assume much ; and if I say
that I have been employed, you may de-
pend on its being the case. I hope, then,
I am not wrong when I have confided
myself, and every thing that is dearest to
me, to your honour and your love/'—

V OL. I. N

^66 GLEXAKVON.*

" Ah, no : — you are not wrong," she an-
swered ; but perhaps if you confided less,
and saw more of me, it would be better.
Before marriage, a woman has her daily
occupations : she looks for the approving
smile of her parents: — she has friends
who cheer her — who take interest in her
affairs. But when we marry, Henry, we
detach ourselves from all, to follow one
guide. For the first years, we are the
constant object of your solicitude: — you
watch over us with even a tenderer care
than those whom we have left, and then
you leave us — leave us too among the
amiable and agreeable, yet reprove us, if
we confide in them, or love them. Mar-
riage is the annihilation of love."

" The error is in human nature," said
Lord Avondale smiling — " We always
see perfection in that which we cannot
approach : — there is a majesty in distance
and rarity, which every day's intercourse
wears off. Besides, love delights in gaz-
ing upon that which is superior : — whilst
we believe you angels, we kneel to you,

CiLENARVON. 267

we are your slaves ;— we awake and find
3^ou women, and expect obedience : — and
is it not what you were made for?'* —
'' Henry, we are made your idols too
— too long, to bear this sad reverse : —
you should speak to us in the language
of truth from the first, or never. Obey,
is a fearful word to those who have lived
without hearing it ; and truth from lips
which have accustomed us to a dearer
language, sounds harsh and discordant.
We have renounced society, and all the
dear ties of early friendship, to form one
strong engagment, and if that fails, what
are we in the world — beings without
hope or interest—dependants — encum-
brances—shadows of former joys— soli-
tary wanderers in quest of false pleasures
—or lonely recluses, unblessing and un-
blest."

Calantha had talked herself into tears,

at the conclusion of this sentence ; and

l^ord Avondale, smiling at a description

she had given, so little according W4th

N 2

g(3S GLENARVON.

the gay being who stood before him,
pressed her fondly to his bosom ; and
said he would positively hear no more.
« You treat me like a child, a fool," she
said :— " you forget that I am a reason-
able creature." " I do, indeed, Calantha:
you so seldom do any thing to remind
me of it." " Well, Henry, one day you
shall find your error. I feel that within,
which tells me that I could be superior,
aje, very superior to those who cavil at
my faults, and first encourage and then
ridicule me for them. I love, I honour
you, Henry. Yoi» never flatter me.
Even ifyou neglect me, you have con-
fidence in me -and, thank God, my heart
is still worthy of some affection. -It is
yet time to amend." Calantha thought
it had been— as she took in haste a re-
view of her former conduct-of time, how
neglected! friends, how estranged l-
money lavished in vain '.-and health im-
paired by the excess of late hours, and
endless, ceaseless dissipation.

London had still attractions for her

GLENARVON. 269

but the thought of fresh air, and green
fields recurring, she was soon prepared
for the journey. She passed the in-
tervening days before her departure in
taking leave of her friends. Lady Man-
deville, in bidding adieu to her, affirmed
that the interchange of ideas between
congenial souls would never be'lessened,
nor interrupted by absence. She would
write to her, she said, and she wou!d
think of her; and, seeing Calantha was
really sorry to part with her, " You have
none of the philosophy," she said,
** which your cousin and your aunt pos-
sess, and every trifle, therefore, has power
:o afflict you : — you scarcely know me,
and yet you are grieved to leave me.
Promise ever to judge of me by what yon
see yourself, and not through the me-
dium of others ; for the world, which I
despise from my soul, has long sought
to crush me, because I had pride of cha-
racter enough to think for myself."

If any thing had been wanting to
Strengthen Calantha's regard, this boa^^t

270 GLENARVON,

had been sure of its effect ; for it was one
of her favourite opinions, not indeed that
the world should be despised, but that
persons should dare to think, and act for
thenf)selves, even though against its judg-
ments. She was not then aware how
this cant phrase is ever in the mouths of
the veriest slaves to prejudice, — how
little r^ independence of character is
found amongst those who have lost sight
of virtue. Like spendthrifts who boast of
liberality, they are forced to stoop to arts
and means, which those whon-i they affect
to contemn would blush even to think of.
Virtue alone can hope to stand firm and
unawed above the multitude. When vice
assumes this fearless character, it is either
unblushing effrontery and callous indif-
ference to the opinion of the wise and
fc good, or at best but overweening pride,
^which supports the culprit, and conceals
from the eyes of others, the gnawing tor-
tures he endures — the bitter agonizing
consciousness of self-reproach.

GLENARVON. 271

CHAPTER XXXIL

Lord Avondale was desirous of pass-
ing the winter with his family at Mon-
teith, and in the spring he had* oromised
the Duke of Altamo'nte to accompany
Lady Avondale to Castle Delaval. Lady
Mandeville and Lady Augusta Selwyn
were invited to meet them there at that
time. The wish of pleasing Calantba,
of indulging even her very weaknesses,
seemed to be the general failing of all
who surrounded her : — yet what return
did she make ? — each day new follies en-
grossed her thoughts ; — her levity and
extravagance continually increased; and
whilst, with all the ostentation of gene-
rosity, she wasted the fortune of her hus-
band upon the worthless and the base,
he denied himself every amusement, se-
cretly and kindly to repair the ruin, the

?72 GLENARVeN.

misery, the injustice her imprudence and
wanton prodigality had caused.

During a long and melancholy jour-
ney^ and after her arrival at Monteith,
Calantha, with some astonishment, con-
sidered the difference of Lord Avondale's
views, character, and even talents for so-
ciety and conversation, as compared with
those of her former companions. Lord
Avondale had no love of ostentation — no
effort — a perfect manliness of^conduct
and character, a real, and not feigned, in-
difference to the opinion and applause
of the vain and the foolish ; yet with all
this, he was happy, cheerful, ready to
enter into every amusement or occupa-
tion which gave others pleasure. He
had not one selfish feeling. It was im-
possible not to be foix;ibly struck with
the comparison.

Calantha, with her usual inconsist-
ency, now made all those sensible and
judicious remarks, which people always
make when they have lived a life of folly,

GLENARVON. 273

and suddenly return to a more tranquil
course. She compared the false gaiety
which arises from incessant hurry and
vanity with that which is produced by
nature and health. She looked upon the
blue sky and the green fields ; watched
the first peeping snow-drop and crocus ;
and entered with delight into all the
little innocent pleasures of a rural life:
nor did even a slight restlessness prevail,
nor any^rring thoughts steal back to re-
visit the gay scenes she had left. In
very truth, she was more adapted, she
said, to her present course of life than to
any other; and, however guilty of im-
prudence, she thanked God she had not
heavier sins to answer for ; nor was there
a thought of her heart she would not
have wished her husband to know, unless
from the fear of either giving him pain,
or betraying others.

At length, however, and by degrees,
something of disquiet began to steal in
upon the serenity of her thoughts : — ^her
N 6

274 GLENARVON.

mind became agitated, and sought an ob-
ject: study, nay, labour, she had preferred
to this total want of interest. While
politics and military movements engaged
Lord Avondale almost wholly, and the
rest of the family seemed to exist happily
enough in the usual course, she longed
for she knew not what. There was a
change in her sentiments, but she could
not define it. It was not as it had been
once : yet there was no cause for com-
plaint. She was happy, but her heart
seemed not to partake of her happiness ;
and regret mingled at times with her en-
joyments.

Lady Mowbrey spoke with some as-
perity of her late conduct ; Lady Eliza-
beth enquired laughingly, if all she heard
were true: for every folly, every fault, ex-
aggerated and misrepresented, had flown
before her : she found that all which she
had considered as merely harmless, now
appeared in a new and more unpleasing
light. Censures at home and flattery

GLENARVON. S75

abroad are a severe trial to the vain and
the proud. She thought her real friends
austere; and cast one longing glance back
upon the scene which had been so lately
illumined by the gaiety, the smiles, the
kindness and courtesy of her new ac-
quaintance.

Whilst the first and only care of Lord
Avondale, every place was alike delight-
ful to Calantha; for in his society she en°
joyed all that she desired : but now that
he was often absent, and appeared to be
involved in deeper interests, she consi-
dered, with some feelings of alarm^ the
loneliness of her own situation. In the
midst of hundreds she had no real friends:
those of her childhood were estranged
from her by her marriage ; and those her
marriage had united her with, seemed to
perceive only her faults, nor appreciated
the merits she possessed* To dress well,
to talk well, to write with ease and per-
spicuity, had never been her turn, Un»
used to the arts and amusements of so-
cial intercourse^ she had formerly felt

S76 GLENARVOX.

interest in poetry, in music, in what had
ceased to be, or never had existed ; but
now the same amusements, the same
books, had lost their charm : she knew
more of the world, and saw and felt their
emptiness and fallacy. In the society of
the generality of women and men she
could find amusement when any amuse-
ment was to be found ; but, day after
day, to hear sentiments she could not
think just, and to lose sight of all for
which she once had felt reverence and
enthusiasm, was hard. If she named one
she loved, that one was instantly consi-
dered as worthless: if she expressed much
eagerness for the success of any project,
that eagerness was the subject of ridi-
cule; and even at home, with Lady
Elizabeth and Lady Mowbray, she felt
that she had conducted herself in a man-
ner they could not approve ; she re-
ceived a thousand proofs of their kind-
ness and affection, but she pined also for
their esteem.

Oh I am changed, she continually

GLENARVON. 277

thought: I have repressed and conquered
every warm and eager feeling; I love and
admire nothing : yet am I not heartless
and cold enough for the world in which
I live. What is it that makes me mise-
rable ? There is a fire burns within my
soul ; and all those whom I see and hear
are insensible. Avondale alone feels as
I do; but, alas! it is no longer for me.
Were 1 dead, what difference would it
make to any one ? I am the object of
momentary amusement or censure to
thousands; but of love, to none. I am as
a child, as a mistress to my husband; but
never his friend, his companion. Oh for
a heart's friend, in whom I could confide
every thought and feeling ! who would
share and sympathize with my joy or
sorrow ! to whom I could say, '' you
love me — you require my presence ;'*
and for whom, in return, I would give
up every other enjoyment. Such friend
was once Lord Avondale. By what
means have I lost him ?

g7S GLENARvON.

Often when in tears she thus expressed
herself. Her husband would suddenly
enter; laugh with her without penetrat-
ing her feelings ; or, deeply interested in
the cares of business, seek iier only as a
momentary solace and amusement. Such,
however, he seldom now found her; for
she cherished a discontented spirit within
her: and though too proud and stubborn
to complain, she lived but on the rae-
xiiory of the past.

Her principles had received a shock,
the force and effect of which was greatly
augmented by a year of vanity and
folly : her health too was impaired from
late hours and an enervating life ; she
could not walk or ride as formerly ;
and her great occupation was the indul-
gence of a useless and visionary train of
thinking. She imagined that which was
not, and lost sight of reality ; — pictured
ideal virtues, and saw not t^e world as it
is. Her heart beat with all the fervour
of enthusiasm ; but the turn it took was

GLENARVOX. S79

erroneous. She heard the conversation
of others ; took a mistaken survey of so-
ciety ; and withdrevir herself impercepti-
bly from all just and reasonable views.
Ill motives were imputed to her, for what
she considered harmless imprudence :~
she felt the injustice of these opinions ;
and, instead of endeavouring to correct
those appearances which had caused such
severe animadversion, in absolute disgust
she steeled herself against all remon-
strances. Every one smiles on me and
seems to love me, yet I am censured
and misrepresented. Convinced of this,
she became lonely. She had thoughts
which once she would have mentioned
as they occurred, but which she now
concealed and kept solely to herself. She
became dearer in her own estimation, as
she detached herself from others, and
began to feel coldly, even towards those
whom she had once loved.

280 GLENARVON

CHAPTER XXXIII.

It is dangerous to begin life by surren-
dering every feeling of the mind and the
heart to any violent passion. Calantha
had loved and been loved to such an ex-
cess, that all which followed it appeared
insipid. Vanity might fill the space for
a moment — or friendship, or charity, or
benevolence ; but still there was some-
thing gone, which, had it never existed,
had never been missed and required.
Lord Avondale was perhaps more indul-
gent and more affectionate now, than at
first ; for a lover ever plays the tyrant ;
but even this indulgence was different ;
and that look of adoration — that blind
devotion — that ardent, constant solici-
tude, when, without a single profession,
one may feel certain of bemg the first ob-

GLENARVON. 281

ject in life to the person thus attached-
all this was past.

Such love is not depravity. To have
felt it, and to feel it no more, is like being
deprived of the light of the sun, and
seeing the sanxe scenes, which we once
viewed brilliant beneath its beams, dark,
clouded, and cheerless. Calantha had
given up her heart too entirely to its
power, ever more to endure existence
without it. Her home was a desert ;
her thoughts were heavy and dull ; her
spirits and her health were gone ; and
even the desire of pleasin^^, so natural to
the vain, had ceased. Whom was she
to wish to please, since A vondale was in-
different ? or, what to her was the same,
absent and pre-occupied.

Such depression continued during the
gloomy wintry months ; but with the
first warm breeze of spring, they left her:
and in the month of May, she prepared
to join the splendid party which was ex-

S82 GLENARVON»

pected at Castle Delaval— as gay in
heart herself as if she had never mo-
ralized upon the perishable character of
all human happiness.

Upon a cool and somewhat dreary
morning, they left Monteith, and sleep-
ing one night at Allanwater, hastened
to Castle Delaval, where blazing hearths
and joyous countenances, gave them
a cheering welcome. Lady Mandeville
and Lady Augusta had, according to
promise, arrived there a week before,
to the utter consternation of Mrs. Sey-
mour. Calantha perceived in one mo-
ment that she was not extremely well
with her or with her cousins upon this
account. Indeed the former scarcely
offered her her hand, such a long detail
Oi petty offences had been registered
against her since they had last parted.
A stately dignity was therefore assumed
by Sophia and Mrs. Seymour on this
occasion ; they scarce permitted them-

GLEXARVON. "^SS

selves to smile during the whole, time
Lady Mandeville remained, for fear, it
may be supposed, that Satan, taking ad-
vantage of a moment of levity, should
lead them into further evil. The being
compelled to live in company with one
of her character, was more than enough.
" I am enraptured at your arrival,*'
said Lady Augusta, flying towards Ca-
lantha the moment she perceived her.
" You are come at the happiest time :
you will be diverted here in no ordinary
manner: the days of romance are once
again displayed to our wondering view.
" Yes/^ said Lady Trelawney, *' not a
day passes without an adventure." Re-
fore Calantha enquired into the meaning
of this, she advanced to Lady Mandeville,
who, languidly reclining' upon a couch,
smiled sweetly on seeing her. Secure of
the impression she had made, she waited
to be sought, and throwing her arm
around her. gave her kisses so soft and

SS4 GLENARVON.

SO tender, that she could not immedi-
ately extricate herself from her embrace.
Lady Augusta, eager to talk, ex-
claimed— " Did you meet any of the
patrole?*' " Possibly — but I was read-
ing the address to the United Irishmen,
and could see, therefore, an,d think of
nothing else." '' Are you aware who
IS the author?" ''No; but it is so
eloquent, so animated, I was quite alarm-
ed when I thought how it must affect
the people/' *' You shock me, Calan-
tha," said Mrs. Seymour. " The absurd
rhapsody you mean, is neither eloquent
nor animating: it is a despicable attempt
to subvert the government, a libel upon
the English, and a poor piece of flattery
to delude the influuated malcontents ia
Ireland. Lady Augusta winked at Calan-
tha, as if informing her that she touched
upon a sore subject. " The author,"
said Lady Trelawney, who affected to be
an enthusiast, '* is Lord Glenarvon."

GLENARVON, i285

" I wish, Frances,' said Mrs.Sevmour,
" you would call people by their right
names. The young man you call Lord
Glenarvon has no claim to that title ; his
grandf^ither was a traitor; his father was
a poor miserable *xile, who was obliged
to enter the navy jjy way of gaining a
livelihood ; his mother w^as a woman of
very doubtful character (as she said this
she looked towards Lady Mandeville) ;
and this young man, educated nobody
knows how, having passed his time in a
foreign country, nobody knows where,
from whence he was driven it seems by
his crimes, is now unfortunately arrived
here to pervert and mislead others, to
disseminate his wicked doctrines amongst
an innocent but weak people, and to
spread the flames of rebellion, already
kindled in other parts of the island. Oh,
he is a dishonour to his sex , and it
makes me mad to see how you all run
after him, and forget both dignity and
modesty, to catch a glimpse of him."

9S6 GLENAKVON,

*' What sort of looking man is he, dear
aunt? saidCalantha. "Frightful — mean,"
said Mrs. Seymour. '' His stature is
small, ** said Lady Mandeville; " but his
eye is keen and his voice is sweet and
tunable. Lady Avondale believe me, he
is possessed of that persuasive language,
which never fails to gain upon its hear-
ers. Take heed to your heart : remem-
ber my w^ords — beware of the young
Gienarvon. Gondimar, after the first
salutation upon entering the room,
joined in the conversation ; but he spoke
with bitterness of the young Lord ; and
upon Lady Trelawney's attempting to
say a few words in his favor, '' Hear Sir
Everardon this subject," said the Count
— " only hear what he thinks of him."
'' I fear," said Sophia, *' that all these
animadversions will prevent our going
to-morrow, as we proposed, to see the
Priory." Nothing shall prevent me,"
replied Lady Augusta. " I only beg,"
said Mrs. Seymour *' that I may not be

GLENARVON. gg?

of the party, as the tales of horror I have
heard concerning the inhabitants of St.
Alvin Priory, from old Lord de Ruthven,
at Belfont Abbey, prevent my having the
smallest wish or curiosity to enter its

gates/'

Count Gondimar, now coming to-
wards Calantha, enquired after Zerbellini.
At the request of every one present, he
was sent for. Calantha saw a visible
change in Lady Margaret's countenance,
as he entered the room. " He is the
living image"— she murmured, in a low
hollow tone— '^ Of whom ?" said Calan-
tha eagerly.-^She seemed agitated and
retired. Gondimar in the evening took
Calantha apart and said these extraor-
dinary words to her, '« Zerbellini is Lady
Margaret and Lord Dartford's son : treat
him according to his birth ; but remem-
ber, she would see him a slave sooner
than betray herself: she abhors, yet loves
him. Mark her ; but never disclose the
secret with which I entrust you." As-

288 GLENARVON.

tonisbed, confounded, Calantha now
looke*-] npon the boy with different eyes.
Imnaediritely his resemblance to the fa-
mily of Delaval struck her — his likeness
to herself—his manner so superior to
that of a child in his situation. The
long concealed truth, at once flashed
upon her. A thousand times she was
tempted to speak upon the subject.
She had not promised to conceal it from
Lord Avondale : she was in the habit of
telling him every thing: however she
was now for the first time silent, and
there is no more fatal sympton than
when an open communicative disposi-
tion grows reserved.

END OF VOL. r.

J. Giile*., rhnter, down Couri, yictt Sirr.^t, I-ondcn.

^^::/^m