A Love Story
"A stranger arrived from a far and foreign country. His was a mind
peculiarly humble, tremblingly alive to its own deficiencies. Yet,
endowed with this mistrust, he sighed for information, and his soul
thirsted in the pursuit of knowledge. Thus constituted, he sought the
city he had long dreamingly looked up to as the site of truth--Scotia's
capital, the modern Athens. In endeavouring to explore the mazes of
literature, he by no means expected to discover novel paths, but sought
to traverse beauteous ones; feeling he could rest content, could he meet
with but one flower, which some bolder and more experienced adventurer
might have allowed to escape him. He arrived, and cast around an anxious
eye. He found himself involved in an apparent chaos--the whirl of
distraction--imbedded amidst a ceaseless turmoil of would-be knowing
students, endeavouring to catch the aroma of the pharmacopaeia, or dive
to the deep recesses of Scotch law. He sought and cultivated the
friendship of the literati; and anticipated a perpetual feast of soul,
from a banquet to which one of the most distinguished members of a
learned body had invited him. He went with his mind braced up for the
subtleties of argument--with hopes excited, heart elate. He deemed that
the authenticity of Champolion's hieroglyphics might now be permanently
established, or a doubt thrown on them which would for ever extinguish
curiosity. He heard a doubt raised as to the probability of Dr. Knox's
connection with Burke's murders! Disappointed and annoyed, he returned
to his hotel, determined to seek other means of improvement; and to
carefully observe the manners, customs, and habits of the beings he was
among. He enquired first as to their habits, and was presented with
scones, kippered salmon, and a gallon of Glenlivet; as to their manners
and ancient costume, and was pointed out a short fat man, the head of
his clan, who promenaded the streets without trousers. Neither did he
find the delineation of their customs more satisfactory. He was made
nearly tipsy at a funeral--was shown how to carve haggis--and a fit of
bile was the consequence, of his too plentifully partaking of a
superabundantly rich currant bun. He mused over these defeats of his
object, and, unwilling to relinquish his hitherto fruitless
search,--reluctant to despair,--he bent his steps to that city, where
utility preponderates over ornament; that city which so early encouraged
that most glorious of inventions, by the aid of which he hoped, that the
diminutive barks of his countrymen might yet be propelled, thus
superseding the ponderous paddle of teak, He here expected to be
involved in an intricate labyrinth of mechanical inventions,--in a
stormy discussion on the comparative merits of rival machinery,--to be
immersed in speculative but gigantic theories. He was elected an
honorary member of a news-room; had his coat whitened with cotton; and
was obliged to confess that he knew of no beverage that could equal
their superb cold punch. Our philosopher now gave himself up to despair;
but before returning to his own warm clime, he sought to discover the
reason of his finding the flesh creep, where he had deemed the spirit
would soar. He at length came to the conclusion that we are all slaves
to the world and to circumstances; and as, with his peculiar belief, he
could look on our sacred volume with the eye of a philosopher, felt
impressed with the conviction that the history of Babel's tower is but
an allegory, which says to the pride of man,
"'Thus far shall ye go, and no farther.'"
The Brahmin's adventures elicited much amusement. In a short time,
Selby was in a hot argument with the French novelist. Every now and
then, as the Frenchman answered him, he stirred his negus, and hummed a
translation of
"I'd be a butterfly."
"Erim papilio,
Natus in flosculo."
Chapter IV.
The Postman.
"Not in those visions, to the heart displaying
Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd,
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd;
Or, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek
To paint those charms which, imaged as they beam'd,
To such as see thee not, my words were weak;
To those who gaze on thee, what language could they speak?"
Delmé had long designed some internal improvements in the mansion;
and as workmen would necessarily be employed, had proposed that our
family party should pass a few weeks at a watering place, until these
were completed. They were not without hopes, that George might there
join them, as Emily had written to Malta, pressing him to be present
at her wedding.
We have elsewhere said, that Sir Henry had arrived at middle age,
before one feeling incompatible with his ambitious thoughts arose. It
was at Leamington this feeling had imperceptibly sprung up; and to
Leamington they were now going.
Is there an electric chain binding hearts predestined to love?
Hath Providence ordained, that on our first interview with that being,
framed to meet our wishes and our desires--the rainbow to our cloud, and
the sun to our noon-day--hath it ordained that there should also be
given us some undefinable token--some unconscious whispering from the
heart's inmost spirit?
Who may fathom these inscrutable mysteries?
Sir Henry had been visiting an old schoolfellow, who had a country seat
near Leamington. He was riding homewards, through a sequestered and
wooded part of the park, when he was aware of the presence of two
ladies, evidently a mother and daughter. They sate on one side of the
rude path, on an old prostrate beech tree. The daughter, who was very
beautiful, was sketching a piece of fern for a foreground: the mother
was looking over the drawing. Neither saw the equestrian.
It was a fair sight to regard the young artist, with her fine profile
and drooping eyelid, bending over the drawing, like a Grecian statue;
then to note the calm features upturn, and forget the statue in the
breathing woman. At intervals, her auburn tresses would fall on the
paper, and sweep the pencil's efforts. At such times, she would remove
them with her small hand, with such a soft smile, and gentle grace, that
the very action seemed to speak volumes for her feminine sympathies.
Delmé disturbed them not, but making a tour through the grove of beech
trees, reached Leamington in thoughtful mood.
It was not long before he met them in society. The mother was a Mrs.
Vernon, a widow, with a large family and small means. Of that family
Julia was the fairest flower. As Sir Henry made her acquaintance, and
her character unfolded itself, he acknowledged that few could study it
without deriving advantage; few without loving her to adoration. That
character it would be hard to describe without our description
appearing high-flown and exaggerated. It bore an impress of loftiness,
totally removed from pride; a moral superiority, which impressed all.
With this was united an innate purity, that seemed her birthright; a
purity that could not for an instant be doubted. If the libertine gazed
on her features, it awoke in him recollections that had long slumbered;
of the time when his heart beat but for one. If, in her immediate
sphere, any littleness of feeling was brought to her notice, it was met
with an intuitive doubt, followed by painful surprise, that such
feeling, foreign as she felt it to be to her own nature, could really
have existence in that of another.
Thank God! she had seen few of the trickeries of this restless world, in
which most of us are struggling against our neighbours; and, if we could
look forward with certainty, to the nature of the world beyond this, it
is most likely that we should breathe a fervent prayer that she should
never witness more.
Her person was a fit receptacle for such a mind. A face all softness,
seemed and _was_ the index to a heart all pity. Taller than her
compeers,--in all she said or did, a native dignity and a witching
grace were exquisitely blended. She was one not easily seen without
admiration; but when known, clung Cydippe-like to the heart's mirror, an
image over which neither time nor absence possessed controul.
The Delmés resided at Leamington the remainder of the winter, which
passed fleetly and happily. Emily, for the first time, gave way to that
one feeling, which, to a woman, is the all-important and engrossing one,
enjoying her happiness in that full spirit of content, which basking in
present joys, attempts not to mar them by ideal disquietudes. The Delmés
cultivated the society of the Vernons; Emily and Julia became great
friends; and Sir Henry, with all his stoicism, was nourishing an
attachment, whose force, had he been aware of it, he would have been at
some pains to repress. As it was, he totally overlooked the possibility
of his trifling with the feelings of another. He had a number of sage
aphorisms to urge against his own entanglement, and, with a moral
perverseness, from which the best of us are not free, chose to forget
that it was possible his convincing arguments, might neither be known
to, nor appreciated by one, on whom their effect might be far from
unimportant.
At this stage, Clarendon thought it his duty to warn Delmé; and, to his
credit be it said, shrunk not from it.
"Excuse me, Delmé," said he, "will you allow me to say one word to you
on a subject that nearly concerns yourself?"
Sir Henry briefly assented.
"You see a great deal of Miss Vernon. She is a very fascinating and a
very amiable person; but from something you once said to me, it has
struck me that in some respects she might not suit you."
"I like her society," replied his friend; "but you are right. She would
_not_ suit me. _You_ know me pretty well. My hope has ever been to
increase, and not diminish the importance of my house. It once stood
higher both in wealth and consideration. I see many families springing
up around me, that can hardly lay claim to a descent so unblemished I
speak not in a spirit of intolerance, nor found my family claim solely
on its pedigree; but my ancestors have done good in their generation,
and it is a proud thing to be 'the scion of a noble race!'"
"It may be;" said Clarendon quietly, "but I cannot help thinking, that
with your affluence, you have every right to follow your own
inclination. I know that few of my acquaintances are so independent of
the world."
Sir Henry shook his head.
"The day is not very distant, Gage, when a Dacre would hardly have
returned two members for my county, if a Delmé had willed it otherwise.
But there is little occasion for me to have said thus much. Miss Vernon,
I trust, has other plans; and I believe my own feelings are not enlisted
deep enough, to make me forget the hopes and purposes of half a
life-time."
It was some few days after this, when Emily had almost given up looking
with interest to the postman's visit, that a letter at last came,
directed to Sir Henry; not indeed in George's hand-writing, but with
the Malta post mark. Delmé read it over thoughtfully, and, assuring
Emily that there was nothing to alarm her, left the room to consider
its contents.
By the way, we have thought over heartless professions, and cannot help
conceiving that of a postman, (it may be conceit!) the most callous and
unfeeling of all. He is waited for with more anxiety than any guest of
the morning; for his visits invariably convey something new to the mind.
He is not love! but he bears it in his pocket; he cannot be friendship!
but he daily hawks about its assurances. With all this, knowing his
importance, aware of the sensation his appearance calls forth, his very
knock is heartless--the tones of his voice cold. Feeling seems denied
him; his head is a debtor and creditor account, his departure the