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EDWARD LONSDALE.

CHAPTER I.

LIFE, however undiversified by surprising accidents or adventures, has always some few islands scattered here and there amidst the "waveless sea" for memory to rest her foot upon. Of these, perhaps, the first day of leaving home is the most prominent. With me the change was so sudden from the sombre walls of the old mansion (where, without friend or companion of my own years, I had grown up from childhood) to the joyous world of hope and happiness, that, for a time, I felt like the captive, whose eyes have become so habituated to his dungeon, that they cannot endure the sun. A vast house, to which a visitor never entered,a large establishment, with nobody to occupy their attention but my father and myself,-the gloomy regularity of the household,-and the total want of companionship, had repressed in me all the buoyant feelings of youth. My father was not unkind; he was only cold. We talked together, but without the endearing confidence which ought to exist between a father and his son. We read together; and, in short, for all that I knew, when, at the age of twenty, I said adieu to Ellersby, I was indebted to him. The world of books, I soon found, was a very different thing from the world of men-and women. Our parting was in the library.

"You are going into the world, Edward," said my father. " See that you come out from its trials and temptations unscathed. You will write to me regularly, without waiting for an answer. Should I die, you will be apprised of it by my attorney; should I live, I shall see you here again in four years. And now farewell."

He held out his hand to me as he said this. It was the first time we had ever been about to part. I felt that my eyes were filling with tears. He drew me closer, and prest me for a moment to his breast, and then pointing to the door, threw himself into his chair. When I looked back

as I left the room, I saw that he had covered his face with his hands.

A month after this found me in London, wondering at every thing I saw and heard. The very fogs and smoke were delicious. I began to doubt whether there existed in reality such a place as Ellersby, or whether its grey towers and oakpaneled apartments were not the creation of a hideous dream. The only letters with which I had started from home were addressed to two friends of my father-the one to Sir Wilfred Seymour, whose winter residence was in St James's Square, and the other to the Father Caroglio, Rome. After I had spent a day or two in town, I bethought me of presenting my introduction. I was ushered into the library. Sir Wilfred started as he received my letter-looked hurriedly over it.

"So my old friend Lonsdale is yet alive?" he said.

"My father was well when I left him a week ago."

"Your name is Edward-his only son?"

"Yes."

"Let me look at you more close

ly. The eye deep brown, the forehead white and high-the lip, the nose, the smile-Edward, this must be your home while you remain in England. You bring back my youth. How old are you?" "Twenty."

"This home will be but dull for one so young; but though I rarely see company, I have still some friends who will cheer our solitude. Come, let me show you your apartments."

I followed him to a suite of rooms magnificently furnished. He appointed me my own attendants, put me in full possession, and again shaking hands with me, left me to myself till dinner.

Sir Wilfred was a man of from forty-five to fifty years of age-still pre-eminently handsome, with that indescribable air and manner which are a truer stamp of nobility than the breath of kings. His appear

ance might have been considered haughty and commanding, had it not been tempered with the most pleasing smile and softest voice I had ever seen or listened to. When silent, his features assumed the expression of deep and even anxious thought. He was one of that class of men with whom it is difficult to begin a conversation, but who had the art of leading the way so easily, that you scarcely perceived that no subject was even mentioned unless he himself introduced it. The first day we dined together, we were alone. His conversation opened to me a new page in the volume of life. He was not perhaps so full of information as my father; but all he told me was conveyed in a manner so easy and flowing, so interspersed with anecdotes of the great then living, whose very names were unknown to me, that I listened with a delight I had never experienced before. He never alluded to his intimacy with my father, or gave me the slightest hint what circumstances in their early friendship had induced him to treat me in the manner he had done. I had never heard him mentioned till the letter addressed to him had been put into my hands; and I felt a little delicacy in accepting such extraordinary attentions from a person from whom I was not aware of any right I had to receive them. But I found it impossible to summon courage to introduce the subject. His language was so kind, and his apparent interest in my future proceedings so great, that I rested content with the supposition that he felt himself called upon, for reasons of his own, to pursue the course he had adopted; and I recollected, too, that my father, on giving me the letter, had told me to be guided in all things by Sir Wilfred Seymour's advice.

Time passed on. In a fortnight from my settlement in St James's Square, I was a gay man about town, belonged to several clubs, and criticised the opera with the air of a connoisseur. Our parties at home were numerous and splendid. Our table was filled with the great names, both of rank and literature. There were wits, and poets, and philosophers, but no ladies. Sir Wilfred was a bachelor, and his

VOL. XXXIX. NO. CCXLIII.

friends appeared to be equally unblessed. The men with whom I associated seemed even to have no sisters. The world was waste-the garden was a wild: they were both unbrightened with the smiles of women; but the world was a very happy world without them. I used sometimes to conjecture what sort of additions they would be to our society. They were never even mentioned at our table; or if alluded to at all, it was in an epigram or a sneer. There was a metaphysician, who often dined with usMr M'Selphish, who was particularly eloquent in their dispraise. He used to contrast "women as they are with what they ought to be; and prove, in a most logical and convincing manner, that they were every thing that was bad and hateful. I thought that a man who used such prodigious words, and spoke with such authority, must be correct in his opinions. Sir Wilfred smiled when I expressed my sentiments, and told me he was an ass. It is wonderful how the inexperienced are misled by the loudness of a bray.

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I wrote an account of my mode of living to Ellersby. I described Sir Wilfred Seymour, and told how affectionately he had received me. My father's silence led me of course to conclude that he approved of all that had occurred, and I entered with double zest into my new course of life. Among my companions there was one of the name of Maxwell, with whom I formed a greater intimacy than with the others. He was more nearly of my own age, being still a year or two under thirty. Our sentiments seemed almost in all things to accord. He was an enthusiast, and so was I; and yet a sort of false shame kept me from confessing the extraordinary nature of my education. I never ventured to hint to him in what an anchorite ignorance of the other sex I had been brought up; nor to express how anxious I was to be introduced to female society. He was eloquent in his confessions of the superiority I possessed, by having my feelings unblunted, as he called it, by an early intercourse with the world; but he never hinted that he was acquainted with the very un

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usual extent of my superiority. He appeared to know that I had led a very secluded life, but nothing more. Many people think they lead secluded lives who visit with half a county. With them every place is a desert, and every house a hermi tage that is distant ten miles from Almack's.

One morning, on going into Maxwell's apartments, I saw a lady closely veiled seated upon his sofa. I started on seeing her; and I knew, from the burning of my cheeks, that I was discovering my unacquaintance with the world by a blush. Maxwell rose hurriedly to receive

me.

"Lonsdale," he said, "I am happy to present you to my sister. Julia, you have heard me mention Mr Lonsdale?"

The lady bowed graciously; and after a short time, lifting up her veil, revealed to me a face sparkling with intelligence, and eyes so piercing in their expression, that I fairly quailed before them. When she saw me look down abashed by the perseveringness of her gaze, she laughed merrily as if in triumph for her victory, and engaged me in conversation. All this while I could not help feeling that the looks of Maxwell were fixed attentively on all my motions. I therefore exerted myself to conceal my embarrassment, and I flattered myself I succeeded. After this meeting, I felt myself impelled to visit Maxwell even oftener than before, and rarely had the misfortune to miss the society of his sister. Her gaiety and freedom amused me, and the kindness of her manners enchanted me. With every meeting her influence grew, till in a very short period from our first introduction, I felt that she had my destiny in her hands. I often endeavoured to talk to Maxwell about his sister, but he either answered so carelessly as to provoke me, or adroitly turned the conversation to something else.

One day Sir Wilfred and I were in the park. An open carriage was approaching, with coronetted panels, and a lady and a gentleman were seated within. I saw in a moment that the lady was Julia Maxwell. As we passed each other, I could not resist the impulse, but kissed

my hand to her with the devotion of a true cavalier. To my amazement, she looked at me with a cold and haughty expression, as if she had

never seen me.

"Edward!" said Sir Wilfred," who is that lady?"

I told him she was the sister of my friend Maxwell; and was on the point of confessing to him how madly I was in love, but her extraordinary conduct, as well as a gloom on Sir Wilfred's brow, restrained me.

"Miss Maxwell?-my poor boy, I was wrong to send you into the world of London without a guide. But as the fault was mine, I will remedy it in time to prevent its consequences. Where was it you be. came acquainted with her ?"

"At Maxwell's chambers."

He sank into deep silence, which lasted for a long time: at last he said "I will settle this for you. Maxwell has no sister."

"What!" I cried-but suddenly checking myself, leant back in the carriage and considered what I should do. Nothing more was said. We dined together as usual-and in the evening, on pretence of the Opera or the Theatre, I sallied forth to the apartments of my friend. He was from home when I arrived, but our intimacy licensed me to enter. When I had waited about an hour, during which I recalled every incident of my acquaintance with the lady, the door was suddenly opened, and Maxwell, with two or three of our usual associates, came into the room amidst a burst of laughter. He started as he saw me standing directly in front of him, calm and fixed. The laughter ceased, and our companions looked on as if expecting something unusual.

"Maxwell," I said,-"who is the lady I have met in your rooms?" "Haven't I told you." "Is she your sister?" "Haven't you heard her call me brother?"

"That is no answer to my question-and we do not part till you have answered it to my satisfaction."

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Really, Master Lonsdale, you are somewhat too inquisitive; when you have associated a little longer with MEN, you will scarcely be so boyish as to pry into family secrets."

"You are welcome," I said-biting my lip till the blood nearly came "to your taunts upon my youth; but you shall satisfy me, nevertheless, on the subject of my enquiry. Is Miss Julia Maxwell your sister?" "I refuse to answer."

"Then you are a villain-a dastardly designing villain."

"Good. The boy has spirit. Melford, will you settle this little point for me? Let it be as soon as may be."

Mr Melford accordingly stept for ward, and, addressing me in the politest way possible, begged me to refer him to some friend. I appeared nonplused at this: as indeed I scarcely knew any one to whom I considered I had any right to look for assistance. Mr M'Selphish, the metaphysician, however, came to my

aid.

"Mr Lonsdale," he said, "philosophically considered, duelling may be said to be the action of unreflecting, and, indeed, of unintelligent creatures; but as by the inductive process of reasoning we arrive at the conclusion, that none of the lower animals decide their differences of opinion by means of the pistol or sword, it follows that duelling, properly viewed, is one of the privileges of humanity, and therefore is to be cultivated like the other endowments by which Providence has seen fit to discriminate us from the brutes. I therefore willingly accept the part of your assistant on this occasion, and will settle every thing, I hope, to your entire satisfaction. If you will wait for me at the Clarendon, I will bring you all the particulars."

I retired and left them to their consultations.

That Maxwell, mine own familiar friend in whom I trusted, should deceive me that he should try to inveigle me into the toils of a person whom he had evidently presented to me in an assumed character; and that I should have been dupe enough never to have suspected the deceit, was a bitter subject to reflect upon. I do not know why it is, but I take the truth to be, that people, however much they hate and reprobate the deceiver, have a still lower opinion of the person who is deceived. I could not help feeling that Maxwell,

though guilty of conduct which proved that he was base and unprincipled, had triumphed over one whose conduct was only the result of inexperience. And yet if any one had his choice between the two, who would not prefer the accusation of simplicity to that of dishonour ? Mr M'Selphish joined me very soon.

"You shall meet him to-morrow," he said," at daybreak. On analyzing the principles which have guided your conduct, I think you are right." "Then she is not his sister ?"

"Oh no. I thought every body knew who Maxwell's Julia was. And as he wanted to get quit of her, an examination into his conduct will prove him to be right."

"How, sir! How can we both be right?"

"Very easily. Philosophy is divided into two branches-the moral, or that by which we regulate our opinion of the actions of other people-the intellectual, or that according to which we judge of our own. Now, you will perceive that according to the philosophy of morals, we hold his conduct to be infamous; and it is so. But by the rules of the intellectual, he holds himself to be perfectly correct, and he is so."

"What! in trying to make his friend marry his mistress?"

"Oh! certainly; even by the moral philosophy we are told to reclaim the erring; what so likely to have this effect as a comfortable marriage?"

"He may think so," I cried in a prodigious passion; "but "

"Ah, that's the intellectual," interrupted the philosopher.

"By Heavens! I consider his behaviour the most atrocious I ever heard of."

"Right-that's the moral, or our view of the subject. Does Sir Wilfred know the circumstances?" "No."

"Good; he might, perhaps, think your behaviour wrong."

"How! in resenting an insult such as that?"

"His moral, you will observe, may be perhaps blunted by his intellectual. You know, of course, that Sir Wilfred ".

"What?"

"Has a sister." "He has none, sir; at least I have never heard of such a relation."

"Oh !-still, philosophically considered, the non-hearing of a thing of that sort is almost a conclusive argument in its favour."

Mr M'Selphish, you have been excessively kind to me this evening, but I beg you to understand that I do not at all perceive what is your meaning."

"Very likely-you have not studied philosophy. Will you have the truth? Sir Wilfred has just such a sister as Maxwell, and we have also heard that his intention as to disposing of her is the same."

"The man that has the audacity to hint at such a thing, lies-if 'twere my brother I would make him eat his words."

"I am not your brother; therefore, logically, your threat can have no reference to me. But it is true; and more, she resides in his house."

I sat still in silence, hesitating whether to hear more or to knock down the slanderer before he had time to utter another syllable. He went on

"But patience. Time, the innovator, is also the revealer. If before a month from this time you are not convinced of the truth of what I say, I will give you such satisfaction as you shall demand."

"That Sir Wilfred has a-a sister ?” He nodded.

"And that he designs her as a wife for me?"

"Just so. I take my station upon both the horns; but, in the mean time, let us settle this affair with Maxwell."

We separated shortly after. I proceeded straight home to St James's Square, and lay awake all night, tormented with the remembrance of the air of certainty with which M'Selphish spoke of the designs of Sir Wilfred. "Should this be so," I thought," should Sir Wilfred, who has been so kind, so parental, be indeed villain enough to meditate such a thing, then let this short visit to the world be my last. Welcome again the gloomy loneliness of Ellersby; nay, welcome the bullet of my antagonist, so that it frees me from the contemplation of so much wickedness and deceit."

The next morning we met as our seconds had appointed. I was wounded rather severely in the shoulder, and fainted from loss of blood. When I came to myself, I was in my own room at Sir Wilfred's, and heard a consultation going on between M'Selphish and the surgeon, who was arranging his instru. ments to extract the ball.

"You will perceive, sir," said M'Selphish, that nature has implanted no feeling in the human mind with the intention of leaving it unemployed. The most powerful of these is that by which we are led to secure our own safety. Now, tell me sincerely whether there is any risk in awaiting the chances of this young gentleman's recovery?"

"Risk? sir," said the surgeon"do you mean to ask if he is in danger ?"

"It amounts to that-but by the manner in which you have enunciated the proposition you make him the principal party interested in your reply. Now, that is manifestly wrong. If he had asked the question it might naturally enough have been supposed that your response should have been directed primarily to the state of his bodily health ;but as I was the person who made the interrogation, you will see that my situation was the first object of my consideration. His recovery is, of course, a primary matter to him; -but with me it is secondary-the first and nearest matter to me being simply this, am I called on, according to the philosophical doctrines of self-preservation, to elope till his recovery is a matter of absolut certainty or is it an absolute certainty already?"

The surgeon, who had been occupied with his preparations during this harangue, now approached me to apply his instruments; I drew back, and said, as firmly as I could, "Let Sir Wilfred Seymour be called. Mr M'Selphish, let me not detain you. Thank you, and farewell."

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Softly; I have made an enquiry of my surgical friend here, which is of momentous interest to me-but, indeed, the safest plan will be to accept Maxwell's invitation to accompany him and Melford for a six week's cruise in his yacht; by that time your fate will be decided one

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