8:^ M\94 u {S^\ LI B R.AR.Y OF THE U N1VER.5ITY or ILLINOIS 823 ^ r p/^ci,c^Qny^jf^^r^ Jj-Ktsj GERALDINE ; OR, ^oDcs Of ifaitb anD JLS^ractice. A TALE, /iV THREE VOLUMES. BY A LADY. There is no virtue more amiable in the softer sex, than that mild and quiescent spirit of Devotion, which, without en- tangling itself in the dogmas of Religion, is melted by its charities and exhilarated by its hopes. Cowpeb. To be good and disagreeable, is high treason against virtue. Elizabeth Smith. SECOND EDITION. VOL. L LONDON: PRINTED FOR T. CADELL, IN THE STRAND; AND W. BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH. 182L Printed by A. and R. Spottiswoode, Printers- Street, London. I/,) PREFACE. "All is said/' says La Bruyere, ** and we come too late ; since it is more than five thousand years that men have reflected." In the age when this complaint was ^>made, the path of literature was compara- "^ tively unbeaten ; many beautiful and un- :; frequented spots remained to reward the :j diligent traveller 5 many portions of * terra 2 incognita' might still be found rich in ^golden fruit. ^ But, though more than a hundred and il fifty years have elapsed since this discou- ^ raging sentence was pronounced, it has - neither fettered the pen of the author, nor J? restricted the expectations of the reader ; A 2 IV PREFACE. the charm of novelty is still sought with avidity. If such be the hapless lot of authors ; ift as a witty writer has observed, * their best thoughts have been stolen from them by the ancients/ they are to be applaudedfox the dexterity with which they contrive to work up old materials ; for the gloss, beauty and variety with which they invest them. It is certainly true that a picture of hu- man nature, if faithful, must fundamentally be similar to that which has been exhibited a thousand and a thousand times ; but may not the grouping be varied, the figures pre- sented in new attitudes, the light and shade differently managed? Until error has laid aside its Proteus character; until it ceases to assume an infinite variety of forms, an attentive observer of morals and manners, will probably find something in both, to counteract, and to combat. It has been suggested to the author of the following tale, that the gravity of her title-page may alarm the gay, she is quite PREFACE. V ready to allow that dulness must be fatal to a work of fiction, and she has Been as anxious as the gayest of the gay could de- sire, to recommend the truths which she has at heart, without being guilty of tliis un- pardonable siiu The pious reader, if any such should ho- nour this trifling work with their attention, will not, she trusts, mistake the motives by which the writer has been influenced. If she has touched upon those modes of faith or religious belief, w^hich produce errors of practice, it has not been for the unhallowed purpose of depreciating religion itself. The narrow, intemperate, injudicious zeal, pour- trayed in one of her characters, is totally distinct from that holy and humble ear- nestness, without which religion is little more than a form. Infidelity, indeed, has resumed its malig- nant activity ; and our feelings have been outraged by hearing all that is sacred in the doctrines, all that is dear and venera- ble in the institutions, of our religion, pro- VI PREFACE. faned and polluted; it is not, however, less certain that the profession of earnest piet) is no longer either discreditable or un- fashionable. The * dexterous secrecy,* witl which Dean Swift contrived to perform his family devotions, w^ould now be as need- less as it was then cowardly. But, though Rehgion forms so prominent a figure on the canvass, she is not always exhibited in her own fair and beautiful proportions ; the three Christian graces, by whom she should be perpetually encircled, are sometimes unwisely separated ; and thus the sphere of her usefulness is con- tracted, and the brightness of her counte- nance obscured. But if these mistakes have not been passed over in silence, the author hopes that the more fatal error of those who reject, despise, or neglect religion, has not been left in the shade ; and that the young and gay who seek entertain- ment in the perusal of this little work, will, close it with the impression that, weigher! PREFACE. Vll against pure, active, and enlightened reli- gious principle; the splendour of rank, the magic of wit and the fascinations of genius, are but dust in the balance. January 13th, 1820. GERALDINE. CHAPTER I. Ihere is no possibility of refusing this request," said Mrs. Mowbray, addressing her husband, as she folded up a letter she had just received — ''there is absolutely no possibility — " " Then, my dear," returned Mr. Mow- bray, ** the request has at least the charm of novelty ; for I never yet heard or met with one, that it was absolutely impossible to re- fuse." " You have been singularly fortunate, Mr. Mowbray ; my experience has been less happy — by the by, a case in point : — Last night, Georgiana was pounced upon for a partner in a quadrille, the moment VOL. I. B 2 GERALDINE. she entered the ball-room, by a man almost as ugly as the " veiled prophet ;" and how could she possibly refuse ?" " I have little doubt, my dear, that she would have danced with the " veiled pro- phet" himself, rather than have missed the quadrille, and been reduced to the alter- native of remaining quiet the whole even- ing ; but the word impossible is " " Oh! spare me, I beseech," said the lady, with a look of mock-supplication ; " spare me the definitions — the derivations: I have an instinctive, irresistible, un- conquerable aversion to them ; so lay aside that alarming logical look ; for I defy you and Home Tooke, and Johnson, and Lowth, and all the Pundits and Rabbis that ever existed, to make me like or en- joy a definition." " Notwithstanding your instinctive hor- ror of them," replied Mr. Mowbray, " I venture to pronounce that they are very useful, satisfactory sort of things." '< Very possibly, my dear, very possibly j GERALDINE. O they may be highly satisfactory to some minds ; to those who like to dig, and delve, and dive ; but I, who would rather plume my wing, and soar wherever fancy leads, I declare war against them : they are the ruin of eloqtience." " Of what species of eloquence, my dear?" said Mr. Mowbray drily, <* of a lover's, or a lawyer's, or a lady's ?" " Of all and every species, genus, and variety. How can a ray of eloquence be expected from that slow, pausing, ponder- ing race, whose sole delight is in defini- tions !" " Sole delight," echoed Mr. Mowbray, quietly — " When you are tired, my dear," continued he, '* of twisting that paper into fifty different shapes, perhaps I shall get a peep at its contents. You will at least give me credit for successfully curbing my curiosity." " Oh ! but you have no curiosity, not a grain, not an atom," said his lively lady. *« Mrs. Shandy herself, who went out of B 2 4 GERALDINE. the world without knowing whether it turned round or stood still, had ten times more ! and it would be a most provoking deficiency, I assure you, only that I am a perfect Griselda — not provokable." " I wiir not call your virtues and per- fections into exercise now, my dear ; for I really wish to know the contents of this letter." /" They relate to a little girl who is al- most a stranger to us ; but here it is : read, and resist if you can.'' The letter was as follows : To Mrs, Mowbray, " I am resolved, my dear sister, to leave England inmiediately : my spirits will never recover their tone in this region, where every thing reminds me of departed joys. Your long residence on the Continent, and many other circumstances, since my mar- riage, have combined to separate us ; and I do not, I cannot, expect that close and intimate sympathy in my present feelings. GERALDINE. 9 which you might once have felt; but I claim, without fear or hesitation, your kindness and protection for my dear Geraldine. *< Will you take charge of her during my absence ? You will find her amiable and affectionate. Though six months have elapsed since her irreparable loss, she has not yet recovered her vivacity, but retains the most tender recollection of her mother. " May she one day resemble her ! If pos- sible I will travel with her myself to Wood- lands, and see you all once more : till then, adieu. " Edward Beresford." " As your brother probably resembles most other human beings, my dear,'* said Mr. Mowbray, returning the letter, " his grief, I have a notion, would have evapor- ated in less time than lie imagines, even in our thick English air ! The character of a disconsolate mourner is seldom long sus- tained or sustainable." B 3 O GERALDINE. *< Happily it is not !" said Mrs. Mowbray, musing. *« I knew but little of the lady, who ex- cites this overwhelming sorrow ; but doubt- less, she was superlative !" <* Oh ! mortal mixture of earth's mould was never half so perfect !" exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray -^<* A gem ! a bird of paradise ! if her proneurs are to be believed, but we never suited : you know, * two stars keep not their motion in one sphere !' " " Was the dread of ellipse on your side, or on hers ?*' said Mr. Mowbray. " Upon my candour! — why then I am afraid — really, I am afraid, my good father confessor, that it was on mine." " You might, however, have consoled yourself, by reflecting, that the Sun him- self occasionally submits to this indignity.'* " Why — I was heroic enough to forgive her for being ten years younger, and twenty times handsomer, than myself; but her taste, her feelings, the tone of her mind, did not accord with mine \ there was some- GERALDINE. f thing too elevated, too seraphic, too un- earthly ! about it.'* " Fortunately for you, my dear,*' said Mr. Mowbray, " the existing state of hu- man nature permits us to hope, that you will not often be disgusted, and distanced, by this exuberance of perfection." " So much the better!" rejoined Mrs. Mowbray, laughing. " To live with those sons and daughters of wisdom, is like being shut up in the palace of ice : all is clear, transparent, and shining ; but then it is dangerous, even to breathe in the chill atmosphere ! They have such a holy horror of wit and imagination, that our faculties are really fettered, and spell-bound, in their society." '* As Geraldine is nearly fomteen years of age, she may perhaps have imbibed rather an alarming taste for this petrifying ex- cellence," said Mr. Mowbray. " Pray what do you mean to do with her ?" " She is at a very tiresome age, indeed," replied Mrs. Mowbray — << too young for a B 4 € GERALDINE. companion ; too old for a pet ; and grave enough, I suppose, for a philosopher ! — However, she may ** bestow her tedious- ness" upon Mademoiselle Dubourg. She is so much younger than Fanny, that there will be no fear of competition between them ; and as to Georgiana — " ** What can Georgiana be about? that we don't see her at breakfast," asked Mr. Mowbray. " Dancing in her dreams, I suppose," rejoined his lady; <« but pray, my dear, have mercy upon me ! and don't open the newspaper: this is your fifth cup of tea; and I am sure, the cups are large enough for Glumdalclitch." " Exactly so," said Mr. Mowbray j *«and I am sorry to tell you, that your morning labours are not likely to finish yet ; for here comes Colonel Harcourt." ** With some sonnet, I suppose, to * his mistress's eye-brow !' " ** In case he should doom me to listen to it," said Mr. Mowbray, " I, and my paper, will escape to the library." GERALDINE. 9 " And leave me to tell him, that his fair lady's eyes are sealed in soft repose ; and that she is probably dreaming of him, or his rupees." " Tell him what you please, my dear 5 only let me get rid of bim this morning. If 1 have a dread of any thing in human shape," said he, hurrying off, " it is of a lover in heroics." Colonel Harcourt was announced. He was neither very young, nor very talJ, nor very handsome ; but he was very rich, and very much in love. Mrs. Mowbray knew his value ! — She had enquired with maternal vigilance into the length and breadth of his possessions ; had Ustened with delight to the history of his thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands ; and concluded, by securing him for Georgian a. Georgiana was precisely the reverse of the Colonel : — She was very young, very tall, and very handsome ; but not very rich, nor v^ry much in love. B 5 iO G^RALDINE. She had, however, lent a patient ear to the calculations of her mother ; she knew that " pride, and pomp, and circumstance," Avere essential to her happiness. The golden age, alas ! was gone : it was no longer practicable to live in fairy bowers, on love alone ! In the ** evil days," on which she had fallen, roses and honeysuckles, — "a scrip with herbs, and fruit supplied, and water from the spring," had lost their fascination. Colonel Harcourt's curricle, his barouche and four, and even his palanquin, were infinitely more bewitching ! — It was true, she must leave England, and home ; ** po- lished friends, and dear relations:" but Georgiana had no redundant sensibility. The decision cost her a sigh, and a tear, quickly chased away, by visions of eastern splendour : — she accepted Colonel Har- court ; and looked forward to life as to a magnificent festival ! Mrs. Mowbray received him this morn- ing with her accustomed suavity. 16 GERALDINE. IJ '* Exactly in time to breakfast with Georgiana, my dear Harcourt,'* said she, as he entered the room. " I don't know, whether it was * poppy, or mandragora, or what drowsy syrup of this world,' yon gave her last night ; but she sleeps like the princess in the fairy tale." ** The room was so cursedly crowded," said Colonel Harcourt, ** that there was no breathing in it ! — It was enough to fatigue her to death !" *< She is not quite killed, however," said Mrs. Mowbray ; ** for here she comes !" Georgiana appeared, in a becoming morning dress ; — languishing, lovely, and tender ! — She thought herself irresistible ! Colonel Harcourt thought she realised all the dreams of all the poets who had writ- ten since the flood ; — himself included. Mrs. Mowbray thought it kind, to give him an opportunity of telling her so. — She left the lovers tete-a-tete ; and went to consult Mademoiselle Dubourg, upon what was to be done with Geraldine. B 6 12 GERALDINE. CHAP. II. G"ERALDiNE Bcresford, who was thus to exchange the home of her infancy, for the protection of Mrs. Mowbray, had sustained a loss, which the tenderness of her nature already taught her to feel ; but which time and maturity of judgment could alone teach her to estimate. Her short life had hitherto been calm, bright, and cloudless, as a radiant summer morning. The wild spirits and sportive gaiety of childhood had been gently regu- lated, not roughly checked, by her tender and judicious mother. She had been the subject of many a holy wish, of many a fervent prayer, as she frolicked in noisy joy at her side, or sprang with glowing cheek and laughing eyes into her arms ! — GERALDINE. 13 She had excited many a bright hope, and many a dehghtful dream ! — but the hope was to fade, the dream to vanish, the tender tie to be dissolved, — she was now to breathe in a colder atmosphere. Mrs. Beresford's character was indeed of no ordinary stamp. Education and circumstances had combined to mould it into beautiful proportion, and mature it to high excellence. Her youth had been saddened by events, which no lapse of years could efface from her remembrance, and embittered by sa- crifices occasionally felt and regretted, even amidst prosperity's most enchanting smiles. Many years of her life had been passed in a remote and sequestered village, among the Highlands of Scotland, where her father filled the office of pastor. In the choice of a wife, Mr. Campbell had sought only to gratify his taste for virtue and refinement. His lofty, and utter disregard of wealth, hadbeen pronounced by 14 GERALDINE. his friends highly imprudent, and by his enemies, absurd and ridiculous. Mr. Campbell, however, contemplated life, its purposes, capabilities, and enjoy- ments, in a different point of view. A calm, pure, and elevated piety, un- tinctured by bigotry, unclouded by austerity," was the ruling and active principle of his conduct. It dissipated the bewildering mist which falsely magnifies the pleasures and possessions of the world, and threw around them aluminous distinctness, which enabled him to estimate them with precision. He was, therefore, content with an in- come which placed him at an equal distance from disquieting poverty, and ensnaring v/ealth ; and with a situation, combining active usefulness with the leisure and in- dependence he loved. His family consisted of two daughters, who shared his tenderest affection, and most vigilant care. Their education he considered as a sa- cred and important duty ! He contem- GERALDIJfE. 1*5 plated them not merely as gay and lovely creatures, formed to charm and decorate the passing hour ; but with a father's ten- derness, intermingled the holy purposes, the high hopes, the bright anticipations of a Christian pastor! Mrs. Campbell's views harmonised with his own ; and they passed many a serious, but not undelightful hour, in watching the expansion of these precious flowers, and training them, not only to bloom in light and loveliness on earth, but in the fond hope of their diffusing a richer fragrance, and disclosing a brighter beauty, in the bowers of Paradise. To religious and moral principles, Mr. Campbell added a degree of intellectual cultivation, which a mind of narrower limits would have gravely pronounced idle and superfluous ; but he knew too well the charm of literature, to exclude his daughters from so rich a resource ; and cherished taste, as the ** younger sister of virtue."' 16 GERALDINE. As their characters unfolded, they ex- hibited a striking diversity; but this diver- sity did not interrupt the perfect and tender union that subsisted between them. The mind of Margaret was lofty, and contemplative, and the intenseness of her feelings and affections would have been a source of much anxiety to her father, had he not perceived a corresponding strength and power of principle. The home where she had been educated, and the mountain-scenery by which she was surrounded, w^ere sacred in her eyes : and there, in the exercise of all the charities of life, she would have been well content to live and die. Clara was still more attractive than Margaret. " As Hebe gay, as Venus fair, *' Youthful, lovely, light as air," she seemed formed to charm away grief. Her face was radiant with smiles and health : fancy and hope were busy in her GERALDINE. 17 Jieart. The peaceful lake, the lofty moun- tain, — her native home, — were indeed deai' to her; but still lovelier scenes arose, in the bright perspective that fancy disclosed. In the spring of life — of youth — of joy, she seemed to forget that roses without thorns, and skies without a cloud, were not to be found on earth. The retirement in which they lived did not amount to seclusion ; for the beautiful scenery in their immediate neighbourhood attracted the attention of travellers ; and as Mr. Campbell's hospitable house generally afforded them accomodation, they had a frequent succession of guests during the summer months. It was on a bright and balmy day of July, that, for the gratification of a newly arrived visitor, an excursion was planned to a beautiful little island, at some distance from their residence. The path they pursued wound through a narrow pass of singular sublimity, surrounded on every side by lofty rocks, shooting abruptly from the dell ; their summits, rent into 18 GERALDINE. thousand fantastic shapes, were overgrown with a profusion of creeping shrubs, which embalmed the air. The grey birch and light ash quivered to the summer breeze, and the lofty pine flung its shattered trunk from cliff to cliff, almost excluding the bright beams of heaven. A steep and tangled mountain-path con- ducted them to an airy summit, from whence they beheld a combination of scenery at once grand, wild, and enchanting. Clara, seated on a little green knoll, which she calkd her throne, playfully bade them bow down before her. " Margaret shall be queen of that fairy spot,'' said she, point- ing to a small wooded island, which ap- peared to float on the calm bosom of the lake ; " but here shall be my palace : I will bribe the spirits of the mountain and the flood, and theyshall raise one with the speed of thought : come, Margaret, help me to begin my invocation." " You must wait for twilight's charmed hour," repUed Margaret. " Unholy rhyme,, and muttered spell, will be powerless now^" GERALDINE. 19 ** Let her consult the fairies of her island, my dear Clara," said Mr. Campbell -, " for, I think, if we loiter here much longer, we shall have some chance of finding them at their nightly revels." " Yes — I am afraid I must be content to wait till hallow-eve," said Clara, rising with feigned reluctance 5 " for the viewless forms of air come not at my bidding." They reached the island, and found so many favourite haunts to revisit, that as Mr. Campbell had predicted, it was late, before they could be persuaded to return. The sun set in cloudy magnificence -, not a leaf stirred among the woods : nor was the smallest ripple seen upon the lake. A profound stillness and stifling heat an- nounced an approaching tempest. Margaret looked with shuddering dread at the darkening sky, while Mr. Campbell and his friend exerted their most strenuous efforts to gain the shore, before the burst- ing of the storm. Clara alone was fearless, and light-hearted. It was stormy twilight ^0 GERALDINE. — the very hour that painters and poets best love! In a few minutes the moon would rise, and, with her siver light, chase away every angry cloud — in another hour, they would be at home ! — relating their hopes and fears to Mrs. Campbell. Alas ! the heavens smiled not on the sweet hopes of Clara ! Every succeeding minute deepened the gloom of the lurid clouds, and the awful stillness was broken by a dreadful gust of wind, which seemed to rush at once from every quarter of the heavens ! The placid lake, roused into fury, threat- ened their light bark with instant destruc- tion ; and the roar of waters mingled in dreadful tumult with the howling wind and pealing thunder. Mr. Campbell and Mr. Fullarton redoubled their exertions; though amid the din of the raging elements human efforts were of little avail. Some of the in- habitants of the glen had descried the boat from a high point of land, and hastened down to a small bay, where they thought it GERALDIXE. Ql probable she might effect a landing ; a vivid flash of lightning discovered her within fifty yards of the spot where they stood ! By another flash, they perceived the boat still nearer the shore ; but amid the loud thunder, and mighty rush of wind that succeeded, a piercing shriek assailed their ears, which left no doubt of the calamity that had taken place. .2^ . GERALDINE. CHAP. HI, Mrs. Campbell, who, fearful of the op- pressive heat, had dedined joining the party, had watched the progress of the storm, with an anxiety which every suc- ceeding moment rendered more intense. She had dispatched messenger after mes- senger in quest of tidings, and now re- mained in entire solitude ; all had left her with the promise and hope of bringing speedy intelligence ; but hour after hour wore away, and not one returned ; nor did a single sound interrupt the dreadful stillness around her. The last murmur of the storm had long since died away ; and she sat in mute agony ! — her eyes fixed on the time-piece, whose slow and regular progress seemed to mock her impatience ! It struck twelve. — GERALDINE. ^S With the restless energy of misery she left the house, determined to put an end to a suspense so insupportable. The repose of the scene without^ ill ac- corded with the tumult of her mind. The landscape slept in soft tranquillity; the winds, hushed into a gentle breeze, scarcely curled the waters of the lake, which lay glittering in the calm moon-beam. The flowers were all fragrance, the air all balm; but the loveliness of nature was unheeded. — She could only listen, in wretched perturbation, for sounds which she dreaded to hear. At length, the low murmur of distant voices arose upon her ear, and she heard the tread of many footsteps. As they ap- proached the house, the voices sunk into a low whisper, ^iiich, as they drew nearer, was exchanged for a mournful silence. The crowd stopped — there was a pause. Mrs. Campbell, trembling violently, w^as unable to move. In a few moments, a solitary, reluctant footstep approached the Q't GERALDINE. garden-gate : — it was slowly opened, and she perceived Mr. FuUarton. Without speaking he gently led her into the house. She fixed her eyes on his countenance, — it was but too eloquent ; and the agony of suspense was quickly changed into the anguish of certainty. The horror and agitation it expressed told a dreadful tale ! He struggled in vain to speak ; — over- powered by his emotions, he leaned upon the table, and covered his face with his hands. Mrs. Campbell, with a strong ef- fort, and in a voice of unnatural calmness, implored him to speak j and gradually he detailed the heavy tidings. Their boat had been upset by a tremen- dous gust of wind : and of those so dear to her, Margaret alone remained ; — she alone was rescued ! Mr. Fullarton could offer no consolation ; at such a moment, it would have been mockery. After con- veying Margaret to her mother's arms, he left them to the full indulgence of their woe. GERALDINE. 25 In sorrow like theirs, what availed the tenderness of sympathy, or the softness of compassion. The morning had seen them rich in life's best blessings: night came, and they were lone and desolate. Mar- garet's eye turned from the open book, in which her father had been reading, to the summer nosegay, half-sketched by Clara : the flowers were still fresh and fair ; but her light and lovely form would never more be seen ; her radiant smile was gone ; her frolic footstep for ever still. Scarcely could Margaret believe the dreadful reality. Was it indeed true, that the kind beam of her father's approving eye would never more cheer or guide her in the pathof duty ? — that the voice to which she had so often listened with delighted reverence, was hushed for ever ? In these first moments of agonising recol- lection, her own life, so wonderfully pre- served, seemed valueless; and ** would that I had died with them," were the first VOL. I. c 26 GERALDINE. words that burst from her full heart ; but better feelings succeeded. The conflict between the intensity of earthly affection, and the duty of religious submission was severe, but Christian prin- ciple triumphed. Sudden darkness had indeed shrouded her earthly prospects; but amidst the gloom and desolation by which she was surrounded, that still small voice which can say to the throbbing heart, '* Peace, be still," hushed the tumult of her feelings ; it told of brighter worlds and fairer scenes : and the accents of despair were gradually exchanged for those of patient endurance. She felt that her mother had a claim upon her exertions, too sacred and powerful to be neglected ; and the whole energy of her character was soon directed to one point. — To subdue her own feelings, to controul her own sorrows, that she might sooth and mitigate the deep affliction of her mother, became her daily and hourly task y and in effecting this, life, however GERALDINE. Tl saddened by grief, or harassed by privation, appeared to her a gift of inestimable value. It became necessary, indeed, to make ex- ertions and sacrifices sufiiciently formi- dable to put the courage of eighteen to the test. The sudden contraction of their re- sources by the death of Mr. Campbell, de- manded a minute and rigid economy to which they had hitherto been strangers. Margaret felt that activity and self-denial could alone lessen the pressure of those minor, but constantly recurring evils, which are attendant upon a very limited income ; evils unknown and unintelligible to the sons and daughters of affluence, but which dis- turb and embitter the stream of life. The approaching winter presented no very cheering aspect. Mr. FuUarton had remained in the neighbourhood about six weeks, and they had been soothed, and sometimes even cheered by his judicious at- tentions, his deep and unaffected sympathy; but he had left them to return to Oxford ; and now that ** November's sky was chill c 2 ^8 GERALDINE. \and drear,'* Margaret anticipated with dis- may, the long and lonely winter evenings, which she feared no effort of hers could relieve or brighten. Her spirits would sometimes sink : vivid recollections of the past — of happiness which had fleeted like ** morning's winged dream," occasionally burst upon her mind ; but though many sad and weary hours were her portion, firmness of principle sustained her ; and if in the solitude of her chamber, silent tears of an- guish sometimes escaped her> the holy meekness of Christian feeling more fre- quently enabled her to say, ** Father, thy will be done.*' The dreary winter passed away, and spring with its bloom and beauty, would have brought with it something like cheer- fulness, had not Margaret felt a secret dread that her mother's health was de- clining. Mrs. Campbell, gentle and uncomplain- ing as was her nature, could not entirely .conceal the hectic symptoms that alarmed 18 GERALDINE. ^9 her daughter ; but she treated them hghtly, attributed them solely to the severity of the winter, and prophesied that they would be completely dispelled by the warmth and softness of summer. Margaret's fears were tranquillised, and she w^as soon farther cheered by a visit from Mr. Fullarton. Though his presence con- jured up a thousand melancholy images, yet there was a charm in his society, which beguiled her grief. She felt her intellect called into delight- ful exercise by the richness of his convers- ational powers, her taste gratified by his quick perception and enjoyment of the loveliness of nature, and her religious feel- ings animated by contemplating his vigor- ous and powerful mind, controlled, re- gulated, and refined by the pure principles of Christianity. Her favourite walks and occupations be- gan to be again dear to her : she could listen to the ** melodies of morn" and de- c 3 30 GERALDINE. light in " all the dread magniiicence of Heaven." The heavy mist which had obscured every surrounding object gradually melted away, and they appeared bright witli sun- shine. The bloom of health revisited her cheek, and the hght of hope once more sparkled in her eye. GERALDINE. 31 CHAP. IV. Mrs. Campbell rejoiced, with trembling, in the returning smiles of her daughter. Unwilling to disturb the soft serenity that had gradually stolen over her mind, she was too clear-sighted not to anticipate the pos- sible consequences of intercourse between two young persons whose characters har- monised in almost every point. Mr. FuUarton inherited from his father, the younger son of a family of some con- sequence, a very small patrimony, just suf- iicient to procure him the education of a scholar and a gentleman. His preference of the church to the army had offended the few friends who felt any interest in his wel- fare, and he was left to attain the prefer- c 4 32 GERALDINE. ment and distinction at which he aimed, by the energy of his character, and the brilliancy of his talents. Intent upon classical and literary emi- nence, he had hitherto seen nothing to la- ment in his lot ; but his solitary meditations had lately assumed a new character. Softer feelings blended with his ardent aspirations after fame ; a paradise, in which he loved to linger, had suddenly burst upon his view, and sweet visions of domestic happiness charmed his fancy. He gazed upon them, till he recoiled with disgust from his lonely iire-side, and from the abstract studies in which he had hitherto been absorbed. Every hour increased the anxiety of Mrs. Campbell. She knew that years must pro- bably elapse, before Mr. Fullarton could command even a respectable competence : at any time, she would have objected to the entanglement of an engagement to be fulfilled only at a distant period ; but in the present state of her health, which she too surely knew to be uncertain, if not de« GERALDINE. SS dining, it would entail upon her daughter certain misery. Young as she was I un- protected as she soon might be ! could she hope that prudence would be her guiding star? If an engagement were now per- mitted, it would probably then be hastily ratified, and Margaret encompassed by dif- ficulties, and doomed to the thousand evils of poverty. Her painful ruminations on this subject were interrupted by a letter, announcing a ■visit from Mr. Beresford, a young man dis- tantly related to her, whom, in his child- hood and youth, she had known intimately, and loved dearly. The ten years which had elapsed siace they met, he had passed in the great and gay world, and she longed to see how his character had stood the fiery ordeal. Margaret felt little curiosity, and no in- terest upon the subject. As her mother's friend, she welcomed their new visitor with the gentlest urbanity ; but her beam- c 5 S4f GERALDINE. ing smiles and " pleased ear" were not for him. Upon Mr. Beresford, their introduction had a very different effect. Accustomed to the monotonous polish of fashionable society, to the fritter of fashionable con- versation, and the frippery of showy ac- complishments, the chaste and unblemished purity of Margaret Campbell's mind, the unpretending simplicity of her manners, at once original and refined, excited in him an admiration not wholly unmixed with wonder ! The charm of novelty was the first attraction : it was refreshing, after the glitter and stage-effect to which he had been accustomed, to contemplate the win- ning courtesy, " the thousand decencies," that flowed in all her words and actions. If she could throw so many charms and graces round the humble home in which he found her, how would she embellish and cheer a more elevated station, a more enlarged sphere. A closer intimacy and GERALDINE. S5 daily intercourse increased the strength of this conviction. The gentlemen made frequent excursions together, to the beautiful scenes in the neighbourhood, and Mrs. Campbell sus- pected, that " the pomp of groves, and garniture of woods," did not always form the subject of their conversation ! It soon became obvious to her watchful eye, that inquietude and depression began to cloud the countenance of Mr. Fullaiton. At length, after a longer ramble than usual, he suddenly announced his intention of returning immediately to Oxford. Mrs. Campbell rejoiced that her daugh- ter was not present at this moment, and determined with judicious kindness, quietly to impart the news before they met at dinner. " I am sorry to tell you, my dear," said she, after seeking her daughter in her own apartment, " that our pleasant party will soon be lessened ! Mr. Fullarton has c 6 36 GERALDINE. just been telling me, he must leave us to- morrow." Margaret's colour rose for a moment to her temples, and then left her pale as death ; without a single word of regret, or reply, she seemed intent upon arranging the work she held in her hand, and listened without once raising her eyes. \ ** He has paid us already a long visit, and we cannot reasonably expect from him the sacrifice of a greater portion of his time," continued her mother. Margaret tried to smile, and to say, ** Certainly not ;" but the words were not audible, and the smile became a convul- sive quivering of the lip. ** It w^ould probably have appeared short to us," resumed Mrs. Campbell, without noticing her emotion, " had it been extended to a much longer period. " In any family where Mr. FuUarton has been domesticated, his absence must create a chasm not easily repaired; and GERALDINE. 37 he has so many claims to our friendship, almost to our gratitude, that it is quite natural we should feel reluctant to part with him." Margaret dared not trust herself to speak : her eyes were still earnestly fixed on her work, and Mrs. Campbell wisely left her to the relief of solitude. No sooner was the door closed, than the full tide of emotions, no longer to be sup- pressed, burst forth : the acute anguish of this moment was incomprehensible, even to herself: she seemed suddenly bereft of every sense but suffering; a thousand feelings combined to harass and irritate her. The secret revealed by this agonising emotion humbled and shocked her. She felt wretched and degraded. All that was maidenly, all that was femi- nine in her nature, revolted from the con- viction that she had not been wooed, " but had, unsought, been won." Nothing had escaped Mr. Fullarton that could justify her in her own eyes. It was 38 GERALDINE. true that there was a remarkable conformity in their tastes and feelings. How often had the loveliness of nature, the magic of poetry, the moral beauty of character, ex- cited, at the same moment, kindred feel- ings of enthusiasm and admiration in their minds ! How often had a smile at the sud- den, involuntary meeting of their eyes, expressed their consciousness of this sym- pathy ; but love — love, had never once been named between them. She walked up and down her room in restless perturbation, amazed at the violence of her feelings, full of anguish and self- upbraiding. To her pure and sensitive conscience, error seemed too soft a word for this unsolicited surrender of her affec- tions ; she bewailed it as a sin ; and to hide it from every human being, — to subdue, to forget it, if possible, herself, was the first wish of her heart. The earnestness of this desire rekindled in some degree the energy of her character : it enabled her to regain outward composure GERALDINE. 39 before she joined the dinner party, and sustained her through the evening. Little was said of the approaching separ- ation by either party. Mrs. Campbell was careful to engross as much as possible of Mr. Fullarton's attention, and Mr. Beres- ford was always happy to devote himself to Margaret. The breakfast of the ensuing morning was infinitely more trying ; and when the moment of separation came, — when the parting farewells were exchanged, — when the sound of the last lingering footstep died upon her ear, and all was silent, she may be forgiven, if a keen sense of misery, a forlorn feeling of wretchedness, suc- ceeded. That light which can shine but once on ** life's dull stream" was extinguished, and hope and joy seemed for ever faded. For a time, all the pleasures and duties of life appeared <* stale, flat, and unprofitable :*' conversation wearied her ; books were tedious, as a *' twice told tale." But this 40 GERALDINE. was a state of feeling not long to be in- dulged by the high-principled and con- scientious Margaret. Human life she felt was indeed a state in which " much was to be endured, and little to be enjoyed ;" but she had been early taught that this world was not her home, was not her Canaan ; and ought she then to murmur, if in her pilgrimage through the desert, the fruits and (lowers of Eden were denied to her. Tears poured down her cheeks while she reflected and resolved ; but the path of duty once seen, her resolution to pursue it was invincible. She did not indulge in the enfeebling luxury of solitude : she sought no moonlight bowers : she took no lonely walks : but with steady earnestness courted occupation and amusement. Exercise, study, household cares, divided her busy days ; and she was repaid, if not with happiness, at least with many a self- approving hour. 6ERALDINE. 41 CHAP. V. To these unceasing exertions, was too soon superadded a source of anxiety, which proved of all correctives the most powerful. Mrs. Campbell's health slowly but visibly declined ; and the woe which a few weeks before had appeared so terrible and over- whelming, she now thought fantastic and imaginary, compared with the dismal ap- prehensions which began to press upon her heart. The autumn was rapidly wearing away : still Mr. Beresford did not talk of leaving them. Margaret had been too much ab- sorbed in her own personal feelings ; and was now too much occupied with fears for her mother, to penetrate the motive that prompted this lengthened visit : but she rejoiced in it, as a source of amusement 42 GERALDINE. and interest to Mrs. Campbell, and her warmest gratitude was excited by his sym- pathy in her own feelings and fears ; and his unremitting and almost filial attention to her mother. The best medical aid had been procured, and a softer air was prescribed as the only remedy likely to be at all effectual. Mrs. Campbell listened quietly to the recommendation ; but aware that their in- come was totally inadequate to expenses of this nature ; she affected to doubt the ne- cessity of a measure, with which she posi- tively refused to comply. Mr. Beresford, with a warmth and ear- nestness difficult to silence, pressed Mrs. Campbell to pass the winter at a small estate of his in Devonshire ; but she felt the delicacy of her situation as it respected Margaret ; and gently, but decidedly, de- clined the accommodation. Mr. Beresford, however, was not to be thus repulsed; he renewed his solicitations; the conversation became confidential, af- GERALDINE. 43 fectionate, animated ; they talked of past and future days ; and at length his admir- ation and affection for Margaret, his hopes, fears, and feelings on the subject, were all revealed. Mrs. Campbell heard his confession with great emotion, and undisguised pleasure. Her piety, fervent and unaffected as it was, had been insufficient to shield her from a poignant sense of anguish, as she contem- plated the desolation and forlornness that awaited her daughter. Vainly had she struggled to still the throbs of maternal feeling ; its tender sigh mingled with the accents of resignation, and its tremulous tear escaped, amid the aspirations of faith and hope. With a heart inexpressibly lightened, she gave her sanction to Mr. Beresford's ad- dresses, and undertook to be his advocate with her daughter. When they retired for the night, an op- portunity presented itself for entering on the subject. As Margaret was pouring out a cordial draught, and fondly urging her 44 GERALDINE. mother to take it, Mrs. Campbell, looking affectionately at her, exclaimed, " This is not the only cordial, my dear child, that has been offered to me to-day. A most powerful one has been presented to me by another kind hand ; but it must depend upon you to determine whether I shall ac- cept or reject the charmed cup." ** Upon me, my dear mother," said Mar- garet ; *' are you not quite sure of my de- lighted concurrence in any plan that can promote your comfort." *' Not quite sure, in this instance, my dear Margaret. There are points upon which even you and I may differ. The hand which offers this cup may not be valuable in your eyes." Margaret felt the sickness of apprehen- sion steal over her, and listened with a fluttering heart. " I have been a silent but deeply in- terested witness, my dearest child," said Mrs. Campbell, tenderly taking her hand, ** of the conflicting feelings by which you have been lately harassed. Your secret GERALDTNE. 45 was safe from other eyes ; but the veil must be impenetrable indeed, which maternal tenderness cannot pierce. I did violence to my feelings ; for I knew that expressions of sympathy would tend to soften and ener- vate your mind ; and I therefore left you to combat alone, convinced that delicacy and principle would be victorious. Richly am I repaid by the deliglitful conviction, that the purity of your mind exceeds even its sensibility ! What may not be reasonably expected from a strength of principle, so active, so effectual, so triumphant ?" Margaret hid her face (almost convulsed with contending emotions) on her mother's shoulder. *' Look up, my dear child, you cannot for a moment distrust mv tenderness, or beheve that I can urge any sacrifice from which your heart revolts.'' Margaret replied only by an affectionate pressure of her mother's hand. ** You must be aware, by this time," continued Mrs. Campbell, ** of the subject 46 GERALDINE. of Mr. Beresford's conversation with me, this morning — tell me ?" ** Oh ! I know ; I guess — I understand, my dear mother," said Margaret; " but it is so sudden, so unexpected, so un- wished-for an occurrence." Mrs. Campbell looked mournfully at her for some moments, and then said, ** May you never know, my dear girl, the intense- ness of a mother's tenderness and fears for the sole remaining darling of her affections ; when it is the will of God that the earthly tie between them shall be dissolved !" ♦* Oh ! say not so, my dearest mother," said the weeping Margaret. " I trust, I shall not lose you ; my prayers will be heard ; you will be spared to me ; you will live." She threw herself into her mother's arms in an agony of grief. *< Would it were possible, my love," said Mrs. Campbell. — *< Cheerfully, thankfully, would I encounter a thousand evils to shield you from the tempests of life ! Willingly would I forego, for a season, that heavenly GERALDINE, 47 joy for which I humbly hope, to be your earthly refuge and shelter ; but it will not be ! — She paused, with an expression of anguish and affection in her countenance, wliich spoke volumes to the heart of Mar- garet. It beat quickly with powerful emotions. Image after image, ciowded in tumultuous and rapid succession before her view; but her eyes rested on the faded cheek, and sinking frame of her mother, and all other feelings were subdued; — all other regrets became mute. That heart, which trembled with anxiety for her, liad been pierced through with many sorrows, and could she refuse to hush it into calm- ness, when only a personal sacrifice was necessary ? Speaking rapidly, and with a manner full of energy, — " I have ceased, my dearest mother," said she, " to expect great happiness in this world ; but there are pleasures still within my reach ; — to bestow happiness, is perhaps better than to enjoy it. If the respect, the esteem, the approbation of a 48 GERALDINE. grateful heart, will satisfy Mr. Beresford, I will cheerfully receive him as my hus- band." ** Blessed may your union be, my be- loved child 1" exclaimed Mrs. Campbell, *' and may you be rewarded, where re- wards are just and permanent." They separated for the night ; but the agitating nature of their late conversation banished sleep. Mrs. Campbell's medi- tations were full of hope and peace. The clouds which had dimmed the future, were dispersed and all was bright and cheering. Mr. Beresford's habits and manners had already won her daughter's esteem ; his tenderness would awaken her affection, his disinterestedness command her grati- tude, and his easy fortune secure her from privations and perplexities. Some repug- nant feelings were indeed natural ; but for her ultimate happiness she had no longer any fear. Serenely now could she contemplate the hour of their final separation and her GERALDIXE. 49 spirit, no longer fettered by mortal solici- tude, .was prepared to wing its way to fairer worlds. The meditations of Margaret were of a different character ; the promise she had just given had decided her fate ; to with- draw it was impossible ; to repent in vain ; to fulfil it — alas ! how painful ! Re- flection, however, while it awakened a thou- sand tender recollections, had no power to chill the energy of filial love, and the in- terview which Mr. Beresford solicited the succeeding day was decisive. Satisfied with her gentle assurance of esteem and gratitude, he attributed all that might ap- pear cold to her retired habits, and the unaffected modesty of her nature ; and felt only increased anxiety, to secure and exhibit to the world this ** pearl of great price." In less than two months after this period the marriage took place, and they imme- diately removed to Devonshire for the benefit of Mrs. Campbell's health. A soil VOL. r. D 50 GERALDINE. air, and perfect repose of mind, effected a partial restoration ; and for some months Margaret indulged the delightful hope of her recovery ; but this hope was not to be reaUsed : the malady was alleviated, not subdued, and a slight cold occasioned a renewal and increase of every alarming symptom. Gradually, and almost by im- perceptible degrees, her strength wasted away ; but the decay which shattered her earthly frame extended not its ravages to the mind : ther^e all was bright, and calm, and clear. — Sustained by faith, animated by hope, she seemed superior to the pangs of mortal suffering : she rested on the Rock of Ages. To the last moment her heart retained its warm affections, her mind its clearness and vigour ; like the setting sun of a summer sky, which sinks amidst brightness and beauty, to rise again in radiance and joy. GERALDINE. 51 CHAP. VL A PROFOUND and solemn impression was left on the mind of Mrs. Beresford by the events we have now detailed. Death, resistless and unrelenting, had seized upon the dearest objects of her aftection. Circumstances had blighted and crushed the secret hope of her heart. To her, therefore, life had lost much of the freshness of its colouring. She felt a deep conviction of the fragility of its blessings, and the intenseness of its woes. But if the touch of affliction had scattered the gay hopes, and quelled the light spirits of youth, it had imparted a tenderness of sympathy, an activity of benevolence, a real unaffected superiority to the daily D 2 ^ Q^ [VL UB, 52 GERALDINE. trials and petty cares of life, which gave an inexpressible charm to her character. Intent only upon promoting the happi- ness of others, no selfish feelings disturbed the equanimity of her mind, or checked the flow of her benevolence. Intellectual superiority was in her so beautifully relieved by unvarying sweetness of temper, that she excited very general admiration in the society to which she was introduced, and inspired an attachm.ent tender, and almost devoted, in the circle of familiar friends among whom she might be said to preside. The character of Mr. Beresford's mind was inferior to her own; his tone of thought less clear and forcible ; his views less lofty and decided. Margaret could not be insensible to this, nor could she entirely check the recol- lections that occasionally obtruded ; but these feelings did not for a moment lessen the beautiful consistency of her conduct as a wife. Her influence over the mind of GERALDINE. Oo her husband was boundless ; but, like the agency of a guardian spirit, it was as deh- cate and imperceptible as it was effective. Mr. Fullarton had received the tidings of her marriage with more pain than sur- prise. The warm admiration expressed by Mr. Beresford had prepared him for the event; it had prompted his ovvn abrupt departure from Scotland ; and from that moment he had endeavoured to become familiar with the idea. Still, in spite of himself, a feeling, some- thing like hope, had lingered about his heart, till the letter announcing her mar- riage was put into his hands. At that decisive moment, a bitter sense of disappointment pervaded his mind. He struggled to shake it off: he tried to reason away his keen emotions ; to persuade him- self that he rejoiced in her happy prospect^. It would not do : he could only quarrel with the selfishness of his own nature, and pray, with unutterable tenderness, for lier Jiappiness. D 3 54 GERALDINE. With the consciousness of such feelings, it was natural that he should withdraw, as much as possible, from any immediate in- tercourse with the Beresfords. He wrote a short letter, expressive of the unaffected interest he must always feel in all that concerned them ; and, from that time, resisted, with admirable steadiness, the cordial invitations which he repeatedly received from Mr. Beresford. The intelligence of Mrs. Campbell's death affected him exceedingly. Happily he was too distant to yield to the strong desire it excited of once again seeing Mar- garet, and he was afterwards reasonable enough to rejoice that the temptation had been spared him. In the expression and indulgence of sympathy, when both hearts were softened by grief, he was aware that his tenderness might have betrayed itself. It was not till the fourth year after her marriage, that he ventured upon more than a short hurried visit. GERALDINE, 55 He will not perhaps be forgiven by those who contend for the undecaying nature of real love ; but it is certain, that at the end of that period, time and hopelessness had considerably tranquillised his feelings; and that he contemplated Mrs. Beresford, as a wife and mother, with quiet admiration, and with as little envy of her husband as could reasonably be expected. To compensate in some degree for such a deficiency, it must be acknowledged, that he felt a decided indisposition to mar- riage, and his perception of female charms and attractions became singularly slow and obtuse. His friendship with the Beresfords once renewed, continued for many a year to be the charm of his leisure hours; and he was ultimately indebted to it for advan- tages of a more solid and permanent nature. The living of Hartley, of which Mr. Mowbray was patron, became vacant; and through the solicitation of his friends, it was presented to him. D 4 56 GERALDINE. When admiring the pleasant situation of liis new dwelling, and making the necessary preliminary arrangements, it is probable that regrets and retrospections mingled with the grateful feelings of his' mind ; but they were of a silent and quiet character: they did not obstruct his^ view of the lofty purposes of life, or diminish the energy with which he devoted himself to the sacred duties of his profession. The events of Mrs. Beresford's married life proved that the quiver of affliction had not been exhausted by her early sorrows. She had suffered as a daughter ; she was to experience the more keen and piercing sorrows of a mother; she lost successively, many lovely children, whom she had che- rished as precious gifts from Heaven : they were snatched from her, some in the en- dearing helplessness of infancy, others in the prattling hours of childhood. Over all she had watched and wept with a mother's tenderness and anguish : but she sorrowed not as one without hope;^ GERALDINE. 57 she did not refuse to be comforted ; affliction could blight the sweet buds of earthly hope, but could not dim the radiant prospects which opened to the eye of faith. From every new trial slie arose more pure in spirit, more bright in sanctity; but she felt that frail indeed were the *' silver links and silken ties'' which bound her to earth j and though for the sake of her only surviving child, her dear Geraldine, she was content to linger in this land of shadows ; yet her heart, hopes, and affec- tions, insensibly detaching themselves from earth, became fixed on heaven. Mr. Beresford felt no surprise at the ab- straction and seriousness which had stolen over her mind. He attributed it chiefly to her situation, as she was in daily expect- ation of giving birth to another child ; and he looked forward to the event with more of hope than fear. Soon, and suddenly were these hopes exchanged for the bitterest anguish. She D 5 58 GERALDINE. died in less than two hours after the birth of a still-born son. During the short interval that succeeded her keen and protracted sufferings, she ex- pressed a wish to see her daughter. Too feeble for speech, she fixed on her a look of unutterable tenderness 1 a keen, but mo- mentary pang seemed to agitate the dying mother ; it was the last throb of earthly feeling. Raising her eyes to heaven, she <:ontinued for some minutes absorbed in prayer. Again her eye rested upon her child, but its expression had changed ; no trace of human weakness remained ; it beamed brightly with faith and hope ; a refulgent smile lighted up her features, and, with a gentle sigh, her purified spirit escaped from the trials of earth to the blessedness of heaven. Mr. Beresford remained stunned and overpowered by the suddenness of this blow. For six months he rather indulged, than struggled with his grief. GERALDINE. 59 At length, yielding to the persuasion of his friends, he resolved to leave England for some months, and coniide his daughter to the care of Mrs. Mowbray. This plan was put into immediate exe- cution. He conducted Geraldine to Woodlands, and very soon after embarked for the Continent. D 6 6G gerali>ine« CHAP. Vll. I SUPPOSE, my dear," said Mr. Mowbray,, to his lady, about a week after the arrival of Geraldine, *' that you have by this time completely decyphered the character of your niece. A few^ days must certainly have enabled so renowned a physiognomist and cranioiogist as yourself to decide what she is, and is to be/' " No y I have been too mucli occupied with Georgiana's pearls, and diamonds, and Valenciennes lace to think much about her; besides, her face puzzles me : it is full of incongruities and inconsistencies." " So secure am I, in the bliss of igno- rance," rejoined Mr. Mowbray, " that to me it appears full only of beauty and sweetness." GERALDINE. 61 ** Why, as far as the eyes and mouth are concerned, this may be true enough ; she certainly has, * Les yeua: bleu, ton- jours delicats, gut lancent une douce Jiamme, et une sourire celeste, inais, pour le reste,' " '' That shake of the head, I suppose, Mrs. Mowbray, would convey to one of the initiated quite as much instruction as Lord Burleigh's did ; but to me, it is entirely unintelligible : not a single ray of light has it communicated to my bewilder- ed mind. Will you have the goodness to interpret it ?" " Oh ! I see, I shall have you for a dis- ciple at last," exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray ; '* you will certainly become my pupil in these abstruse sciences." " God forbid!" ejaculated Mr. Mow- bray ; *' I should as soon think of turning- alchemist." " Your indifference springs from indo- lence, pure genuine indolence, my dear," replied Mrs. Mowbray. ** It is really fbrtu- 62 GERALDINE. nate for you, that there is no truth in the doctrine of the transmigration of souls: unquestionably, some day or other you would animate a tortoise. How you independent gentlemen," continued she, ** contrive to get rid of your time, is a profound mystery to me." " And how you independent gentle- women contrive to crowd so many em- ployments into the short space of a short life, is a profound mystery to me," re- joined Mr. Mowbray ; " compared to a modern fine lady, the Mrs. Bustle of for- mer days was quite a quiescent, ruminating animal." " It is a great pity, my dear," said his lady, " that you were not born a century and a half ago ; for I fully believe you re- gret the decline and fall of cross-stitch and confectionary." ** 1 certainly shall not regret the decline and fall of their successors' presumption and pretension," returned Mr. Mowbray. GERALDINE. 6$ " Oh! silence, silence! that is high treason against modern systems ; but I sus- pect that you, uncourteous champions of dull and drowsy ignorance, feel a twinge or two of jealousy, in presence of a learned lady. Do confess it now — just a slight twinge.'* ** Ask the sun," retorted he, " if he be jealous of the atoms that dance in his beam." " Oh ! worse, and worse ! — You are fit only for Diogenes and his tub !*' ** And the young women of the present day," returned Mr. Mowbray, *< in spite of the universal clamour about education, are fit only for Houris in the paradise of Ma- homet." " It is a libel, Mr. Mowbray, a complete libel: education is better understood and better conducted now than it ever was since the creation !" " Give me proof; I demand proof, Mrs. Mowbray." " Oh I the misery of being linked to a 6i GERALDINE. mathematician !" exclaimed she. " Where could my good genius be, when such a fate was reserved for me ? Must I never utter a single sentence that has not a dismal Q.E.D. at the end of it ?' *« Assertion, without proof, my dear, is like a beautiful phantom ; it looks well at a distance, but approach to touch it, and it vanishes into thin air." '' Quite a poetical flight, really, Mr. Mowbray; but, as to proof, I don't pre- tend to be gifted with miraculous powers ; I can't open the eyes of the blind 1" " I suppose," said Mr. Mowbray, after a short pause, " that Geral dine is to unite all the compatible and incompatible acquire- ments which modern innovation has ren- dered essential." *« I desired Mademoiselle Dubourg to take care of les graces and les hieiiseancesy and to give her all sorts of masters." " As there is some chance of her being an heiress," said Mr. Mowbray, *' might not some of the * thousand and one' ac- 3 GERALDINE. 65 complishments have been dispensed with ? Tinsel may be spared, where there is plenty of soHd gold." '* Oh ! the jewel will be all the better for a brilliant setting ! Who knows, that on some fair future day, it may not enricli the Mowbray line ? If my brother will but have the goodness to remain a disconsolate widower for the rest of his days, Geraldine will make the best of all possible wives for Montague." ** Let me advise you, my dear," said Mr. Mowbray, ** to limit your schemes for the present to your daughters. When Geor- gian a is safe off your hands, you can look round at your leisure for another Nabob for Fanny. As there are English mothers who might feel some reluctance at sending their daughters to wither in a foreign land, you w^ill have a good chance of success." *' Wither ! — in that land of softness and beauty, — what absurdity ! Her life will be one fairy scene of splendour and magni- ficence." 66 GERALDINE. " Then it %vill be unlike any life I ever heard of." ** As to Fanny — but I will not reveal my pet scheme for her," said Mrs. Mow- bray. " As you please, my dear ; I can wait with perfect patience; for, doubtless, it will reveal itself." " You certainly are the most provoking of your provoking race," said Mrs. Mow- bray ; " but, to punish your insensibility, you shall listen to my scheme. Know, then, (but come a little nearer, lest the rushes should hear,) that I intend that bright and particular star. Lord Glen- more, and his fifteen thousand a-year, for Fanny." *' Lord Glenmore !" exclaimed Mr. Mow- bray. *' Yes; Lord Glenmore, Viscount and Baron Glenmore, of Glenmore- Hall, in Cumberland. You could not look more incredidous, if I had proposed the Em- peror of China, or the Cham of Tartary !" GERALDINE. 6? " It will never do ; it will be all lost labour, Mrs. Mowbray : you may, perhaps, entangle Lord Glenmore in your nets ; but take my word for it, he will never be enticed into a cage." *< Ah, that raven note of yours, shall not frighten me. I have set my heart upon it." " Whether Fanny's heart be set upon it, is, of course, quite a secondary concern." *« Heart ! " exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray, " what has Hym.en to do with hearts now ; there might be time for all that in the days of Hilpa and Zilpa ; but a union of hearts, as it is called, is quite out of the question in the nineteenth century ! It is preposterous even to think of it." ** Do you suppose it probable," said Mr. Mowbray, ** that Montague will be- come a convert to the truth and beauty of this system ?" " Very probable ! — the age of poetry and heroics, and nonsense, will pass away in time. He will be glad enough, Hke the 6*8 GERALDINE. rest of the world, to exchange the flowers of Parnassus for golden fruit. Pray have you written to him to announce that the wedding day is fixed ?" " Not 1! I leave all the glory of the communication to you, who pique your- self upon rivalling Madame de Sevigne," " Very well ; I shall summon him forth- with to forsake the Muses and mathe- matics, and appear at our Saturnalia." " Have you determined, my dear," said Mr. Mowbray, '* how long it is necessary, that we should manifest, by outward and visible signs, our delight in getting rid of Georgian a?" *« Why, the Colonel told me yesterday, that they must sail in about six weeks ; so, till then, you may give up all hope of re- pose ', till then, fetes and festivals will be the order of the day. Shall I give you a sketch of our plans ?" " Don't trouble yourself, my dear; it will be sufficient fatigue to me, to witness their execution. GERALDINE. 69 " Intolerable," exclaimed Mrs. Mow- bray ; " nothing will ever animate you. You really resemble prodigiously that un- happy king of the Black Isles, who was half man, half marble." *' As I have not the slightest objection, Mrs. Mowbray, to your being priina donna upon every occasion ; I shall be obliged to you, to leave me to play personage muet whenever 1 please." *' Oh ! by all means," returned Mrs. Mowbray, laughing, and rising to leave the room; " only I hope that when you have quite forgot yourself to stone ; you will be so obliging as to nod occasionally, when you are spoken to, like the statue in Don Giovanni." 70 GERALDINE. CHAP. VIII. The important day arrived, and, like all other days, important and unimportant, passed away ; every thing went off, with eclat. It had been admitted, by most of the numerous and courteous guests, that Mrs. Mowbray was all grace and gaiety ; Geor- giana all blushes and beauty : that the entertainment had been magnificent. The Colonel, to be sure, was nothing particular, except particularly rich. A few old ladies slily insinuated that Mrs. Mowbray had played her cards well. A few young ones whispered, and wondered together in a corner, and vowed with rather needless earnestness that all the pearls of Persia, and diamonds of Golconda, would GERALDINE. 71 not have tempted them to accept Colonel Harcourt ; but altogether, and with these few exceptions, it \vas considered a well- appointed, well-conducted affair. The bride and bridegroom, according to established custom, were to pass a week at a villa at some distance; and Mr. Mowbray congratulated himself, that there would at least be breathing time, — a slight cessation of the outward demonstrations of felicity, till their return. The remaining part of the family met in high good humour, at a late breakfast the following morning. ** I will thank you for a slice of tongue, Montague," said Mr. Mowbray. " I hope you rejoice as I do, in the prospect of a day of peace and fragments.'* " Most cordially. Sir,*' returned Mon- tague. " My eyes ache with the dazzling lustre of yesterday : a family party is quite refreshing." ** If you were guilty of going to sleep last night," said Mr. Mow^bray, " you will 72 GERALDINE. have some trouble in making peace with your mother; for she has risen in full ex- pectation of an epithalaraium from your pen." ** There has been so much marrying and giving in marriage, ever since the world began/' said Montague,*' that the subject is threadbare." *' Whatis the use of a poet in thefamily," said Fanny, <* if his muse refuses to visit him on these solemn occasions ; besides, I am sure Georgiana might have inspired you. You could have compared her to Venus ; for if she had borrowed the divine cestus itself, she could not have looked more lovely." <* Georgiana w^ould like very well to be Venus, Fanny, I dare say," replied Mon- tague; " but it might not be quite so flat- tering to the Colonel, to come in for the honours and glories of Vulcan." " Why, no; I don't know what you are to do with the Colonel, indeed," said Fanny ; " he is not exactly the person to be GERALDINE. 7^ crowned with roses, or to grace a car drawn by doves." " Doubtless," said Montague, with an arch emphasis, " he is a very valuable man ; but not precisely calculated for poetic in- spiration." ** Something has inspired you, Geraldine, I am sure," said Mrs. Mowbray, as her eye caught the expression of her animated face : *• those are some of the first smiles and dimples that I have detected playing round your solemn little mouth, since your arrival at Woodlands." The timid Geraldine's smiles and. dim- ples were in a moment exchanged for blushes ; and, too shy to make any reply, she applied herself with great earnestness to the business of breakfast. " I begin to hope," said Mrs. Mow^bray, addressing herself to Montague, (with a glance at Geraldine,) *' that the snow and ice will disappear, and verdure and flowers peep forth at last." VOL. I. E 74» GERALDINE. Geraldine's blushes deepened : " To say the truth, Montague," said she, after look- hig at her again for half a minute, " I cannot understand these sensitive plants ; they are pretty shrinking things enough too, but the genus is new to me ; I make mine over to your care while you remain at home.'* Geraldine's smiles returned ; she seemed quite contented to be made over to her cousin Montague. The month that had elapsed since her arrival at Woodlands had been to her a period of secret mortification and misery. Accustomed to the anxious tenderness of her lamented mother, to the indulgent fondness of Mr. Eeresford, she was not prepared for indifference, or satisfied with the kindness of mere good will. Hitherto the object of warm and concen- trated affection ; she was suddenly trans- ported to a region in which she was of little or no importance. Every body was gay and good-humoured about her. It might be the island of felicity in which she GERALDINE. ^5 was placed ; but, like the prince in the fable, she felt that it was not her home. The habits of the family presented a striking contrast to those in which she had been educated. The duties she had been sedulously taught to fulfil, the sacred in- stitutions she had learned to reverence, were here wholly forgotten, or alluded to with a levity which astonished and dis- mayed her. Too young for decision, too timid for opposition, she felt an incessant conflict in her mind, between her own sense of right and the fear of appearing " righteous over much :" — She saw that every thing was measured by a standard entirely different from the one to which she had been taught to refer ; and she felt bewildered and unhappy. Mrs. Mowbray was unsuspicious of all this : her long residence on the Continent had destroyed even the outward reverence for sacred things, which might have en- dured had she remained in England ; and E 2 76 GERALDINE. she had not the shghtest idea of Geral- dine's feeUngs. Mr. Mowbray considered religion as no- thing more than a useful political engine. Hope and fear were powerful auxiliaries in governing the minds of men, and whe- ther these passions were brought into play by the doctrines of Moses or of Christ, of Brahma or of Mahomet, appeared to him matter of perfect indifference. The spirit of patient research, with which he investigated a theory of the earth, or solved a mathematical question, had not extended itself to his religious enquiries ; he had early adopted a certain set of opinions, and his general course of read- ing tended to strengthen and confirm them. He would have combated the doc- trine of the fall of man, and the conse- quent corruption of human nature, as the idle dream of visionary minds; and yet, with an inconsistency by no means un- common, he scarcely believed in the exist- ence of disinterested and noble feelings. GERALDINE. 77 Entlmsiasm in the cause of religion or of humanity, he constantly referred to some hidden motive either of selfishness or vanity. In his opinion, by far the greater part of mankind might be comprised in the two large classes of fools and knaves. The one had the address to govern the other ; and he considered the priests of every religion under the sun, as a set of jugglers, who understood their art. It was one of his maxims that " Tons les pretres, dans tons les cultes, out toiijours tin peu de charla^ tanismeJ* He did not, however, often bring forward these opinions; seldom attacked those of others, and testified no desire of making proselytes. A contemptuous smile generally lurked round his mouth when Missionaries, Bible Societies, &c. were mentioned; but he rarely engaged in any controversies on the subject, contenting himself with a sly inuendo, or occasional sarcasm. Fanny united a little of her father's scep- ticism to all her mother's indifference ; and E S 78 GERALDINE. Mademoiselle Dubourg made over ail re- ligion to ks gens de peuple ; affirming that the notion of rE^ifer, et le Diable, was quite comme ilfaut^ pour la canaille I But, independently of these consider- ations, a sense of forlornness had pressed upon her heart. The moment of her introduction at Wood- lands was not a happy one. Mrs. Mowbray could think only of Georgiana's marriage ; the Colonel of her beauty ; Madem.oiselle Dubourg and Fanny, of her bridal array. Georgiana thought alternately of all three — much of her marriage, more of her beauty, but most of her " costly gear." Mademoiselle Dubourg, to whose special care Geraldine was consigned, received her graciously; affirmed, with a condescending- smile, that she had decidedly la figure Frangoise; and then resumed her rapturous examination of the important Trousseau. It was superbe, magnifique I unquestionably tout-d-fait Franpise ! It reminded her of a day — a happy day! — a day ** couleur de rose,*' when she was almost squeezed to GERALDINE. 79 death in getting a sight of the Duchesse De 's Trousseau. She must have been absolument abime, if it had not been for the extreme poUteness of wi Chevalier, " beau comme le jour," who extricated her from the crowd. Details of the incredible num- ber of articles comprehended in this Trous- seau, and of their surpassing beauty, suc- ceeded. ** C'etoit du dernier gout r' De- scription — panegyric — exclamation poured in. She addressed herself occasionally to Geraldine, who, confounded by the rapid- ity of her utterance, and wholly ignorant of the subject, made no attempt to reply, but looked, as she felt, bewildered and weary. Before the end of the day Mademoiselle had decided, that though she had lafigure^ Frangoise, she had le caractere Anglois ; Jroid comriie la glace; and Fanny was certain she must have been shut up for a month, at least, in the cave of Trophonius. They could make nothing of her ; she blushed whenever Mrs. Mowbrav looked at E 4 80 GERALDINE. her; appeared absolutely terrified when Mr. Mowbray asked her a question ; and seemed chiefly anxious to escape from them all, and hide herself with a book in some quiet corner of the house. It was not till the arrival of Montague that she seemed to recover something like ease and composure ; but Montague was an old acquaintance, her very dear friend, who had played with her from pure good nature manv an hour : his name was con- nected in her mind with all the joys and endearments of home ; and to Montague she could talk of the past, and detail the grievances of the present. During the long absence of Mr. and Mrs. Mowbray from England, he had remained at Eton ; and Mr. Beresford's house had been his home during some successive va- cations. He had loved and admired Mrs. Beres- ford ; and her powerful, but unobtrusive influence, had for a time been productive of the best effect. CERALDINE. 81 « Geraldine, he had been accustomed to treat with the sportive fondness of an elder brother, and the sight of a face so dear and familiar, had re-opened the springs of joy in her heart, A long stroll in the park with him did much to relieve and quiet her mind : he understood all her feelings and scruples; and she was soothed by his sympathy, and cheered by his counsel. She was somewhat surprised to find Montague much less scrupulous on some points than herself. He did not seem to attach so much importance to the suspen- sion of her religious habits. " It will be but for a short time," said he; '* Mr. Beres- ford will probably return to England in a few months, and you will then be able to resume your old habits, and to be as good as you please; in the mean time, try to dwell less on the past, and the tone of your spirits will insensibly rise : of course, you will for a time miss the devoted tenderness to which you have been accustomed ; but E 5 82 GERALDINE- there is a playfulness in my mother's ma». ner, an equanimity in her temper, that is resistless ; sooner or later, you will feel its charm. I never converse with her without feeling animated. Endeavour to be amused with the scene before you j you will find much in it that is both new and harmless. As to Fanny, she has so many engaging quaUties, that I am half afraid, you will either not see her faults at all, or learn to love them.'' Geraldine felt grateful for his kindness, and resolved to try and laugh with Mrs. Mowbray ; talk French with Mademoiselle Dubourg 5 and sing and play duets with Fanny. She found all this much easier than she expected ; but the most easy, and the most delightful of her employments, was to ride or ramble with her cousin Montague ; and at the end of a week she acknowledged, that if he could be always at home, she should not be so very unhappy at Wood- lands. GERALDINE. 88 CHAP. IX. 1 HE return of Colonel Harcourt and his bride interrupted these quiet enjoyments. It was the signal of a renewal of festivity, and congratulatory visits poured in from every quarter. Fanny, at the summit of happiness, sum- moned Geraldine to assist her in filling up the cards of invitation that were to be dis- persed through the neighbourhood. ** I can never be grateful enough to Georgiana," said she, '* for marrying that dear dingy colonel: she deserves to be worshipped for it ; it was the greatest act of sisterly kindness that could be performed.'' " What has excited this extraordinary burst of gratitude, Fanny?'* enquired Montague. E 6 84 GERALDINE. " Why, you must know, on our return to England, my father, in the plenitude of his wisdom, had issued a decree that I was not to appear in public, or visit with my mo- ther, till I had completed my nineteenth year. Now, as he does not trouble himself to make a decree above once in twenty years, he piques himself upon its resem- blance to the laws of the Medes and Per- sians, which alter not, and there was no hope of its being reversed." '* I suppose he flattered himself that a little seclusion would give you some stability of character," said Montague. "Seclusion!" exclaimed Fanny — ** Se- clusion, at Woodlands! that is too ridi- culous ! No, it was a most inconceivable whim. At first, I thought he meant to shut me up with Mademoiselle Dubourg; and I gaped so much at the mere idea of it, that I expected my mouth would never recover its beauty." «* Well j what did you do at this criti- cal moment?" said her brother. 14. GERALDINE. 85 ** I walked into his study, interrupted him in the midst of a mathematical pro- blem, and petitioned and remonstrated as the Parliament did with Charles the First." *' And what was the result ?'' *« Why, at first, he had the air of not understanding me the least in the world. He looked precisely as you may imagine a person would do on waking from a trance. At length, by a great effort, he extricated his poor head from the labyrinth of angles and triangles, in which it was wandering, and his face assumed its usual sarcastic ex- pression. * Poor Fanny,' said he, ' so you think you shall be soon tired of yourself and Mademoiselle Dubourg.' * To death, my dear Sir,' said I, * I assure you I am unfortunately already so perfectly familiar with that good lady's face, that when I have a pencil in my hand, I unconsciously make a sketch of it ; and it is always the most * inveterate likeness' you can imagine. The face is not a hair's breadth longer or shorter, or broader or narrower than the original.' " 86 GERALDINE. ** * To say the truth, Fanny,' replied my father, gravely, * you entered into society much earlier than I liked in France ; and 1 think it wiser not to follow up the system in England. Two years of quiet applica- tion will give you a little of the sobriety you want.' " ** Most alarming sounds to your ear, in- deed," said Montague. « Oh ! I can't possibly describe my dis- may," replied Fanny. " • Sobriety, my dear father,' said I ; * why, it must be the dense atmosphere of England that has inspired you with such a barbarous thought. I shall become an ab- solute petrifaction before the expiration of two years ! Is it not enough to turn any one to marble to see nothing for that space of time but Mademoiselle Dubourg tapping her snuff-box?' ' You mistake, Fanny,' said my father, * my system of seclusion is not so absolute. You will still associate with your family, and occasionally GERALDINE. 8? with their intimate friends.* Having said this, he turned, with the most invulnerable look imaginable, to his darling problems, and left me to my fate. I retreated in despair ; and for four or five months this precious system was acted upon. ** I grew as meagre as a shadow, and was pining myself into a consumption, when my good genius contrived that Colonel Harcourt, the delectable, should dance with Georgiana at a ball ; dream of her all night ; and, in short, be entirely at her disposal at the end of a few days. When this grand affair was decided, my mother took pity upon me, and repre- sented my hard case with such irresistible and persevering eloquence to my father, that, for the sake of what he cares for more than his daughter's weal, peace and quietness, he yielded." " It was with a very ill grace though," said Mrs. Mowbray, who had entered the room in the midst of this explanation, ** for you know — 88 eERALDlNE, * He that's convinced against his will, Is of the same opinion still.* " ** But yield he did,*' replied Fanny ; " and that was enough for me ; I recovered my liberty." " Is dissipation, then, so essential to your happiness, Fanny ?" asked Montague, after listening to this history. ** How radically do our tastes differ." ** The Antipodes are not more opposed," said Mrs. Mowbray. ** Fanny has no taste for < heavenly pensive contemplation ;' she has never felt those * mystic transports of solitude and melancholy born ;' however, she knows her sentence ; she need not woo the muse." " No, indeed, I don't intend to woo any thing ; least of all a muse," said Fanny ; *« but if I woo at all, I will follow Juliet's example, and choose some charming Romeo : not that he was much worth wooing, to be sure, — always sighing and complaining to the moon." ** The race of modern lovers will not be GERALDINE. 89 likely to annoy you in this way, Fanny/' ob- served Montague. ** Love is not so formid- able a deity now as he was in the days of Romeo and Petrarch. The waters of Lethe, I believe, are more accessible ; or hearts are made of * sterner stuff.' " ** Very likely," replied Fanny ; *< but I care little either for love or lovers at present. I am delighted that my cage-door is open, and that I may go into the world and look about me. Now, Geraldine, I make my most graceful and grateful curtsey to Mademoiselle Dubourg, and bequeath her and Lindley Murray, and Levizac, and Veneroni, and all those worthies to you ; hoping, with the most noble disin- terestedness, that you will become as wise as the admirable Crichton." ** I hope," said Montague, rather gravely, ** she will at least derive from her edu- cation, a taste for literature : she will find it rather more valuable than a passion for seeing and being seen," 90 GERALDINE. *' I beg, my dear Geraldine," said Fanny, " that you will draw no false inference from Montague's sober sayings and actual gravity. I think it right to let you know, that he is a perfect camelion, and reflects all hues, like that charming animal, which I have always admired amazingly. About four or five years ago, when he passed his vacations in Devonshire with Mrs. Beres- ford, he grew as grave as a judge, and used to write the most edifying letters you can conceive to mamma and me. We always called them Montague's sermonettes. Mam^ ma was really quite alarmed by them ; for she fully expected that he would turn field- preacher. To prevent such a misfortune, a new arrangement was thought of, and he was made over to an old uncle of ours, a sort of natural philosopher and concholo- gist, a man with his house full of curiositiesj^ and his head full of theories. There Mon- tague learnt to be a great naturalist, and we had no more sermonettes." GERALDINE. 91 " Have you done, Fanny ?" asked Mon- tague, calmly. " Not quite," replied Fanny. " At Ox- ford he happened to meet with a literary set ; and now literature is all the rage. By and by, love will have his turn, and plea- sure her revenge : so he will just end where other people begin." " Who empowered you, Fanny, to dive into the book of fate, and decide upon things to come ?" said Montague, in a tone of some pique. " Oh ! I like you all the better for this charming variety," exclaimed Fanny. ** I am merely anxious to prove to Geraldine, that vou are not one of those tiresome, sombre, ever-green sort of characters, the same in April, July, and December." " Without prolonging this disquisition on my character," said Montague, " tell me, which do you think is most likely to end in satiety, — a love of pleasure, or a love of literature?" <« Oh ! I can't possibly tell till I have 92 GERALDINE. tried," replied Fanny. " I dare say tliey both end alike. At any rate, I shall begin with pleasure : so finish those enchanting cards, Geraldine; and then go, if you please, and conjugate the verb ennuyer with Ma- demoiselle Dubourg." Geraldine smiled ; Montague shook his head ; and Fanny ran away to prepare for a dinner party, which had been invited for that day. CERALDINE. 9^ CHAP. X. Mrs. Mowbray was eminently gifted with r esprit de societe ; and she understood so well the happy art of breaking a circle, that she could even animate that aw^ful half-hour before dinner, usually produc- tive, in an English party, of constrained monosyllables, or silent reconnoitering. AVhen Geraldine accompanied Fanny to the drawing-room, she found various groups engaged in animated -conversation ; and secretly hoping that she might be seated next to her cousin Montague, at dinner, she joined a party of young ladies who w^ere listening, with great attention, to an argument in w^hich the merits of some author were discussing. As she approached, she heard Mr. Mow- bray say, " No, I have not read, nor do I desire to read it." 94 GERALDINE. ** If that be really the case," said Mon- tague, in a tone of commiseration, " I pity you, Sir, with all my soul : I con- sider a person, destitute of a taste for poetical excellence, as a most unfortunate being, — as shut out from the purest and most exquisite enjoyment that this world can offer." " My case is certainly hopeless, Monta- gue," said Mr. Mowbray ; *' for I am ut- terly insensible of my deplorable con- dition, and probably shall remain so, unless you prove incontestibly the truth of these high-sounding superlatives." " We must allow a little for poetical en- thusiasm," said Mr. Maitland, a young clergyman, who formed one of the group. " Purest and most ea:quisile may require some qualifying ; but don't imagine, Mon- tague, that it is necessary to extend your compassion to me ; for 1 have read the poem in question, and am as perniciously pleased with it as I have been with all the former works of this extraordinary man." GERALDINE. 9-5 *' Pleased,^' said Montague, in an irritated tone ; ** 1 pass over the word * perniciously;' that point we will contend by and bye : but how can a man with a grain of taste or feeling, apply so cold, so pointless an expression to such lines — to poetry, that is enough to wake the dead ?" " Such an effect," said Mr. Mowbray, drily, " would, I suspect, be remarkably unwelcome to many of the livinc;^. If this j)eerless poet of yours, Montague, were to rouse any of my ancestors, I should wish him in the Red Sea/* ** I hope he will live," said Montague, fervently, " many a long year, to enchant us with his lay. Rich as we are in poets just now, he is the last we could spare." " The world would do vastly well with- out them," said Mr. Mowbray. " They liave been perpetrating mischief, and mis- chief only, from the days of Homer to the present hour." There was a general outcry against Mr. Mowbray. The gentlemen were eloquent. 96 GERALDINE. the ladies clamorous. Mr. Mowbray lis- tened to the tumult with an unmoved coun- tenance y and when it had a little subsided, said, in an undaunted tone, " I affirm that they have done much mischief to man, and more to women. To begin with woman — what do their favourite poets do for them, but brighten their eyes and soften tlieir hearts ?" The bright eyes of the ladies were, in a moment, modestly fixed upon the carpet. They seemed to acknowledge, by their silence, the truth of the position. «' A most charming effect, too !'* ex- claimed Colonel Harcourt. " Faith, I think a man must be confoundedly hard to please, who is not satisfied with bright eyes and hearts brimful of love !" "He must be strangely constituted, in- deed," said Mr. Maitland, *' who denies their enchantment ; but something more is desirable for beings who, all delicate and lovely as they are, must endure the wear and tear of life." ^< If to soften and enervate the mind GERALDINE. 97 were the sole tendency of poetry," said Montague warmly; " I would willingly commit it all to the flames; but, at any rate, the assertion can be applicable only to a certain class of poets, and even then, the pernicious effect of their works is grossly exaggerated. " Surely, few can doubt that it is the ten- dency of poetry in general to refine, puri- fy, and elevate the mind." " " Elevate ! yes, yes," said Mr. Mowbray,, with a smile ; *' I will not dispute that point with you. Poets and their worshippers easily transport themselves into the clouds, but tliey descend very reluctantly to the business and interests of this dim speck called earth." " We need not alarm ourselves, I believe. Sir," said Montague ; " there will always be hum-drums enough to plod on in the common way. The race of mere hewers of wood and drawers of water is in no danger of becoming extinct." " It is not fair, I think," said Mr. Mait- VOL. I. F QS GERALDINE. land, " to assume as a fact, that the culti- vation of the imagination is incompatible with that of the judgment ; or that it inca- pacitates for the performance of the com- mon and every-day duties of life." " Do you think," replied Mr. Mowbray, " the ' eye in a fine frenzy rolling,' is likely to fix with interest on any thing merely mundayie ! Is it not employed in glancing from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven ?" " But poets have their lucid intervals. Sir," said Mr, Maitiand, smiling. ** Very possibly," returned Mr. Mow- bray \ " but they are like * angel visits, few and far between.* " " We are not obliged to accept assertion founded on prejudice instead of reasoning," said Montague, indignantly ; " and putting modern and living instances out of the question, can we not bring forward a thou- sand to prove the compatibility of ima- gination and judgment? Who under- stood human nature in every shade and GERALDINE. 9$ gradation, better than the man you have so ungratefully quoted ? " Did the sublime genius of Milton in- capacitate him for assisting to regulate the government of a commonwealth ? " Did Sir Philip Sidney fight the battles of his country with less ardour because he was a poet ? Did not Lord Chatham write verses?" Montague's defence of poets and poetry was here interrupted. Dinner \vas an- nounced, and Mrs. Mowbray begged him to lead some lady to the dining-room ; if, in- deed, he could condescend to taste any thing inferior to nectar and ambrosia. Geraldine, seated between her cousin Montague and Mr. Maitland, felt relieved from the dread of being obliged to talk when she had nothing to say; flattering herself that Mr. Maitland would be too much engaged with Fanny, who was his next neighbour, to think of addressing her. For some time she thought herself as happy as she could possibly be at a large f 2 100 OERALDIME. dinner-party. The exuberant spirits of Fanny, excited and occupied the two gentlemen in her vicinity. She laughed with one, appealed to the other, and en- tertained both. Geraldine was allowed the privilege of listening as quietly as she pleased. As usual, little was said during dinner- time worth listening to or recording. Lord Glenmore, who sat on Mrs. Mow- bray's right hand, congratulated her with a glance of satisfaction at the various dishes, on having been so fortunate as to retain the inestimable French cook who had lived with her on the Continent ; and to this observation succeeded a dissertation on French cooks and cookery, and com- parisons between English and French sauces and wines. It was remarked, that the difference apparent between the two nations, in Vart _ de faire la cuisine, was perfectly characteristic J that the infinite and in- genious variety with which the French, multiplied and masqued^Uieir dishes, dis- GERALDINE* 101 tanced the invention, and bewildered the comprehension of an Enghshman. " Really we ought to be lost in wonder and admiration/' said Mr. Mowbray, ** when we reflect that it is to the restless- ness of this inventive faculty we owe the science of dressing an egg six hundred and eighty-five different ways ! Vitellius w^ould have decreed a statue to such genius !'' Mr. Wentworth, an elderly gentleman, who sat near the bottom of the table, had listened with visible restlessness and im- patience to the whole conversation. He was one of the few remaining specimens of the old-fashioned English country gentle- man, a class w^hose peculiar characteristics have nearly disappeared amid the rapid progress of refinement, and the general dif- fusion of literature. His father had been a hard-drinking, fox- hunting squire, with some instinctive bene- volence, which expanded itself upon his tenants, horses, and dogs ; an excessive dis- F 3 10^ GERALDINE, like to London, and a prejudice strengthened by peculiar family circumstances, amount- ing almost to abhorrence of every thing French. These habits and prejudices de- scended, with an unimpaired estate, to his son, modified, however, by a better educa- tion, and softened by more comprehensive benevolence. He, in general, contented himself with having every thing about him exclusively English, and by sturdily main- taining the superiority of England, in all that was really valuable, over every spot, habitable or uninhabitable, in the known world. The eulogiums, however, upon all that was French, which he had just heard, provoked him to express the enmity which lurked secretly about his heart; and in answer to Mr. Mowbray's last observation, he abruptly exclaimed, ** I dare say half their abominable compounds are not fit to eat.'' " Oh! I assure you, Sir," said Mrs. Mow- bray, " that I have tasted them nearly all, without any visible injury to my health* GERALDINE. 103 You must excuse my standing on the de- fensive, when the honour of my French cook is in question.'* " Well, Madam," said Mr. Wentworth, <* I glory in professing myself a thorough- bred Englishman ; and, as such, I have no particular predilection for French dishes, and French fashions, manners, and ways." The lady who sat next him, whispered that Mademoiselle Dubourg, who was at table, was a Frenchwoman. " Madam," said he, turning immediately to her, and addressing her abruptly, " I by no means intended saying any thing offen- sive to you J for, in the first place, I did not i^know you were a Frenchwoman; and in the next, it is a fault you can't help ; for I dare say you would have been born an Englishwoman if you could." Mademoiselle Dubourg, having indulged herself with the private exclamation, " Ah ! qu^il est bete /" assured him with smiling courtesy, *' that she thought the very best thing, next to the felicity of being 7iee F 4 104 GERALDlNfi. Fra7ifoise, would have been the honour of being une Angloise 5 but that, malheu- reusement, she could not unite both ad- vantages, and therefore, en conscience, she must confess she was contente to be tout-d- fait Fra7ifoise." Fanny, who had listened with great glee to this address, and its answer, said in a laughing whisper to Mr. Maitland, " Was not that cleverly managed? You and I, mere dull English people, might have blundered and hesitated between our amor patriae, on one side, and a feeling of politeness on the other ; but she won her way triumphantly between Scylla and Charybdis/' " You are not so unjust,*' said Captain Forrester, who sat on her right hand, and had overheard the whisper — " you are not quite so unjust, I hope, as to class your- self in the number of mere dull English people. You,*' added he, in a lower tone, <' who combine so bewitchingly, French vivacity and English simplicity," CERALDINE. 105 " ^\^lat is the given rule, on these oc- casions, Captain Forrester ?" said Fanny ; ** am I to blush, or say * thank you,' or turn away and talk to Mr. Maitland ? You would have saved me a great deal of trouble, if you had only called me charming. Every young lady of seventeen or eighteen ex- pects to be called charming ; but for this flourish I was not prepared." Captain Forrester protested with all due earnestness, that he spoke the simple truth, and Mr. Maitland just recollected that it would be as well to talk a little to Geraldine.'* " You are acquainted, I believe. Miss Beresford,'' said he, '' with Mr. Fullarton ?" ** Yes, Sir," was Geraldine's laconic answer. " I dare say you regret that he should be absent during your visit at Woodlands." " Very much, indeed," replied Geral- dine. " Every body who knows Mr. Fullar- ton must value his friendship and society," F 6 106 GERALDINE* continued Mr. Maitland. He paused j Geraldine made no answer, but felt all the confusion of knowing that one was expect- ed. After a silence of some minutes, in which she had mentally repeated half a dozen times, * how very stupid, Mr. Mait- land must think me !' she ventured to ask if Mr. Fullarton was expected to return soon? " No ; I am afraid," said Mr. Maitland, " he will be detained a long time. A small estate in the West Indies has lately devolved to him, which he wishes to dis- pose of ; but, as he is anxious, if possible, to secure the freedom and comfort of the slaves employed on it, he thought it would be most effectual to undertake the arrange- ment of the business in person." Geraldine silently admired Mr. Fullar- ton's benevolence, and another pause en- sued; to her inexpressible relief, it was interrupted by Fanny. " Mr. Maitland," said she, << do, pray, have pity upon me : Captain Forrester is GERALDINE. 107 dilating on my virtues and perfections ; of course an inexhaustible theme, and I, who love variety, am in danger of falUng asleep." " Am I to prove to him that he is de- ficient in gallantry," said Mr. Maitland, " thus to dwell on so hacknied a subject ? or shall I solace you by pointing out a few faults ?" *« Oh, few is much too comprehensive a word ; had you modestly said, one, or two, I might have endured you ; but for yew, you know, in this sense, we always read many,^* " No," said Mr. Maitland, <« that is your own erratum, I should have used the same word, in the * palace of truth,' *< Few as they are, however," said Fanny, *< I dare say it would cost me some trouble to part with them." " Is not the experiment worth making ?" asked Mr. Maitland. " Why, I don't know what to say to it," replied she ; " you know woman was long F 6 108 GERALDINE. ago described as a * fair defect,' and in spite of Madame de Stael's eloquence, I have no faith in the perfectibility of human nature.'* ** You are probably too well satisfied with yourself at present, to care whether the doctrine be true or false." " Thank you, Mr. Maitland, that speech would really do for the Palace of Truth. It must be confessed," said she, rather piqued, ** that my bane and antidote are both beside me. By-the-bye, Captain For- rester, it is very lucky for you, that same Palace is in fairy-land." " Possibly," said Mr. Maitland, " Miss Mowbray's weariness of flattery might be less apparent, if she were transported thither." " You ought to hope," said Fanny, " only you have not a grain of charity, that my impatience of sincerity would disappear there." ** I do not despair of you," said Mr. Maitland, smiling : « I never can," added GERALDINE. 109 he, in a graver tone, ** of one who has can- dour and feeling ; but — '' " Oh ! that Httle conjunction spoils all/' said Fanny; "and you look so amazingly inclined to sermonise and do me good, that I won't listen to a word more. Captain Forrester, when do you go to France ?" " I am afraid," replied he with a tender air, *« that I must be there in less than a fortnight." " Will it be any consolation to you, to know that I shall think of you with envy during your visit," said Fanny. " I would rather you thought of me with pity," returned Captain Forrester j " for pity, you know, is akin to love." *< Pity !" exclaimed Fanny, " do you ima- gine I shall waste my pity upon you when you are going to visit the land I love. I assure you," continued she, "I left it quite as reluctantly as the beautiful Queen Mary did." Captain Forrester whispered something about the touching effect of beauty in tears. 110 GERALDINE. " Yes, yes, I know all you mean to say," said Fanny ; " that my tears were quite as becoming as Queen Mary's ; but you will allow me to doubt the fact j all I am sure of is, that my heart was as heavy." Mr. Wentworth, who sat nearly opposite to Fanny, could no longer restrain his in- dignation. « You will excuse me, Miss Fanny, for saying, that I can't understand what you found to grieve about in returning to your own country. It was unnatural enough in a Scotchwoman, but in an Englishwoman it is nor to be borne." " Oh ! I was so happy in France, Sir," said Fanny, in a conciliating tone. ♦* So much the worse ; so much the worse !" exclaimed Mr. Wentworth. " I can't say much for your taste ; I don't ad- mire those who can be happy among a set of people without morals and without re- ligion : what do you think of it, Mr. Mait- land?" " Miss Mowbray, Sir," said he, " was GERALDINE. Ill scarcely old enough to estimate these things at their real value." " She was not very likely to learn any thing about their value there," returned Mr. Wentworth. «< I beg, Ma'am," said he, as his eye suddenly caught Mademoiselle Dubourg's, I beg you won't think I meant what I have said as applicable to you ; for I quite forgot you were in the room ; and besides, I dare say there may be an ex- ception here and there." To his philippic against the morals and leligion of her country, Mademoiselle Du- bourg had listened with the most perfect composure. " Ce n'etait pas son affair e.^^ It was a sort of general reflection, which neither wounded her vanity, nor disturbed her self-complacency \ but that he should take the liberty of forgetting that she was in the room, was a crime, all but atrocious j and the expressive shrug with which she exclaimed " Mon Dieu ! c'est incroyahle /" spoke volumes of angry contempt. ** Though Mr. Wentworth's views are 11^ GEkALDlNE. rather distorted by prejudice/' said Mr. Maitland, in a low voice, turning to Fanny, " yet they are not destitute of truth ; and I hope that though hitherto, you have thought and cared little about subjects of a serious nature, the day is not far distant when you will think them worth attention." " That is a very proper pastor-Hke speech, Mr. Maitland," said Fanny; *< but hope nothing aboutme. It will be all * aflattering tale,' I assure you. I don't desire to be- come a steady, quiet, fire-side sort of per- son. Yes, you look very much shocked ; but it is the precise truth." « I regret," said Mr. Maitland, "that you have so little taste for real happiness." « Real happiness !" echoed Fanny ; " in my opinion, there is no standard either of taste or happiness. Why then should not my sort of happiness do as well as yours." " If it be * more sweet than perma- nent,' — the perfume and suppliance of a moment," said Mr. Maitland, " it will not be very valuable." GERAtDIKE. 113 " Well," said Fanny, smiling, " I must take my chance : you can do me no good. I defy you, unless, indeed, you had studied necromancy under the wizard Michael Scott, to change a butterfly into an animal of the steady ruminating class." " At any rate, I must lament," said Mr. Maitland, looking at her earnestly, ** that the brilliant butterfly is seen but for a summer." *^ Do not pity her," said Fanny, '* pray, do not pity her. If her summer life be short, is it not bright and beautiful ? Is it not enchanting to roam from flower to flower, and to live only to be admired and sought after." " But winter and its snows will come at last," persisted Mr. Maitland. " Well, let them come," said Fanny ; " the butterfly and her friends must con- sole themselves as they can 5 and at any rate they can say — * Be fair or foul, or rain or shine, The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, aro mine/ " 114" GERALDINE. *' With a different education, she would have been a most charming creature,*' ex- claimed Mr. Maitland, almost involuntarily, as he turned from her. The words caught Montague's ear. " Whose capabilities and deficiencies are you balancing so gravely, Maitland ? Oh! I see," said he, observing that he di- rected his eyes immediately towards Fanny. " It is an occupation not to be indulged in," replied Mr. Maitland; "judgment might be spell-bound by such witchery." To Mr.Wentworth's extreme indignation, and irrecoverable astonishment, coffee made its appearance almost immediately afler dinner. " None for me, I thank you," said he, motioning it from him with an air of su- preme contempt, as the servant approached. " I prefer old English ways and good Madeira." Lord Glenmore looked at him through his glass, and observing that the grimaces of the old quiz were really too entertaining, GERALDINE. 115 asked Mrs. Mowbray, where she could pos- sibly pick up such a Goth ?'' " He has an excellent estate in this county," replied Mrs. Mowbray, " and is one of Mr. Mowbray's prime counsellors. He is amazingly fond of him, I believe, because he is unlike other people ; and, indeed, to say the truth, that circumstance is very much in his favour ; at least it is a passport to my good graces. There is a lamentable dearth of originality in these enlightened days.'* " I dare say," said Lord Glen more, " it is an immense treat, to hear the good old gentleman talk. Can't you provoke him to the effort ?" " Mr. Wentworth,'* said Mrs. Mowbray, immediately addressing him, " do you ever expect another smile from a fair lady, when you are so ungracious as to quarrel wuth a fashion which secures to you so much of their society ?" ** To every thing there is a season, madam," rephed Mr. Wentworth ; " that il6 GERALDINE. was said by as wise a man, I believe, as any you will find in France. There is no nation under the sun that sets a higher value upon women than the English, and there is no man loves them better than I do ; but for all that, I am not going to alter my opinion ; I don't desire to see them ape a parcel of Frenchified coquettes; and, as I said before, to every thing there is a season." ** I propose a division," said Mr. Mow- bray. <* Let those who prefer wine and politics, to smiles and songs, remain at table." " And let the rest follow me," said Mrs. Mowbray, rising with a winning smile ; " I am sure of a majority." She led the way through the folding doors into the drawing-room, followed by the whole party, with the exception of Mr. Wentworth and his host, who were left to discuss the state of the nation at their leisure, and rail at French manners as much as they pleased. GERALDINE. 1 1? CHAP. XL Jlhe party in the drawing-room dispersed, as inclination prompted. Colonel Harcourt and Georgiana took possession of a sofa, and were soon absorbed in admiration — the Colonel of Georgiana, — Georgiana of herself. Lord Glenmore yawned, and established himself at full length on a chaise longue. Mrs. Mowbray walked to and fro, saying a word in season to every body. Fanny and Geraldine stationed them- selves at a window opening on the lawn, and were soon joined by two or three young ladies, and by several of the gentle- men. It was a lovely summer evening \ the sun had just set, and a few red streaks 118 GERALDINE. still brightened the west. Above them, the evening star appeared in serene beauty. " How refreshing," exclaimed Fanny, throwing open the window. ** What a delicious evening for a lover and loveress I" <' Or for a poet and poetess," added Miss Bernard. " For andf read or," said Mrs. Mowbray : " depend on it, my dear, a poet and poetess would be a most melancholy, for- lorn sort of pair." *« Is it possible, my dear madam," re- plied Miss Bernard, " tliat you can have im- bibed any of Mr. Mowbray's prejudices." ** Spare me that look of horror, my dear : it certainly is not impossible ; but I hope I have escaped the infection." " I was quite sorry," said Miss Bernard, turning to Montague, " to hear dinner announced to-day. You had so much the best of the argument, that Mr. Mowbray must at length have acknowledged him- self defeated." " My father acknowledge himself de- GERALDINE. 119 teated in argument, — " exclaimed Fanny, " never ! you have no idea of his perti- nacity. He perseveres like the man in Chevy Chase, who ' When his legs were smitten oflP, Still fought upon his stumps.' " " Not content with condemning poetry as mischievous and useless,'* said Mon- tague, ** he would exclude every work of imagination, and leave that fine, that pre- cious faculty of the mind, not merely un- cultivated, but unexercised." '* Mr. IVIowbray's sweeping censures are perhaps too indiscriminate,'* observed Mr. Maitland ; " but imagination certainly re- quires the most delicate management : It has need of the curb and rein, or, like Phaeton with the horses of the sun, it will scatter mischief and ruin." '^ Such instances are very rare," said Montague. " It is indeed the sun of the intellectual world, — light from Heaven, disclosing beauty and diffusing joy." ISO GERALDINE. « Ah, Mr. Maitland shakes his head,*' said Fanny ; ** he thinks it more Hke the lightning, bright and dazzUng, but too often destructive. There, pray thank me, Mr. Maitland, for taking upon myself the office of interpreter." " As you embody my thoughts so well,'* said Mr. Maitland, " may I venture to con- clude that we think alike on this subject?" " No," said Fanny j ** the conclusion would be quite false. I would let imagin- ation range, and reign without control : not that 1 have such sublime notions of it as Montague, but because a turn in the Elysian fields, or an occasional pilgrimage to the sun, entertains me as much now, as the White Cat, and Beauty and the Beast did formerly." *« How miserably you contract and de- grade the province of imagination, Fanny," said Montague, <' by considering it as con- tributing only to am.usement." <* Why, what more does poetry do," re- 15 GERALDINE. 121 turned Fanny, " than beguile the idlest hours of an idle life." " What more T' exclaimed Montague ; " has it not animated the patriot and in- spired the hero ? Does it not refine the heart, and teach it to melt with tenderness and glow with devotion ?'* " It is true," said Mr. Maitland, " that poetry has occasionally done all this j but I am not at all certain that poets in gene- ral are good teachers of morality. I am not at all certain that if I had daughters to educate, I should not prohibit poetry, till after the age of twenty." The ladies denounced Mr. Maitland as the most barbarous of the human race. One of them, the youngest Miss Bernard, protested " that Walter Scott, Lord Byron, and Moore, were all such loves, that there was no possibility of living without them."' " They are too higlily honoured, by such discriminating praise," said Montague with a glance of contempt. " Lord Byron, degraded to a love I" VOL. I. G 122 GERALDINE. exclaimed he in a low voice, and turning to Mrs. Mowbray : " absolute profanation : Jupiter with his thunder-bolt, might as well be dwindled to a piping shepherd.'* *« Poor little Harriet," said Mrs. Mow- bray, highly diverted by Montague's irri- tation ; <« she was not aware that she was treading on holy ground. You are to know," said she, addressing the young lady, " that Lord Byron is the god of Montague's idolatry. In his estimation, he holds among the poets precisely the same rank that Brahma does among the Hindoo divinities. He is quite ready to worship them all ; but his fervor and rap- tures are reserved for Lord Byron." Miss Harriet declared, that she doated on Lord Byron ; that she did not know which she liked best of his poems, they were all so pretty." " Pretty !" echoed Montague, with up- lifted eyes. " To withhold our admiration from your favourite is utterly impossible, Montague," GERALDINE. 1 23 said Mr. Maitland. ** Who is not dazzled by his transcendent genius ? What heart is untouched by his profound feeling? but yet, — yes, I see you are arming yourself for the battle, — 1 deny that the moral effect of his poetry is good." " The old flat hackneyed objection, I sup- pose," said Montague. '' His heroes touch the brink of all we hate, and yet we hate them not ; you may as well quarrel with Milton for investing Satan with majesty — for not painting him with horns and hoofs." " No!" said Mr. Maitland, *' we mourn over the fall of Satan ; we regret that this son of the morning should forfeit his radi- ant throne ; but his fate is a tremendous warning. Now, Lord Byron endows his heroes with a tenderness so exquisite, so mysteriously blended with the hardihood of daring and fearless guilt; that a sublimity is given to their vices, calculated to confuse and darken our moral views." " I think this objection fanciful and overstrained," said Montague ; ** because G 2 154< GERALDINE. he has the judgment to seize, or the genius to create, characters productive of the finest poetical effect, are we to be idiots enough to mistake them for models, or fancy that the eternal bounds of virtue and vice can be affected by the visions of a poet's fancy?" *' You think it preposterous," said Mr. Maitland ; *' now it does not appear sur- prising to me that the enthusiastic contem- plation of such characters should enfeeble our salutary horror of vice. What young and tender mind refuses its sympathy even to Lara ? and does it not lose all remem- brance of Gulnare's crimes, in the pas- sionate, the devoted tenderness of the faith- ful Page." " These acknowledgments wearing the form of an objection," returned Montague, *' do but add a laurel to the unfading wreath he has won. They prove the won- drous, the magic skill by which he rules the human heart, making it vibrate at will to his slightest touch." ** I think it would be rather hard in- GERALDINE. 125 deed," observed Mrs. Mowbray, "to make a poet responsible for the errors into which his readers may falL He is not bound to sup- ply them with clear judgment and strong principle ; and if they contrive, Hke tlie spider, to convert dehcious sweets into venom, upon their own heads be the sin/* " I have been felicitatino^ mvself all this time," said Fanny, " on having been born early enough to escape the danger of being Mr. Maitland's daughter. Think how many springs and sources of amusement would have risen in vain for me." *« And is amusement the chief object for which we live ?" said ]\Ir. Maitland. " For which I live," said Fanny. '' If I had been Descartes, I would have made enjoyment, not thought, the proof of ex- istence ; I would not have said I tliink, therefore I am ; but I enjoi/, therefore I am." *' A most capital emendation," exclaimed Lord Glenmore, rising from the sofa : " it is a pity the old defunct himself is not alive to hear it." G 3 126 Gf:RALDINE. ** Don't frown so, Montague," whispered Fanny ; <* it is not at all becoming : really if you and Mr. Maitland look so grave and solemn, and stand there frowning so for- midably, like Gog and Magog, I shall take refuge in a game at bagatelle with Lord Glenmore." Mr. Maitland seemed to look at her more in sorrow than in anger. "Miss Mowbray," said he, gently, "you are not, you cannot be aware of the perils and dangers into which such sentiments may betray you." " No 5" said Fanny, " I know nothing about them ; but as you seem quite dis- posed to frighten me out of my wits, I shall run away, and give Montague an op- portunity of lamenting that I will not hear ' the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely.' " She crossed the room, congratulated Lord Glenmore upon being awake, begged him to describe what " stuff his dreams GERALDINE. 1^7 were made of," and concluded by chal- lenging him to play at bagatelle with her. *« Montague," said she, with a winning smile, and beginning the game with great animation, " I hope you wish me success : Mr. Maitland, for once in your life, do pray say — vive la bagatelle /" *' She is incorrigible, quite incorrigible," exclaimed Montague. " Who can help lamenting," said Mr. Maitland, " that such an understanding, such fascinating powers, should be per- petually frittered away in a childish search after mere amusement." Fanny overheard him ; and with a look of playful defiance, hummed the tune of * Pleased, let us trifle life away.' " I am sure," said Miss Bernard, " she is a delightful creature." *< Very true," rejoined Mr. Maitland ; " but she is also a responsible creature. Much may be allowed for her foreign edu- cation, something for the exuberance of great animal spirits ; but playful and enter- G 4 128 GERALDINE. taining as her wilfulness is, it is still wil- fulness, and those who love her must dread its effects." '< Pray," said Lord Glenmore to Fanny, as their game proceeded, *' can your cousin Miss Beresford, really speak, or had she the misfortune to be born dumb ?" " Oh ! you must take pity upon her," returned Fanny, " she is but fourteen, and was educated by a mother whom she worshipped as a saint, and who kept her immured like a nun." " I believe the first fortnight she was at Woodlands, she thought every other sen- tence we spoke profane ; and the life we led, full of ' mirth and turbulence un- holy ;' but I dare say, she will soon become like other people." " She is prodigiously like a statue of modesty I saw once at Florence," said Lord Glenmore; "just that monotonous stillness, that fatigues one so dreadfully." ** You must fancy yourself thrown back a few hundred years," said Fanny, " and GERALDINE. I'tQ that she is a pretty pilgrim performing a vow of silence. There, I have beat you, and here come the separatists/' conti- nued she, as her father and Mr. Went- worth walked into the room — " just in time to congratulate me on my victory. Do, my dear father, try your skill at baga- telle ; but don't flatter yourself it will be equal to mine." " I have no such vanity," replied Mr. Mowbray ; " a man must be rash indeed, who has the presumption to enter the lists with a lady, at bagatelle. There can be no chance of success in a game which she practises so perseveringly from youth to age." " Oh ! you incorrigible cynic," ex- claimed Mrs. Mowbray ; ** I advise you to adopt as your motto, * Man delights not me, nor woman neither.' " " That Hamlet was a most savage tel- low," said Colonel Harcourt. " It is high treason to love and beauty to tolerate his maxims." G 5 iSO GERALD INE. " And yet 1 imagine," said Mr. Mow- bray, " that he was once as fond and tender as Leander or Abelard, or even Colonel Harcourt." " No doubt," rejoined Mrs. Mowbray ; " but that armed apparition effected as complete a cure, as the lover's leap could have done." « I think we ladies fair are privileged to hate him, for Ophelia's sake," said Fanny : " what do you think of it, Georgiana?" «* I don't know what you are talking about," said she, approaching with a lan- guid step. " Of love, and beauty, and Hamlet, and OpheHa," said Fanny. " If such a subject will not rouse you, I shall despair." Georgiana answered only by a languish- ing smile. " There is such an alarming torpor about you, my dear," continued Fanny, " that 1 am afraid, some of these days, you will fall into a trance, and sleep for a hundred years at least. If such an event should occur. Colonel Harcourt, your only resource will GERALDINE. 131 be, to find the elixir vitae, and then you can wait with patience till the happy moment of her revival." " It would be a pleasant change enough," said LordGlenmore, yawning ; ** we should at least see something new on opening our eyes." " Very little, I imagine," said Mr. Mow- bray ; ** men and women a hundred years hence will probably be very much like men and women of the present day." " I don't know how that may be," said Mr. Wentworth, " though it is likely enough ; but as to thinking it a pleasant thing to go to sleep for a hundred years, I don't think those who say so, pay any very particular compliment to their friends. It is quite clear they set no great value on them. — I don't see Miss Beresford among you," continued he, looking round. " No," said Fanny, " she never occupies the foreground of the picture : she is like the violet, Ilfaut la chercher : Geraldine, where are you," exclaimed she, seeking G 6 132 GERALDINE. her through the room. Here is Mr. Went- worth wishing to throw himself at your feet." " As to throwing myself at your feet, my dear," said he, drawing her a little apart, «< that is all Miss Fanny's rhodomontade. If I were a young single man," continued he, good-humouredly stroaking her head, " there is no knowing what foolery I might be guilty of: not that even then I was much addicted to such sort of things. It was always my opinion, that an Englishman could tell a love tale as well standing as upon his knees ; but all this is nothing to the purpose. I wish to know how long you remain in this part of the world?" ** It is quite uncertain. Sir," answered Geraldine. " Papa talks of returning in about six months." << I hope Mrs. Mowbray will bring you to Wentworth Hall, during your stay in Hampshire. You will be a very welcome guest there, I promise you. 1 knew your GERALDINE. 133 mother, my dear child, and she was a great favourite of mine.*' Tears gathered fast in the eyes of Ge- raldine. " Yes, yes ; I don't wonder that you la- ment her," continued he : " she was not a person to be forgotten in a hurry. I hope you will grow up like her ; and let me give you a word of advice. Don't let the Frenchified ways of this family put her max- ims out of your head. Depend upon it, there is something else to be done in this world, besides talking nonsense and drink- ing coffee." He shook hands cordially with her, and concluded by saying, that Mrs. Wentworth and his girls were at present at Southamp- ton, but that they would return in less than a month, and he should then expect to see her. Fanny, here popping her head over his shoulder, enquired if he had quite done making love to Geraldine ; as there was a party at a whist-table waiting for him. 134" GERALDINE. Mr. Wentworth obeyed the summons with alacrity. ** There, my dear Geraldine," said Fanny, ** you see how Httle you have to be vain of. It is really too mortifying to be rivalled by those four upright queens and whiskered kings." " Mr. Maitland," said she, as he ap- proached to wish her good night, " I have been making some very useful moral observ- ations to Geraldine ; therefore I hope you are in charity with me. You know it is your duty to be in love and charity with every body." " And yours too, I think," said he. " Oh ! 1 want no schooling on that head, 1 assure you," replied Fanny. " You would think my toleration too universal ; my love and charity are so comprehensive, that they include good, bad, and indifferent." " Do, pray, imitate ray example," said she, holding out her hand to him, with an engaging smile. There Avas no resisting her. He took her hand 5 forgot for GERALDINE. J 35 a few moments that it was necessary to re- linquish it again ; and then abruptly took his leave. Captain Forrester soon after approached to sigh out his adieus, and repeat his offer of executing commissions for her in France. " Oh ! I have at least fifty commands to honour you with," said Fanny; "but I am not going to enumerate them now. Go, and help to shawl Miss Bernard, and save that woeful look till our final inter\iew. You should manage, you know, as all good actors do, to reserve a stock of pathos for the catastrophe. I assure you it will have a much more touching effect then." The carriages were now announced ; and the party, with the exception of Lord Glen- more, dispersed. 136 GERALDINE. CHAP. XIL JLoRD Glenmore had recently purchased a small estate in the neighbourhood ; and liaving nothing better to do, had resolved that the substantial house belonging to it should be pulled down, and replaced by a cottage ornee. The house was demolished with sufficient rapidity ; but the cottage rising by slow degrees, Lord Glenmore had accepted Mrs. Mowbray's invitation to stay a few weeks at Woodlands, in the hope, as she said, that, in spite of all Lavater could say to the contrary, his presence would ' give wings to the snails.' She secretly rejoiced that this visit had happened at a moment when Woodlands GERALDINE. IS? was more than usually brilliant, and Fanny in the gayest spirits. Never, indeed, had she appeared more attractive. The timid silence of Geraldine, and the languid indolence of Georgiana, formed a powerful contrast with her light spirits and sparkling wit. Always gay, always animated, without a thought for the future, or a wish beyond the present mo- ment, she seemed created to give to plea- sure a more exquisite zest — to joy a brighter colouring. Her manners playful, yet elegant, ori- ginal, yet unaffected, charmed the taste, and won upon the heart. Lovely without vanity, and gay without effort, her bright smiles and bounding footsteps presented a delightful picture of youth in the first freshness of happiness, unchecked by dis- appointment, unbroken by afftiction, burst- ing upon the eye hke a cloudless morning in all its glittering beauty — filling the heart with hope, and the fancy with delightful images. 138 GERALDINE. Such was the effect she produced upon the gay group, by whom she was sur- rounded. Nothing seemed to mar the fan- perfection of her character ; but minds accustomed to loftier views, and to a graver estimate of the value of life, would have seen every thing to fear in the total absence of religious principle observable in this fascinating young creature. Those who look beyond the surface of things, those who are familiar with the dark hours and deep sorrows that await every child of mortality — contemplate the gay thoughtlessness of youth, its brilliant hopes, its delightful visions, with peculiar and melancholy interest. They see the victim decked with flowers, approaching the altar of sacrifice ; and they long to warn her of her danger, and snatch her from impend- ing fate. But, among the familiar friends by whom Fanny was encircled, reflection was un- known : Fair laugh*d the morn, and soft the zephyrs blew; GERALDINE. 139 and amid the varied delights of the pre- sent, they thought not of the whirlwind and the storm. Mr. Maitland mingled but rarely with them. Excited and flattered as Fanny now w^as, he felt hopeless of doing her real good ; and he thought it unsafe to venture too often on enchanted ground. Lord Glenmore, acting from the principle of self-indulgence by w^hich he was always guided, began to think that it would be an excellent speculation, to appropriate this captivating creature to himself. To signify his preference, however, by any very mark- ed attention, appeared to him superfluous. True, it was not improbable that he might personally be an object of indifference to her ; but that she could be insensible to the rank and fortune he had to bestow, he con- sidered absolutely impossible. He looked upon her as a brilliant toy, well worth ap- propriating; but not for the possession of a divinity, would he have submitted to the labour of constant attendance and eternal 140 GERALDINE. protestation. He regretted that the fashion of managing these affairs under the ancien regime in France, did not prevail in Eng- land. The young lady had then nothing more to do than to make a curtsey, and re- ceive her husband. It saved a world of pre- liminary fatigue and love-making. These reflections frequently occupied him, while participating in the various festi- vities which Woodlands and its neighbour- hood presented, during the two months that succeeded Georgiana's marriage. En- tertainments given and received ; dinners and dances ; breakfasts a la fourchette, and fetes champetres rapidly succeeded each other. Lord Glenmore occasionally exerted him- self so far as to walk down a dance with Fanny; and now and then whispered that she danced like a sylph, and looked like a divinity. Once or twice he pressed her to accept a seat in his curricle, protesting that nothing exhilarated him like her presence. Mrs. Mowbray's hopes rose nearly to ex- ultation, as she contemplated the probable GERALDINE. 141 success of her scheme ; but not the slightest indication of this satisfaction was visible. Conveniently blind, or apparently indiffer- ent, she seemed chiefly absorbed by her approaching separation from Georgiana. Her maternal sensibility appeared to be just awakened, and it was expressed in many a tender lamentation, and by much becoming agitation. *' Take care, my dear," said Mr. Mow- bray, one day, when they were alone in her dressing-room j ''if you play so admi- rably the part of a tender mother, Lord Glenmore will perhaps have too much compassion to deprive you of your sole remaining daughter." «' Is it wonderful, Mr. Mowbray, that I should betray a little of the instinctive fondness of a mother? Did you imagine me really destitute of it?" " By no means," returned he ; *' on the contrary, I believed it to be of the most enlarged and disinterested nature. I con- cluded that having secured the splendid 14^2 GERALDINE. destiny you desired for Georgiana, you would be superior to the weakness of selfish regret." " Why it is not absolute regret; for re- gret, you know, always ends in repentance." " Not always, my dear : regret and re- pentance, like other near relations, have often little connection with each other." " But without feeling either," observed Mrs. Mowbray, *' ought you to be sur- prised, if, like our first parents, * some na- tural tears I drop.' " " Let me hope, my dear," replied he, " that like them too, you will * wipe them soon,' for the character of Niobe does not exactly suit you." " Georgiana will be perfectly happy, I dare say," said Mrs. Mowbray. " Yes, she will dream out her hfe quite as usefully, and as much to her own satis- faction, in the East, as in the West," re- turned Mr. Mowbray. " Ah! your tone would not have been quite so tranquil, had Fanny been the party GERALDINE. 143 concerned. By-the-bye, most sage and re- verend augur, what say you now to my schemes and her prospects ?'' " That the ides of March are come," said he ; ** but that they are not yet gone." " Is it possible that you can have a single fear or doubt ?" " No fears at all," replied Mr. Mow- bray; " but many doubts." '' Oh! 1 will stake all my reputation as a sybil upon it. If this marriage does not take place, I will burn all my books, and be dumb for ever." " Make no rash resolutions, my dear ; perhaps Apollo may have played you the same mischievous trick that he did one of your celebrated sisterhood of the ' olden time :' *' he contrived that her predictions, whether true or false, should be equally discredited." " Ah ! he was as well skilled in the art of tormenting, as some mortals of my ac- quaintance," exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray. >' However, in spite of the malice of U 1 4^4} GERALDINE. Apollo and the ingratitude of man, she continued to prophesy ; so pray take courage, and imitate her example." " Time will do the same justice to my powers that it did to hers," said Mrs. Mowbray, triumphantly. " Very probably, my dear ; and, at any rate, as it is a test that must be sub- mitted to, we will, if you please, without farther discussion, patiently await it." Preparations for Georgiana and the Colonel's departure were now busily mak- ing. All that wealth could command, or ingenuity contrive, was put into requisi- tion to render the voyage easy and de- lightful. GeorgLana, gratified by the incessant homage she received from her husband, dazzled by the splendour that surrounded her, saw, without much emotion, the part- ing hour approach. At length, it arrived ; and produced more agitation on all sides, than had been anticipated. Fanny, — the gay, light-hearted Fanny, GERALDINE. 145 was drowned in tears : Mrs. Mowbray felt all a mother's tenderness beating at her heart : Geraldine wept, from sympathy, with those around her; and even Mr. Mowbray, in * spite of his philosophy,' was glad to shut himself up, for a few hours, to regain his composure. These feelings, however, were but tran- sient. Georgiana did not possess those qualities of the mind and heart which take a power- ful hold upon the affections. There was some sympathy of feeling, but none of taste, between her and her family. She was young and lovely ; and at the moment of parting, all the contingencies to which youth and beauty are liable pressed pain- fully upon their hearts. But she had so little of the cliarm of intellect, or the active kindness of warm affection, that her ab- sence scarcely created a chasm. In a few days, theu' regret and anxiety gradually subsided, and serenity was restored. VOL. I. H 146 GERALDINE. CHAP. XIII. LiORD Glenmore's cottage ornee was nearly completed; and frequent appeals were made to the ladies respecting its finishing touches and interior decorations. The ladies could not possibly commit them- selves on so important a subject, without studying it carefully; and various rides and visits to the cottage were planned and executed. From one of these excursions, Mrs. Mowbray returned, with a smile so trium- phant, a suavity so winning, a benevolence that expanded itself in such gentle courtesy to all around, that it was easy to perceive something of a very gratifying nature had occurred. GERALDINE. 14*7 " Do not let us burst in ignorance, my dear," said Mr. Mowbray, when the family were alone. " What has put you in such universal charity with all mankind ?*' ** Explain, I implore you, dear mamma," exclaimed Fanny. ** I am sure your eyes, for the last hour or two, have reminded me of Gertrude's. They have ' seemed to love whate'er they looked upon,' " " Geraldine, my dear," said Mrs. Mow- bray, in the most dulcet tone, " I think it will do you good to take a turn in the shrubbery for half an hour ; you look pale." Geraldine disappeared in a moment. " We will walk into the library, if you please," continued Mrs. ^Mowbray, in the same gentle accent, but with a little more of solemnity. ** Wherever you please, my dear," said Mr. Mowbray ; " choose your owti spot for unravelling the mystery." ** I hope the mountain will not produce a mouse," said Fanny, with an arch look at her father. H 2 148 GERALDINE. " No, my dearest Fanny,*' exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray, in a tone of animated af- fection ; " lay aside every fear ; no disap- pointment awaits you. In weaving your web of life, the fates seem to have em- ployed only golden threads." <* What happiness are you preparing me for ? my dear mother," said Fanny. " The most charming images crowd into my mind at these words. I hope they will not vanish again at the next you utter." " I will not be selfish enough to keep you longer in suspense, my love," returned Mrs. Mowbray. " This day has been one of the happiest of my life ; and it is fair that you, who are the source of this felicity, should share it immediately." ** More and more enigmatical, my dear mother. The Sphinx lierself could not have succeeded better in puzzling me." " This affectation of unconsciousness is pretty enough, Fanny," replied Mrs. Mow- bray ; " but it does not deceive me. You must, I am sure, have some suspicion of the intelligence I have to communicate." GERALDINE. 149 " Not the least in the world, my dearest mother/' said Fanny, laughing. <« Per- haps some unknowTi sixteenth cousin of mine may have left me a large fortune, or some potent prince is about to lay his empire at my feet." " A coronet, perhaps," said Mrs. Mow- bray, smiling, " may do almost as w^ell as a crown." «« They are tempting sort of things, in- deed," observed Fanny ; ** but they are but baubles after all." "Do, pray, Fanny," returned Mrs. Mow- bray, ** indulge me by being serious, if pos- sible, for one half-hour. I congratulate you upon having it now in your power to secure advantasres which fall to the lot of few. You may, from this moment, com- mand all that can make life valuable ; its honours, luxuries, enjoyments, and bless- ings, may be all your own." ** What delightful news, my dear mother! but, seriously, as you wish me to be serious, H 3 150 GIRALDINE. by what charter am I to secure these pri- vileges ?" *' Simply, by accepting the hand of Lord Glenmore." She looked at Mr. Mowbray. His coun- tenance retained precisely its usual ex- pression. She turned towards Fanny, and felt provoked at the cold composure of her look and manner. "I do not, for a moment," said she, ** suspect you of the madness of rejecting a station such as this, and a fortune of fifteen thousand a-year 1" " Nothing can be more attractive, my dear mother," replied Fanny, " than the station ; nothing more desirable than the estate and fortune ; but, unhappily, there is an appendage to all this neither at- tractive nor desirable." " You do Lord Glenmore too much honour," said Mrs. Mowbray, in a tone of ill-suppressed indignation. *' If," continued Fanny, " it were an appendage that could be hung to one's GERALDINE, 151 watch, or suspended quietly against the wall of a saloon, it would be of no sort of consequence ; but there is no getting rid of these animated appendages — no quiet way of disposing of them. It is not possible to forget their existence even for a moment." ** The command of fifteen thousand a year would do much towards making it endurable," said Mrs. Mowbray. " I assure you, my dear mother, that I have the clearest view imaginable of all its advantages ; too clear, indeed, a great deal. — Glenmore Hall, with its beautiful hills and woods, and lake, appears before me in all the splendour of a fairy palace. I dare say I shall dream of it at least for a month to come ; and that magnificent house in town : Oh ! it is too cruelly tempting." At this moment she caught a \iew of her father's face; it appeared slightly agitated. " To be queen and mistress of such palaces would not be a very deplorable lot," observed Mrs. Mowbray. H 4 152 GERALDINE. " Ah, but there is no possibility of reigning alone, and independently," re- plied Fanny. *< There would still be a liege lord in the case, to whom I must pay allegiance, and give honour due." " Can any tenure be more easy ?'* asked Mrs. Mowbray. " If it were but a mere form of words, it would be easy enough, indeed," returned her daughter ; *< but I cannot help think- ing, — I am sure I don't know how I got the notion, — that if an oath of allegiance is taken, if we make a solemn promise to love, honour, and obey, it ought to be some one whom we can love, can honour, and, if it come to such an extremity, whom we can obey." Mr. Mowbray's face recovered its com- posure. <' These are very proper notions, of course, Fanny," said Mrs. Mowbray, " very proper indeed, to a certain extent; but, they may be carried to excess : and I con- fess I am rather surprised at this grand GERALDIXi:. 153 display of yours ; I did not believe you had an atom of romance in your charac- ter." " You are quite right, my dear mother ; I have not a single atom. If I hesitate and shrink from Lord Glenmore and his fifteen thousand a-year, I assure you the notion of love and a cottage is still more appalling. Don't imagine, because I feel some reluctance at the idea of marrying a selfish fool, that I have any taste for rock- ing a cradle or sporting an umbrella and pattens." ** I should have expected, from a well- bred girl, rather more measured expres- sions, than those you have employed," said Mrs. Mowbray, with increasing displeasure. " His selecting a young woman with a paltry fortune of five thousand pounds, may indeed be a proof of his folly, but selfishness is quite of the question cer- tainly." " It would have been rather more H 5 154 GERALDINE. graceful in me to have softened the truth," said Fanny J *« but the truth it certainly is." " Is not Lord Glenmore and all the world aware," returned Mrs. Mowbray, " that this estate is entailed on Montague, and in case of his death without children on the Lord knows wlio ?" ** I have not the least doubt that he knows all this, mamma, and yet I have not a spark of faith in his disinterestedness. Do you imagine it is my happiness he is consulting by this vast condescension ? or that he really cares for me ? He has not energy enough to love or care for any thing but himself." '« He has adopted a singular mode of proving his indifference," said Mrs. Mow- bray, coldly. " Oh, I can explain all his motives in a minute : he thinks that I shall amuse him and make him laugh rather more, and yawn rather less. He expects me to an- swer precisely the same purpose that the GERALDINE. 15.5 jesters did in the courts of kings in former days.'* «* You refuse him, because he admires your talents : what absurdity !'* " No, my dear mother; — out of compas- sion, pure compassion. If he married me he would be as much disappointed as that unfortunate nobleman, who bought Punch at a puppet-show, and carried him home." " Such trifling, Fanny, is insufferable: am I really to understand that you reject Lord Glenmore's suit ?" " I am afraid I must answer in the af- firmative,'* replied Fanny, ** however re- luctantly." " And you flatter yourself,** returned Mrs. Mowbray, " that you are in the full possession of your senses, — that you are not absolutely mad." *< No, my dear mother, I am not mad, but speak the words of truth and sober- ness. If Lord Glenmore had one valuable, or even one agreeable quality, I dare say the temptation would be resistless, but he H 6 156 GERALDINE* is SO thoroughly heartless, so indefinably disgusting to me, that my resolution is taken." " i\nd this is your definitive answer?" said Mrs. Mowbray, with affected calmness. *« It is, my dear mother ; but, before we have done with the subject for ever, tell me, candidly, whether, with your taste and feelings, there is any thing you can like, I will not say love, in Lord Glenmore ?" " Any thing that I can like !" echoed Mrs. Mowbray, rather confounded by the appeal ; ** yes, a great deal : I like him for preferring you to all the world, ungrateful as you are." " Thank you, dear mamma," said she, ** and this is your sole ground of prefer- ence ?" Mrs. Mowbray hesitated, and looked for a moment from Fanny to her husband : there was a triumphant expression in his eye that was intolerable. " It is most extraordinary, Mr. Mow- GERALDINE. 157 bray/' said she, highly irritated, *« that you should maintain that provoking silence/* " I was fearful, my dear,*' said he, calm- ly, " that my observations would have been still more provoking." " You indemnify yourself, however," continued his lady, " by looking unutter- able things." ** I assure you I listened to the discus- sion with the most profound attention," replied Mr. Mowbray, *« and I have made this deduction from it, — that if Caliban were in existence, and had fifteen thousand a-year, you would think him a very suit- able husband for Fanny j and that if Fanny met with a gay, brilliant young man with fifteen, or five, or two, or one thousand a-year, she would marry him, without en- quiring very minutely into his habits and principles." Mrs. Mowbray looked indignant ; but Fanny immediately declared, though with- out the slightest contrition of manner, that she pleaded guilty. 158 GERALDINE. " I acknowledge, my dear father, that genius, and taste, and love, and fortune united, would be formidable, I am afraid irresistible, temptations to me. I claim no merit in refusing Lord Glenmore; for he has only one of these essentials : as to love, he knows nothing about it ; he thinks the common assiduities, which we all expect in the day of our power, infinitely too much trouble ; and then, he has the pre- sumption to suppose that because he chooses to issue his * most gracious letters patent, licence, and protection,* empowering me to become Lady Glenmore, that ' I shall readily and cheerfully contribute my en^ deavours, towards accomplishing the same/ No, no," added she ; " a knight that will neither break a lance nor a heart in my service, is not worth retaining." " I suspect, indeed, that your mother's heart is in more danger of breaking than Lord Glenmore's in consequence of this rejection," said Mr. Mowbray ; " but, how- ever, be comforted, my dear," continued GERALDINE. 159 he, turning to her, ** there are several rich, gay, good-for-nothing young men, of our acquaintance, who may yet be induced to take Fanny oiF our hands ; their being a little more or less dissolute is ta her no objection." Fanny blushed ; and, saying that she did not mean to be understood au pied de la lettre, ran out of the room. " And thus end my hopes and expect- ations,'' exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray, as she shut the door. " Yes, my dear," returned her hus- band ; *' such is the state of man, and woman too ; and these are the killing frosts to which their hopes are exposed." ** I don't believe you have any hopes, or wishes, or desires, Mr. Mowbray. Your indifference upon so important a subject is unnatural, incredible ! A match so pecu- liarly desirable !" '* You do me injustice, Mrs. Mowbray ; I do not grieve on my own account, cer- tainly ; because I never considered Lord Glenmore a desirable husband for my 160 GEBALDINE. daughter. I do not grieve upon hers, because she is of the same opinion ; but I will do my best to grieve for you, if you particularly desire it ; though, as you have lived happily up to the present day, with- out having Lord Glenmore for a son-in- law, I indulge the hope that your felicity is not absolutely irrecoverable." " 1 am not disposed to treat the subject so lightly, Mr. Mowbray." " Can you suggest any more desirable plan of acting ?" inquired he. <« Shall we revive the locking-up system, and enact Mr, and Mrs. Harlowe ?" Mrs. Mowbray felt too much irritated to reply ; and, hastily retiring, shut herself up in her dressing-room, to muse over her own excessive disappointment, Mr. Mowbray's unaccountable indifference, Fanny's child- ish folly, and Lord Glenmore's approaching mortification. . Mr. Mowbray, a few minutes after, joined his daughter in the shrubbery ; and found her lamenting the keen disappoint- ment she had inflicted on her mother. GERALDINE. l6l " I am really quite miserable, when I reflect upon it," said Fanny. *' It was cruel to awaken her from such a delightful dream," ** I rather think," said Mr. Mowbray, " she will console herself by very soon dreaming again. This is not the first time in her life that she has had occasion to ex- claim, « I awoke 5 and behold it was a dream.' " " Upon the whole," said Fanny, " it is a happy talent, that of scheming and dreaming. It supplies a constant resource under all misfortunes. As fast as one castle is demolished, another more glitter- ing and beautiful rises in its place. The slaves of the ring and the lamp were mere bunglers compared to these indefatigable architects." *' You conclude, then, that your mother will find consolation in the activity of her imagination," said Mr. Mowbray ; *' but what do you suppose is to console me? How am I to reconcile myself to my loss ?" 16£ GERALDINE. '* You ! my dear father," replied Fanny, laughing : *« I have not a single sigh or tear to bestow upon you. I am sure it would be a very needless waste of sym- pathy !" ** If you never inflict a keener pang than you have done to-day, Fanny, all will be well. But self-gratification is so much your object, that I have no great confi- dence in you*" *' And is it not every body's object, my dear father," returned Fanny ; *' the active and ruling principle of the whole world ; the real, if not the ostensible, motive of every action ?" " It happens occasionally," continued Mr. Mowbray, <* that better feelings mingle with and regulate this universal stimulus. I have heard of instances in which self- gratification has been completely thrown into the shade ; but, doubtless, to you, they would appear incomprehensible and in- credible." " Why, with respect to marriage, I cer- GERALDINE. l6S tainly must be allowed to consider that an affair of mere self-gratification, and a very legitimate one too," replied Fanny. " Mar- rying with a view to gratifying a third person, appears to me, I confess, if not in- credible, utterly incomprehensible." " Mysterious as it is," rejoined Mr. Mow- bray, " it is by no means a rare occurrence." " I have too much humility," returned Fanny, " to aim at any thing so heroic and disinterested ; I must be contented with less exalted attainments." " You find it convenient, no doubt," re- plied her father, " to fix your standard low : it requires less effort ; but it is a re- mark worth recollecting, that ' he who shoots at the mid-day sun, though he will never hit the mark, will reach a higher point than he who aims at a bush.' " " The sun is too high, and the bush too contemptible, to please me," returned Fanny ; " so mine will be all random shots, I dare say." " Geraldine," said she, as she saw her 164 GERALDINE. hastily retreat, upon observing their ap- proach, '' pray don't run away, as if we were discussing treasons, stratagems, and plots." She spoke in vain. Geraldine, unwilling to interrupt them, flew with the speed of an Atalanta ; and Fanny, resolved upon over- taking her, left her father to moralize alone. GERALDINE. 165 CHAP. XIV. Mrs. Mowbray had too much elasticity of mind to remain long in a state of depression; and she persuaded herself that the next best thing to accepting Lord Glenmore, was having had the opportunity of refusing him. She determined to make the most of this circumstance ; and began to ruminate on the most effectual means of sweetening and disguising the unpalatable draught she was about to administer. It appeared the easiest plan to convey the intelligence by letter ; and after some con- sideration, the following was dispatched : ** To Lord Glenmore. " My dear Lord Glenmore. " Though I do not absolutely w^ish, like that immaculate person in days of yore, for 166 GEllALDINE. a window in my bosom, through which all my thoughts may be discerned, yet I am so little in the habit of disguising my feelings, that you must easily have perceived the high satisfaction I derived from the com- mission with which you yesterday honoured me. What mother, indeed, could be in- sensible to the peculiar advantages of an alliance with Lord Glenmore ; and what daughter, except my own, would not esteem it the highest privilege to be thus sought ? She has, however, surprised me, by discovering a w^eakness, of which I did not suspect her. With the fullest conviction of your disinterestedness, and the deepest gratitude for your preference, she contends that marriage must be miserable, unless une grande passion is felt, and excited. She wishes to love and to be loved in the Hero and Leander style; and unless she finds some * Angel in green and gold,' for whom she could hang or drown herself, is deter- mined to live in single blessedness, and chaunt hymns to * the cold chaste moon.' 14 GERALDINE. l67 The pleadings of reason and common sense are alike thrown away upon her : she is im- practicable on this point, and we really should be disposed to laugh heartily at such nonsense, did it not interfere so materially with her own happiness, and crush our hopes of a union, in every point of view honour- able and desirable for her, and so highly gratifying to Mr. Mowbray and myself. But, aware of the calm superiority of your mind and character, she unites with me in the hope, that though she has so unwisely refused to accept you as hex preux clievaliei^y you will allow us still to enjoy your society, as Vami de la maison. Allow me to assure you, that 1 am, " With the utmost regard and esteem, <* Your Lordship's " Most obliged and sincere friend, " Georgiana Mowbray." When finished, she put the letter into Mr. Mowbray's hands. After reading the opening paragraph — 168 GERALDINE. ** Can you indulge me, my dear," said he, " with the name of the immaculate person who formed the rash wish to which you refer ? I confess 1 have some doubts of his existence." " Nonsense ; what can it signify, it was Solon or Socrates, or some of those worthies ; but whether he really lived, or not, is nothing to the purpose ; do pray finish reading the letter, for it is time it was sealed and sent." Mr. Mowbray did as she desired, and slowly folding it up, exclaimed, as he re- turned it to her outstretched hand, ** Very well got up, indeed, and I particularly admire the truth and simplicity so con- spicuous in every line." «' Actions are to be judged by their motives, you know, Mr. Mowbray ; and mine are of the most benevolent kind. It is but charity to console Lord Glen more for the cruelty of his lady bright, by putting him in good humour with himself." *« I am no casuist, my dear," returned GERALDINE. l69 Mr. Mowbray. " Doubtless practice has given you a very enviable facility in ma- naging these delicate questions, and I leave you to settle the business with your con- science as w^ell as you can."' Mrs. Mowbray found no difficulty in settling the business with her conscience ; nor did any « compunctious visitings' pre- vent her disclosing the whole history of the refusal to every creature of her ac- quaintance ; and the envy of some, the sympathy of others, and the astonishment of all, in some degree softened the acute sense of disappointment by which she was at first oppressed. Mademoiselle Dubourg's exclamations and lamentations on the subject w^ere long and loud. " Mais done! ma chere amie ; mon ange; c'estinconcevablef BoiiDieu! Qui?ize milk livres de rentes, et vous avez refuse ce Milord la I celafait horreur /'* Fanny in vain endeavoured to vindicate her own judgment in the business ; in vain VOL. I. I 170 GERALDINE. pleaded that she cared notliing at all about Lord Glenmore. Mademoiselle Dubourg would not listen ; she continued to exclaim, " Mais donc^ Grand Dieu! Ten suis desolee /" " Pray console yourself, my dear Ma- demoiselle," said Fanny. <« I expect to en- chain at least half-a-dozen lovers more.'* *' Mais, oui, mon enfant, les amans, a la bonne heure, as many as you please ; mais a^ec un mari, tin homme comme il faut, tout cela s^ arrange, ^^ Fanny begged to assure her, that, tout an contraire, in England the cortege of lovers must be dismissed on or before the wedding day ; and Mademoiselle was beginning to lament it as a serious evil, when Mr. Mait- land walked into the room. Fanny, at that moment, rather proud of her own conduct, and of the disinterested- ness she had displayed, received him with an undisguised pleasure that did not escape Mademoiselle Dubourg's attention. After watching her in silence, for a few minutes, GERALDINE. I?! she hastily left the room ; and exclaiming, after she had shut the door, " voila un trait de linniere,^' went in quest of Mrs. Mowbray, to whom she communicated her suspicions, that " ce j^retre, cet ecclesias- tique, un hovime pas du tout comme il faiitj had been the chief cause of Fanny's in- difference to the splendid offers of Milord Glenmore." Mrs. iSIowbray listened with patient po- liteness ; and though quite convinced that her daughter was still sufficiently sane not tQ listen to the addresses of a country curate, she thought it not impossible that intercourse with Mr. Maitland misrht so quicken her perception of real excellence, as to induce a very inconvenient degree of fastidiousness in her choice of a husband ; and she resolved, by the coldness of her manner, and by those little repelling arts so soon felt and understood by a delicate mind, to put an end, if possible, to any thing like intimacy between them. Lord Glenmore was much surprised, and I 2 17^ GERALDINE* rather mortified, by Fanny's rejection ; but as Mrs. Mowbray was an agreeable woman, and her house a pleasant lounge, he had no objection to accepting her proposition of continuing Vami de la maiso7i. Geraldine, who had begun to feel the full force of Fanny's attractive manners, and who concluded, like most girls of fourteen, that, in these affairs, love should be *' lord of all," rejoiced when the mar- riage ceased to be canvassed, and Fanny was left at peace. The summer glided away ; and with it the feelings of constraint and regret which had preyed on her mind on her first arrival at Woodlands. Montague, indeed, had passed but one fortnight at home. The remainder of the long vacation had been devoted to travel- ling through Scotland ; but that fortnight had been delightful. He was in the most brilliant spirits. The anticipation of visiting the " Land of brown heath, and shaggy wood ; Land of the mountain, and the flood," GERALDIXE. 173 seemed to have inspired him ; and thoogh he talked more of Burns, and Beattie, and Walter Scott, than of her and her affairs, she loved to hsten to him. He had pro- mised to bring home a multitude of sketches for her to copy, and especially one of Loch Katrine, which he intended to be a master- piece. " 1 shall expect prodigiously long letters from you, Montague,^' said Fanny, as they were breakfasting together on the morning of his departure for Scotland. " As you travel alone, you will have no one else to whom you can express your raptures." ** 1 shall at least enjoy the privilege of being slow or rapid, dull or ecstatic, as it suits me," returned Montague. " I only hope I shall not encounter any of the fashionable fools who have lately taken to make Loch Katrine a summer lounge." " It would be horrid, indeed," said Fanny, " with one's head full of Fitz-James, and Roderick Dhu, and all manner of delight- I 3 174f GERALDINE. ful associations, to stumble suddenly upon a Dandy ; if such a misfortune should hap- pen, Montague, pray be cool and collected, and don't shoot him through the head at once; for, little as you may think it, I assure you, those stiff, upright, immoveable creatures, can really feel ; and, I believe, they can think, too ; but of this I am not quite certain." " Suppose,^' said Montague, laughing, " I call at Glenmore Hall, and ask Lord Glenmore to accompany me ; what an exquisite travelling companion he would make !" " He would not be much in your way, I assure you," returned Fanny. " He would eat, and sleep, and yawn, and look at his watch ; and then eat, and sleep, and yawn again." " Shall you return to Woodlands, Mon- tague," said Geraldine, " before you go to college ?" " I hope so," said Montague ; " but it de- pends upon circumstances. If the weather GERALDINE. 1^5 be very fine, and the Highland lasses very enchanting, I shall stay in Scotland till the last moment," The two girls followed him to the door j and as he mounted his horse, Geraldine again begged him to write. " You will be sure to hear from me," said he, smiling; " unless, indeed, I encounter in the shades of Glenfinlas any of those way- ward ladies of the glen, who make so free with gallant knights and young gentlemen." He galloped off in high glee. They watched him till he was out of sight, " Come in, Geraldine," said Fanny. " I dare say we look very picturesque, and in- teresting, standing here with our golden locks waving in the wind ; but as there is no one to admire us, we may as well walk into the house. — Why, child, you look as doleful as if you had made a contract with ' the * grim w^hite woman !* " " Well, Fanny, and are not you sorry to part with Montague ?" <^ Sorry ! to be sure I am ; but then, I I 4 176 GERALDINE. have such a charming disinterestedness; such dehghtful flexibiUty of feehng, that I always rejoice with those that rejoice : — now you are such a selfish little thing, that though you pretend to love Montague, you prefer yourself ; and while he is out of his wits with joy at the idea of wandering among the banks and braes of Scotland, you would detain him to ramble by your side in the New Forest." Geraldine eagerly disclaimed the charge, but Fanny refused to be convinced, and ran away exclaiming, " Oh ! they are a selfish race, — the children of this generation," CERALDINE. 177 CHAP. XV. 1 prove her disinterestedness, Geraldine determined to be as cheerful as possible, and every day increased her toleration for the manners and customs of Woodlands. She satisfied herself with looking for- ward to the time when the return of her father, and her restoration to home, w^ould allow of her resuming those religious pur- suits and pious habits which she still knew to be important, and, connected as they were in her mind with recollections of ma- ternal affection and tenderness, she still felt to be dear. But the restlessness and disquietude this privation at first occasioned, no longer agitated her; she was content to put these things off to a more convenient season : forgetting that < though habit,' in the I 5 178 GERALDINE. majority of cases, < is a greatei plague than ever afflicted Egypt, yet, in religious cha- racters, it is a great felicity ; and that the devout mind exults in the indication of its being fixed and irretrievable.' Geraldine had attained precisely that age, when an impulse is usually given to the mind, which not unfrequently decides its character for ever. The foundation of an edifice may be solid and substantial ^ but if the completion of the superstructure pass into less skilful hands, instead of uniting beauty and use- fulness, it may become faulty and fantas- tic, equally unfit to resist the shock of ac- cident or the finger of time. To watch and assist the developement of principle, is a more arduous, and per- haps a more delicate task, than to form and rear it. That tenderness of conscience which shrinks even from the appearance of evil, must be gently fostered and cherished, and the judgment sustained in its first combat GERALDINE. 179 with the false maxims and practices of the world. It is dangerous to put too early to the test that moral strength and mental energy, which are required to resist the temptation of following < the multitude to do evil.' Geraldine had hitherto relied solely on her mother's judgment ; it had been her bright and guiding star! Suddenly, it va- nished from her view, and she was left to steer alone, amid the rocks and quicksands by which she was surrounded. Too young to resist the contagion of example, the powerful charm of novelty and the bewitching influence of wit and gaiety, she felt like a person suddenly transported from the soft and quiet beauty of Arcadian scenes, to the dazzling splen- dours of a masqued ball. At first she was bewildered and uneasy, and longed to re- turn 5 but at length the brilhancy of the scene, its variety, gaiety, and animation, fascinated her senses; and the past and I 6 180 GERALDINE. future were alike lost in the enjoyment of the present. A very fine autumn, now in its wane, had enabled them to enjoy in full perfec- tion the beautiful scenery around them. Fanny had passed her earliest years at Woodlands, and delighted in retracing the lovely spots and enchanting glades which had been the haunts of her childhood ; and Geraldine, whose perceptions of the beauties of nature had been early awakened and were now rapidly unfolding, felt, in the contemplation of these magnificent scenes, a joy she was unable to define. Mrs. Mowbray readily promoted every scheme of enjoyment ; and their morning rides and evening strolls, their gipsy-parties and rustic fetes, threw an air of festivity over the life of Geraldine as enchanting as it was new. She occasionally detected herself re- gretting that it would probably too soon have an end ; and as she recalled the still- ness and melancholy which had pervaded 1 GERALDINE. 181 her own home after the death of her mother, she felt an oppression of heart begin to mingle with the idea of her return thither. But the consciousness of this feeling kindled a blush of shame upon her cheek. Was it possible that she could an- ticipate her father's return vath any other sensation than that of unmingled joy. Tears of self-reproach filled her eyes, and to appease her conscience she deter- mined to pass the mornmg in writing to him, and express her hope that his health and spirits w^ould soon be sufficiently amended to allow of his returning to Eng- land. She had been some time quietly seated at this occupation, when Fanny ran into the room, exclaiming ! " Guess, Geraldine, who is below!" " Montague, perhaps," said Geraldine, rising with alacrity. Fanny shook her head. " Oh ! it is Captain Forrester, or Mr. Bernard, or some one I don't care for," 1 82 GERALDINE, continued Geraldme, composedly re-seating herself, and dipping her pen in the ink. " Is that a very beautiful period that you are finishing ?" asked Fanny. *' Are you turning it according to the best rules of Quintilian and Blair ? Because, if so, I will not be so cruel as to interrupt you ; even to say that" — Geraldine looked up impatiently. — " Guess again," said Fanny. *< Is there no one in this wide world you care for, except Montague ? — no one who has been ' over the seas, and far awa ?' " " Oh ! it is papa," exclaimed Geral- dine, springing to the door, and running down stairs, without waiting for an answer. In a moment, she had satisfied herself that it was indeed her father ; but not in a moment were their affectionate greetings exhausted. Mr. Beresford was delighted to observe the improved looks and cheerfulness of Geraldine 5 and she was so occupied in listening to details of his journey, that they did not separate till Fanny had twice re- GERALDINE. 183 minded them, that the * most sentimental people must dine ;' that it was within half an hour of dinner-time ; and that their cook was notorious for punctuality. 184 GERALDINE. CHAP. XVI. Jr ANNY seated herself in Geraldine's room, while she dressed ; and, taking a letter from her pocket, said, " I think the measure of your happiness will be complete, when you have heard the contents of this letter.'* Geraldine's eye glanced over the hand- writing. It was Montague's. ** But, perhaps," said Fanny, " your heart is so full of your father, that you have no curiosity about the matter — not a thought to waste on any body else. Shall I shut it up again ?" Geraldine could only beg her to read it without farther delay. " I shall pass over," said Fanny, " his rapturous account of Perthshire j only you GERALDINE. 185 are generally to understand that its scenery comprises all that is wild, and magnificent, and beautiful, and sublime ! I avoid the word picturesque, in compliment to your taste and my own ; though, hackneyed as it is, there is scarcely a possibility of doing without it. Well ! — he had the courage, (was he not a hero ?) to pass the Cove of the Men of Peace, even after sun-set ! — Happily he had not a green coat * on j * About a mile beyond the source of the Forth, above Lochon, there is a place called Coirshi'an, or the Cove of the Men of Peace, which is still supposed to be a favourite place of their residence. In the neighbourhood are to be seen many round conical eminences, particularly one near the head of the lake, by the skirts of which many are still afraid to pass after sun-set. It is believed, that if, on Hallow-eve, any person alone goes round one of these hills nine times, towards the left hand, a door shall open by which he shall be admitted into their subterraneous abodes. Many, it is said, of mortal race, have been entertained in their secret recesses. \ The seemingly happy inhabitants pass their time in festivity, and in dancing to notes of the softest music; but unhappy is the mortal who joins in their joys, or ventures to partake of their dainties. By this indul- 186 GERALDINE. which, I suppose, was the reason that they let him escape. Would you believe it? Instead of being grateful, he says, that un- fortunately it happened not to be Hallow- eve, or he should certainly have paced round their favourite hill nine times, (the magical number you know, my dear,) in the hope of being admitted to its secret recesses ; of getting a peep at those lovely ladies who surpass the daughters of men in beauty ; and listening to those soft notes * that take the prisoned soul, and lap it in Elysium.' " It is a great happiness that he could not accomplish this ; for, of all inconvenient things, the most inconvenient would be, falling in love with a Shi'ich, and this would unquestionably have been his fate. gence, he forfeits for ever the society of men, and is bound down, irrevocably, to the condition of a Shi'ich, or Man of Peace. As the Daoine-shi, or Men of Peace, wore green habits, they were supposed to take offence when any mortals ventured to assume their favourite colour. GERALDIKE. 187 " After this follows a description of In- verary, and Ben Lomond, and Loch Lo- mond, and Arro quhar ; and a panegyric upon Walter Scott's astonishing genius, and wonderful power of combining the most minute accuracy of description, w^ith the enchanting luxuriance and flow of poetry. " Then, there is a history of the charm- ing people he was introduced to at Edin- burgh, and of their prodigious intellectual pre-eminence ; and a sketch of a beautiful lassie, uith whom he .danced reels, and to whom, of course, he made love. " Don't look so frightened, my dear ; I dare say he did not lose above half his heart, and half a heart is certainly a larger share than you are entitled to, as far as cousinship goes ; however, we shall soon And all that out when he comes, which will be to-morrow. There is the bonne boiiche I have hoarded up for you, in my loving kindness, to the last moment. " This letter ought to have been here a fortnight agoj but being a volume, he 188 GERALDINE. trusted it to a private hand. However, I calculate, by what he says, that in less than twenty-four hours, this heir of all his mother's beauty, and all his father's vir- tues, will arrive at Woodlands, and with him, (more last words you see,) a Mr. Spenser, a lineal descendant, I suppose, of the Fairy Queen Spenser, for he seems, by Montague's account, to inherit all his ge- nius, and to be a creature framed in < all the prodigality of nature.' Just hear what he says of him. " * As I was contemplating the magnifi- cent fall of Cora Linn, with my thoughts carried back to ,the days of Wallace and Bruce, I caught a glimpse at some little distance of a fashionable looking coat. With the recollection of your prognostics full in my mind, and, consequently, the fear of a dandy before my eyes, I abruptly turned, and was walking off in an opposite direction, when I heard myself called by my name. Heartily wishing the person a thousand miles off, 1 turned round, and saw GERALDINE. 189 before me Spenser, an old Etonian crony of mine. Many a frolic have we enjoyed to- gether, when we * heard a voice in every wind, and snatched a fearful joy.' Many a time have we rambled along the banks of the Thames, heedless of their beauty, alive only to the enjoyment of fresh air and stolen liberty. " * So, like the Highlander, whose heart warms to the tartan, let him meet it in what region he will, mine warmed at the sight of his well-remembered face, even though it interrupted my meditations, amid the sublime scenery of the Cora Linn. " * We lost sight of each other on going to college ; he entering at Cambridge, and I at Oxford. Therefore, as I knew not what manner of man he was, it must have been the air of Scotland that inspired me to welcome him so warmly for auld acquaint- ance sake, and days * o' lang syne.' " ' Richly have I been repaid ; his mind is of the very first class, and he combines, in an uncommon degree, the powers that 190 GERALDINE. fascinate in a companion, genius that grasps what is great, and taste which perceives all the beautiful minutiae invisible to com- mon eyes and vulgar minds. He has lately succeeded to an unincumbered estate of two thousand a-year : his person is manly and handsome/ " There, my dear Geraldine ; how 1 am to get through the next twenty -four hours I know not ; I am so curious, so anxious to see this radiant person, who is to make every body look dim beside him." " I am not at all anxious," said Geraldine, " and, I dare say, he will not make every body look dim." " Oh ! my dear, you must remember, that stars of the first magnitude hide their heads before the sun. I shall let my fancy dip her pen in the brightest colours ; for it is Montague, the fastidious Montague, who speaks thus highly of him. " His person is manly and handsome," re- peated Fanny, referring to the letter. " Men always will generalise so in their descrip- GERALDINE. 191 tions ; one does not know which to expect, a fine Grecian face, Hke the Apollo Behi- dere, or * les yeiLX 7ioirs, qui vont, au fond de Vame^' like « Malek Adhels,' As he was writing to a lady, he might just have mentioned the colour of his eyes ; woman, you know, Geraldine, is curious by inherit- ance." " I am sure, I don't care what colour they are," said Geraldine, ** It does not at all signify." " Not signify, child ! that is because you have never studied the subject. I shall be terribly disappointed, I am sure, if we don't see * the front of Jove himself, an eye like Mars, to threaten and command.' ** The most melancholy part of the busi- ness is, that they can only remain a few days with us ; their becoming square caps, and flowing gowns, must be resumed next week, and we shall be left, Geraldine, to * chide the hasty-footed hours ;' a pretty lady-like employment enough, if it were but of any use $ but, unluckily, time and 192 GERALDINE. tide will have their way. Now, let us go down, and see if, by dint of dining, and talking, and sleeping, we can get rid of ' this great gap of time,' that Spenser is away. *' You look very much inclined to sub- stitute another name ; and pray do, if you prefer it ; * Montague' will not spoil the rythm at all." GERALDINE. 193 CHAP. XVII. A FEW hurried lines from Montague on the following morning, announced their in- tention of reaching Woodlands by the hour of dinner ; but the dinner-hour passed away, and the travellers did not appear. " I wonder what can detain them/' said Fanny, who had been restlessly w^atching at every window in the house. " Is want of punctuality in young men so miraculous," said Mr. Mowbray, " that you think it worth w^hile to wonder about it ? If you wish to assign any other reason for the delay, surely, you have ingenuity enough to devise as many as you please." " No," said Fanny ; '' all my faculties are absorbed in one feeling of eager curiosity." " You had better recollect the wise man's assertion, that * there is nothing new vmder VOL. I. K 194 GERALDINE, the sun.' Mr. Spenser, I dare say, re* sembles most other young men ; and let me advise you, Fanny, never to place any per- son upon too high a pedestal. It is inju- dicious J it exposes them to too curious and stedfast a gaze, and they sometimes de^ scend awkwardly enough to the common level.'* " I will not listen to you, my dear father ; you take a cruel delight in dashing all my brilliant expectations to the ground ; you are worse than that officious person who opened Pandora's box; for he did leave Hope at the bottom." ** Sister Anne, sister Anne," said she to Geraldine, who was stationed at the win- dow of an adjoining room, " do you see any thing coming? For pity's sake, say you see something, if it be only a cloud of dust.'* " I see the deer feeding in the park," replied Geraldine ; " but not a particle of dust to comfort you. They look a little GERALDINE. 19^5 frightened now, though,*' continued she, " as if they heard a strange sound." " Look again, my dearly beloved Ge- raldine," said Fanny ; " look again ; you are such a charming far-sighted creature j are they scampering away ?** ** Yes," said Geraldine, ** they are, and there certainly is something like a carriage behind. Don't you hear it ?" *' To be sure I do," said Fanny. " The song of the nightingale was never half so delightful to my ear." The sound of a carriage rapidly approach- ing was now distinctly heard, even by Mr. Mowbray, who affected blindness, deafness, and incredulity, as long as possible. It stopped j and in a few minutes the young men were in the drawing-room, bowing, regretting, apologising, and explaining. All eyes in a moment were fixed upon Mr. Spenser. Certainly he was not at all like the Apollo Belvidere, nor nearly so handsome as Malek Adhel. Except a pair of good-looking eyes, his face might be K 2 196 GERALDINE. considered plain. This was the result of Fanny's first observation. In the course of the evening, she dis- covered that the eyes were decidedly the finest she had ever seen ; and the counte- nance the most animated and intelligent. It was not at all striking when he was silent; but when he spoke, it was with an eloquence and energy that lighted up every feature. Fanny listened with delighted attention, now and then casting a triumphant glance at her father. There seemed to be no danger of an awkward descent : it was a very fair ele- vation. There was an unquestionable pre- eminence ; and certainly it would not be easy or possible suddenly to sink Mr. Spenser to the level of most other young men. Mrs. Mowbray, who watched, with her usual unsuspected vigilance, the effect this stranger would produce on her daughter, saw immediately that his brilliant qualities would throw Mr. Maitland's quiet and ster- GERALDINE. 197 ling excellence sufficiently into the shade, to render him no longer a dangerous com- panion. She therefore accompanied Montague to the vicarage in the morning ; and prefacing her invitation to Mr. Maitland, with kind reproaches for his long absence, and an as- surance that it had at length compelled her not even to trust to V eloquence cle billet, but to petition in person, requested his com- pany to dinner. Mr. Maitland had too much penetration not to perceive, that this overflowing courtesy was a sort of amende Jionoi^ahle, which Mrs. Mowbray found it convenient to make. But, really attached to Montague and anxious to live in as much harmony as possible with his family, he tUd not hesitate to accept the invitation. K 3 198 GERALDINE. CHAP. XVIII. Minds, of a certain class and character, mingle with perfect facility, and there seemed so many points of sympathy in taste, feeling, and opinion, between Fanny and Mr. Spenser, that the preliminary cere- monies of a first acquaintance had been soon exchanged for easy conversation ; and easy conversation had gradually, by the following evening, glided into real inter- change of thought. *« Can it be possible !*' exclaimed Mr. Spenser, as he seated himself by her side at tea-time ; " that my acquaintance with you is only of twenty-four hours' standing." " I find it difficult to believe it, indeed,** replied Fanny ; ** but you were not en- GERALDINE. 199 tirely unknown to me ; Montague had already introduced you to me with a flou- rish of trumpets." " This introduction is an aera in my life, to which I must always revert with such decided pleasure," returned Mr. Spenser, " that I will not quarrel with him about the mode of it ; but these flourishes have in general a most unfor- tunate effect. They should be reserved for some conquering hero ! Mere common mortals cannot stand them." " Montague does not often offend in this way," replied Fanny 5 '* besides, there is something pleasant in the excitation pro- duced. Hope and joyful anticipation con- tribute so largely to the sum of human felicity." " There are persons," said Mr. Spenser, " who deny the truth of your position ; who describe hope as a meteor, at once bright and mischievous, shining only to mislead and bewilder." K 4 200 GERALDINE. '< I do not envy such dull, joyless beings," replied Fanny. " Nor I,** returned Mr. Spenser ; " I consider a sanguine temperament a posi- tive blessing ; enlarging the capacity for happiness, and multiplying its sources in an astonishing ratio." " And I consider it," said Mr. Mow- bray, " a positive curse ; usually blinding and bewildering its luckless possessor ; en- gaging him in the profitable employment of * dropping buckets into empty wells, and growing old in drawing nothing up.' " " It must be confessed," said Mr. Spen- ser, "that the calculations of the sanguine are sometimes erroneous; but they enjoy a great proportion of positive happiness : they drink deeply and largely of every little spring that rises in their path ; and in their clear and luminous atmosphere, the most distant object is not only dis- cerned, but beams with brightness and beauty." <* Who," said Montague, with a glance GERALDINE. 201 towards his father ; '* who would exchange such an atmosphere for the dull, sunless region of the phlegmatic." " You are transporting us from the torrid to the frigid zone at once," said Mr. Maitland. " Is there no temperate region where we may safely and quietly fix?" " As to the phlegmatic," said Mr. Spen- ser, " I confess myself entirely unable to comprehend the nature of his happiness, if happiness it be. That sort of enjoyment which excises neither emotion nor expres- sion is, to me, wholly unintelligible." " It may be positive happiness, notwith- standing your inability to comprehend it," replied Mr. Mowbray. ** For aught you know, the Dutchman who puffs his pipe in silence all day, and every day, may be a very happy being." " No, my dear Sir," returned Mr. Spen- ser ; " it is impossible that he can be any thing * very, except very dull.' It is not possible that his happiness can be positive, K 5 202 GERALDINE, at best, it is only negative, — mere freedom from care and pain. For my part, St. Patrick's purgatory itself would be infinitely preferable to me. One might still hope, in time, to breathe the gales of Eden, and hear the harmonies of heaven." <« I have no taste for such rapid alter- nations and transitions," said Mr. Mow- bray; ** I think it better to avoid the danger of being suddenly precipitated from the very gate of heaven into the slough of despond." " The slough of despond ! Oh ! I assure you, my dear Sir," returned Mr. Spenser, " no such spot exists in the world of the sanguine ; we make that entirely over to those of the melancholic temperament." " Do not speak irreverently of that class, I intreat you," said Montague; "genius so often accompanies such a temperament, that I almost reverence it." " Yes, that is precisely the sentiment it excites in my mind," returned Mr. Spenser. « I have a sort of reverential awe of persons GERALDINE. 203 of this description ; they are capable of an intensity of thought, a depth of feeling, to which the sanguine are strangers ; but * they ai'e too permanently grave to be exquisitely fitted for society.' They have not - the same happy elasticity j like the sanguine, they often wander through an ideal world, and in their sublime reveries tread the courts of heaven : but they are not so well skilled in extracting sweets from every little flower that • springs on earth." *' 1 have a notion," said Mr. Mowbray, ** that they often encounter a few thorns in getting at these sweets : but pray, as you seem to have studied the mystei'ies of this subject, into how many classes, with respect to temperament, do you find it convenient to divide mankind ?" ** Four, I believe. Sir," replied Mr. vSpenser, ** will comprehend the majority j three, we have already enumerated : the choleric, which remains, is perhaps a pretty large class. There is many a Sir Anthony K 6 ^04f GERALDINfi. Absolute ill the world, ready, on the slightest provocation, to command you not to breathe the same air with him, but to get an atmosphere and a sun of your own/' " You differ, then, from your learned friends, the ancients,'' said Mr. Mowbray ; *' their distinctions were rather more ela- borate and minute." " And still more fanciful, perhaps," said Mr. Maitland. " They tannot be deemed altogether fanciful," returned Mr. Spenser ; " I think it will not be denied, on examining the constitution of minds in general, that there is in them a certain decided tendency to mirth, or melancholy ; to irritability, or languor ; which forms the ground-work of character, and which may fairly be termed the temperament." " Education and society," rejoined Mr. Maitland, " do so much towards destroying natural characteristics, that I doubt, if they are to be discovered amidst the shades and blendings so nicely ir^roduced." GERALDINiE. "^0 5 " Circumstances may make them less apparent, less prominent, ** returned Mr. Spenser; " but they still exist, and are always discoverable, and often obvious/' " Are you deciding, Spenser, to what class Fanny belongs ?*' said Montague, in a low voice, as he saw his eyes rivetted upon her, as she crossed the room to speak to Mrs. Mowbray. ** Your sister," said he, " can be ranged in no class ; she is herself alone : those graceful, spirited attitudes, that exquisite mobility of countenance and figure, that soft, yet beaming eye — " *' Hush," said Montague, ** I was not prepared for such raptures." *' Nor did you prepare me to meet a divinity." Geraldine at tliat moment entered the room. ** There is another face to speculate upon," said Montague. " It has a great deal of beauty," replied Mr. Spenser, " of the very best kind ; '206 tJP:RALDINE» beauty of expression : but it has not to me that powerful and . resistless charm, which makes me gaze, and wonder, and sigh, and gaze again." " No, I hope not," said Montague ; " it is quite sufficient for one face to produce such an effect* If your heart is made of such sensitive materials, the ladies had better adopt the Turkish fashion, and, out of pure charity, veil their beauty from your eyes." *< I avow myself," said Mr. Spenser, '* an idolater of beauty ; even mere unin- telligent beauty is not without its charm for me : it always excites a sort of pleasing flutter at my heart; but beauty moulded by taste and inspired by genius, — who would not fall down and worship it ?" " 1 should be afraid," said Mr. Mait- land " that, like the heathens of old, you would be induced to admit a multitude of divinities into your temple 5 your Penates, your household gods, would be in some danger of being occasionally forgotten," GERALDINE. 207 " No, no,'* replied Mr. Spenser, " the tie would be too tender, too intimate, too sacred, to be forgotten." His eyes were still fixed upon Fanny, who was talking with great animation to Mrs. Mowbray. " I begin to think of the doctrine of love at first sight, Montague," continued he, ** with a vast deal more reverence than I did eight- an d-forty hours ago 5 I really have some faith in it now." *' To be consistent, you ought not to liare doubted it for a moment," observed Mr. Mai tl and. " Surely if mere personal beauty be sufficient foundation for love, the intercourse of a minute may be as perilous and decisive as that of a month." ** And where is consistency to be found, Maitland ?" asked Montague j ** at the bottom of a deep well, like truth? or in Utopia ? It is but three days ago that this same Spenser was laughing at the history of Petrarch's first interview with Laura ; affirming that love at first sight, without exchange of thought, was impossible ! in- gOS GERALDINE. credible ! that it was as rational and pos- sible, to be in love with a picture : and now he is raving about the magic of beauty, and pretending, that * the love that kills indeed, dispatches at a blow." « Who expects consistency from man ?" exclaimed Mr. Spenser; '* the creature of circumstances, the slave of passions and feelings as mutable and capricious as the winds of heaven, or the shifting clouds of an evening sky." " Speak for yourself, if you please. Sir," said Mr. Mowbray. '* Acknowledge your individual faults, if you wish it, as candidly as you think proper j but don't attempt to palm them upon man as a species." «' Happily," said Mr. Maitland, " man is not predestined to be the slave of his passions. If he be so, he forges his own fetters. He was created * sufficient to stand, but liable to fall.' " ** Take care of yourself," exclaimed Mr. Mowbray. " Maitland is trying to entangle you in the labyrinth of fate and GERALDINE. 20n free-will, Mr. Spenser ; and, if he succeed, there you may wander, like the Babes in the Wood, till the day of your death, with- out hope of escape." *« If you enter upon such abstruse sub- jects," said Fanny, who had just rejoined them, ** 1 must follow the example of Eve, and make a graceful retreat : you know she refused to listen to them, even from the tongue of an angel." ** And you recollect her reason, I hope," said Mr. Spenser ; *' she preferred hearing them from the mouth of the man she loved." '' That was a very pretty compliment, indeed," replied Fanny, <* and quite fit for the bowers of Eden ; but I should run away from pure ignorance and in- capacity, from positive distate for * such converse high.' " " Distaste, perhaps, but not incapacity," said Mr. Maitland. " Shall I become the champion of your sex, and contend for the mtellectual equality of man and woman ?" 210 GERALDINE. " If you do/* said Fanny, <* you will argue against your own conviction ; for there is, at this moment, a sort of triumph in your eyes — a smile upon your lip, that betrays you/' ** It is not worth contending for," said Mr. Spenser. " The empire of the heart is woman's ; and what avails the pre-emi- nence of our judgment, when she can charm it to sleep at will," " You are mistaken," observed Mr. Mow- bray ; ** that day is long since gone by : woman has ceased to be an enchantress, and man to be enchanted." " Speak for yourself, if you please, Sir," said Mr. Spenser, playfully. " There are resistless Armidas and Calypsos still to be found." " Do they not sometimes assume the form of the golden calf?" returned Mr. Mowbray. " I am inclined to believe that species of worship by no means pecu- liar to the Israelites." *< Your own experience might soften GERALDINE. 211 the severity of your satire, Mr. Mowbray/' said his lady. ** You certainly have had no reason to calumniate the motives of the young men of this generation.'* '' I speak from observation," replied Mr. Mowbray. " My own experience does not alter the general fact. A man might escape the plague in sixty-six ; yet who would deny that it raged ?" ** Surely," continued Mrs. Mowbray, " you have too much originality to unite in the common cry of the degeneracy of modern times. One is so tired of a com- plaint that has been made ever since the days of Noah and Homer." " I am not to be bribed to silence by your compliment, Mrs. Mowbray ; we will leave to wiser heads to decide whether the world in general be getting progressively better or worse ; but certainly this is a money-loving age." " I must acknowledge," said Mr. Mait- land, " that there is a substantial, avowed sort of selfishness in many of the young 21^ GERALDINE. men of the present day, at which a mind of delicacy revolts ; but their eagerness to acquire fortune by marriage may be attri- buted, not exactly to a miserly love of wealth, but to an increased and increasing love of the luxuries that wealth commands." ** And is not the one," said Mr. Spenser, '* as absorbing and disgusting as the other?" " I scarcely know which is most degrad- ing," added Montague. " Fine philosophical flourishing indeed," exclaimed Mr. Mowbray. " It is easy for those who command and enjoy all these luxuries to talk of despising them. It was easy enough for the poet to say, ' Man wants but little here below.' But who among the present company would be content to be- come ' a gentle hermit of the dale,' and live upon dew and water-cresses." "A hermitage without an Angelina would be worse than Tartarus itself," said Mr. Spenser. " That is a privation that was felt, even GERALDINE. 213 in Paradise," observed Montague. " Amid all the bliss and beauty of Eden, Man, the hermit, sigh'd — till woman smiled.'' " Well, Montague,"' said Mr. Spenser, " you are heartily welcome to The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where you may sit, and rightly spell Of every star that heav'n doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew." " And I make them over to Maitland," said Montague, " beechen bowl, and staff, and scrip into the bargain. '* " Ah ! Mr. Maitland is half a hermit already," exclaimed Fanny. " He will have no objection to [pass tlie day and night in counting his beads. He does not love the world and its ways." " Pardon me," said Mr. Maitland, " I, love the world so well, that I wish it to adopt better ways." Mrs. Mowbray now proposed music ; and Mr. Mowbray, who professed himself unable to distinguish a Scotch air from an Irish jig, and who listened to ballad, catch, 214 GERALDINE. and glee with equal reluctance, challenged Mr. Beresford to a game at chess. Geraldine sung with great simplicity and pathos J and she now selected those songs which she knew her father admired. It was the first time he had listened to them since Mrs. Bereford's death ; and they opened the " cells of memory^' but too ef- fectually. " It is for me to turn hermit, I think,*' said he. « We will settle that," said Mr. Mow- bray, whose eyes were rivetted on the board, " when we have finished our game. A man who can make such a move as that, has no right to talk of burying his talents in a hermitage. It is the height of ingrati- tude in a chess-player. The world must still retain some charm for him, as long as he can find a chess-board, and an an- tagonist." " You are as formidable a one as ever, I see," said Mr. Beresford. *« Yes, I flatter myself, we are well GERALDINE. 215 matched," returned Mr. Mowbray, " If* you can abstract your thoughts from the ditties and dances of that noisy party, we have a chance of a glorious battle." The young people collected round the piano-forte, sung, played, and laughed to- gether ; discussed the merits of musicians and bards, from the days of Ossian, to those of Burns and Moore, affirming, that the last two threw both predecessors and con- temporaries at an immeasurable distance. Mr. Maitland cautiously ventured a word of opposition. He was overwhelmed with beautiful quotations, and silenced by irre- sistible appeals to his taste and feelings. ^16 GERALDINE. CHAP. XIX. Geraldine," said Fanny, when they had separated from the party, and were preparing to undress, " you warbled away like a nightingale this evening, without suspecting the misfortune that awaits us." " What is it?" enquired Geraldine, eagerly. " Why, we are to dine at Wentworth- hall to-morrow. It is true, indeed ; Mr. Wentworth rode over this morning, in de- fiance of the gout, to enlist us all in his service." " And Montague and his friend hav^ but two days more to remain with us," said Geraldine. " And such a delectable friend, too !'* exclaimed Fanny. ** Did you ever see such GERALDINE. 217 eyes? Can anything be compared with the animation of his countenance ? Did you ever hear any thing like his voice — his eloquence ? It puts me quite in a Shakspearian mood to listen to him." Geraldine, strange to relate, had seen eyes she liked better. Fanny thought it absolutely incredible. " Were they not fine, dark, and penetrating?" Geraldine conceded all this ; but there was something restless and wild in their expression. Fanny pronounced this to be bright, beaming genius, enough to kindle anima- tion, even in marble. " As to his voice," continued she, " did not I see you ri vetted to the spot when he sung ? Did not you pause when it was over, just like the Lady of the Lake, as if again, * You thought to catch the witching strain, With head upraised, and look intent, 4 And eye and ear attentive bent?' " Geraldine acknowledged, that it was very delightful to hear him sing. VOL. r. L 218 GERALDIKE. " And still more to hear him talk/* said Fanny. Geraldine demurred a little. She thought it rather more delightful to hear Montague talk. Fanny was seized with a second fit of wondering. Montague was only a man of taste ; Mr. Spenser a man of genius. The one pleased, the other inspired you. Geraldine wondered in her turn, and blushed indignantly, in defence of Mon- tague. " That blush is very becoming, and as eloquent as you can desire it to be," said Fanny. *< I advise you by all means, my dear child, to cultivate that species of elo- quence. It is always admired, and is cer- tainly prodigiously comprehensive ; it may be so prettily, so variously interpreted. The gift of tongues is not more valuable." " It only means, — "said Geraldine, he- sitating. " Oh ! make no comment on it, pray," returned Fanny ; ** a bungling interpretation of a fine text is not endurable. I perfectly GERALDINE, 219 understand it ; and there is one point, my dear little angry girl, we shall certainly agree in," continued she, — "that it is a great deal too provoking to be obliged to waste one day out of the two that remain, on fat, smihng Mrs. Wentworth, and her two silent, insipid daughters." " Oh ! Helen's manners are certainly very engaging," said Geraldine. " She is an angel of light compared to her sister, to be sure," replied Fanny; " but then, you know, she never reads any thing but Thomas a Kempis, nor says any thing but her prayers. As to that stiff, stoney Miss Wentworth, she has so exactly the look of a statue,that lam alwaysin a state of astonishment when she walks across the room. I expect some day, her feet will become rooted to the earth, and she will turn into a pillar like Lot's wife." " Montague says that they are very be- nevolent, and do a great deal of good," observ^ed Geraldine. " Very likely," replied Fanny, carelessly, L 2 220 GERALDINE. " They may be remarkably fit for heaven j but they are, without exception, the dullest people I ever met with on earth." " What time do they dine ?" asked Ge- raldine. " At four o'clock," returned Fanny. <' Did you ever hear of such Gothic hours? The business of dinner will be over by six ; and then Mrs. Wentworth will smile and nod, and the ladies will adjourn to the drawing-room, and gape, and * bestow their tediousness' upon each other for about three hours, till the ceremony of tea begins. I dare say Mrs. Wentworth would think it high treason against decorum, if any of the gentlemen attempted to join us before the regular summons went forth. " At length, by the time we are half stu- pified by ennui, and they are quite stupified with wine, the party will meet again : then there will be a temporary revival ; the old men will try to be witty, the young ones to look degages, and the ladies affect to be nonchalanteSf and absorbed in each other. GERALDINE. 221 quite unconscious of the approach of the gentlemen, though they have been thinking every minute an age till they appeared. " After this farce has been enacted some little time, the card-tables will appear, and before there is time to arrange what game is to be played, the carriages will be an- nounced, and the courtesies and adieus per- formed ; — and this is the history of an English country dinner-party. So, good night, my dear. No wonder, it has almost sent you to sleep." L 3 S2S GERALDINE, CHAP. XX. A MORE striking contrast could not be found, than that which existed between Miss Wentworth and Fanny Mowbray. — Light and shade, summer and winter, were not more opposed. Dissimilar by nature, education, and habit, they usually met with regret, and parted with an in- creased repugnance to each other. Miss Wentworth's education had been diametrically opposite to that of Fanny. It had been conducted by a woman of rigid principles and genuine piety, but of narrow views and feeble judgment ; — wholly des- titute of a taste for general literature, which she considered not merely as useless, but pernicious. Contracted, gloomy, and in- tolerant, her own peculiar view of Christi- GERALDINE. 223 anity was the standard by which she mea- sured all around her; and those who differed from her, either in faith or practice, were condemned without hesitation or reserve. No recollection of the possible fallibility of her own judgment ever occurred to qualify an opinion, or soften a decision. The modest and moderate were astonish- ed and disgusted by the oracular and dog- matical tone in which she pronounced judgment. No one could be a Christian according to her acceptation, who did not enter into a frequent discussion of doctrinal points ; and interweave in their conversation a certain set of peculiar phrases. If they abstained from this, she denounced them, with a shake of her head, as worldly per- sons, and nominal Christians, forming part of the numerous class who were * called, but not chosen.' She could never be brought to acknowledge, that there might be good taste and right feeling in such silence. She could not comprehend, and would noh believe, that it might originate in deep and L 4 224 GERALDINE. affectionate reverence, — in a reluctance to profane, by familiarity, things holy and precious. She remembered, indeed, the * one thing needful;' but forgot many things that were « lovely and of good report.' With such qualifications and deficiencies, Miss Vincent was received into Mr. Went- worth's family, as preceptress to his daughters. She was in reduced circum- stances ; an orphan, and distantly related to him. Either of these claims would have made its way to the heart of Mr. Went- worth ; but when united, they induced him to treat her with peculiar kindness and con- sideration. He very soon discovered, in- deed, that she added nothing to the cheer- fulness and comfort of his fire-side ; and observed to his wife, that, to be sure. Miss Vincent was rather apt to give them too much of a good thing, but she seemed kind to the children, and, after all, too much religion was better than too little. , Mrs. Wentworth, as was her invariable practice, assented immediately to the truth GERALDINE. 2^5 of this observation. She rarely troubled herself to differ from any one, and never from her husband. There was a certain im- perturbability about the constitution of her mind, which secured it from all conflict or emotion. The history of an earthquake or a ball, of a hurricane or a marriage-feast, she listened to with equal attention, and equal composure ; and this inestimable quality of mind enabled her to hear, with patience, the long and energetic ha- rangues of Miss Vincent, which she rarely interrupted by comment or observation, generally, at their conclusion, saying, with a smile, I dare say it is all very true. She would have said precisely the same, had she heard a dissertation to prove the infallibi- lity of the Pope, or the divine right of kings. Miss Vincent perceived that her elo- quence was not likely to be effectual with the heads of the family. Mr. Wentworth still continued, in spite of her gravity and invective, to enjoy his joke and his rubber ; and his lady smiled and listened, and listened L 5 2^ GERALDINE. and smiled again, till Miss Vincent de- clared that it was useless to cast ' pearls before swine/ With the children, however, who were entirely committed to her care, she had a fairer chance of success. Mrs. Wentworth, upon intrusting them to her, had made only one request ; that they might wear large bonnets to skreen their faces from the sun, as she disliked tan and freckles ; every thing else was left wholly to Miss Vincent's discretion. There was a considerable difference in the age of the two sisters, Miss Wentworth being the eldest, Helen the youngest of the family. At the period of Miss Vincent's intro- duction, Mary had completed her tenth year; and even at that early age, con- siderable strength and vigour were observ- able in the tone of her mind. It was de- ficient in tenderness, and incapable of sweetness; but contained a mine of energy that required only to be skilfully wrought. GERALDINE. 227 The effect of Miss Vincent's exclusive system of education upon such a mind may be easily imagined. The rays which might have diffused a mild and benignant light, if suffered to diverge, became fierce and intolerable, when concentrated into one point. Her ardour, confined to one subject, displayed itself in a zeal more in- tense than that of her preceptress, in pro- portion to the strength of her character. Her reading consisted chiefly of divines whose views harmonised with tliose of Miss Vincent. She could converse with great clearness on the distinguishing doc- trines of Christianity, and believed herself to be expert in the practice of its duties; but she was miserably deficient in that gentle courtesy that springs from a truly Christian spirit. In her desire to prove that she was not conformed to this world. Miss Wentworth mistook things^ indifferent for things for- bidden, and thus brought a degree of odium upon the cause she intended to sup- L 6 228 GERALDINE, port. Cold, abstracted, rigid, and uncon- ceding, she frequently threw a gloom over the domestic circle, which occasionally drew upon her the raillery of her brothers, and a blunt observation amounting to something like reproof from her father ; these were received with the air of a mar- tyr ; and too deficient in practical humility to imagine for a moment, that a shadow of blame attached to herself, she gloried in sustaining what she termed persecution, with unvarying constancy. Her's was the sort of fervid and exalted faith which would have led her fearless and triumphant to the burning stake, and cross of martyrdom. All that she felt to be her duty was performed with rigid e:?^- actness ; but her sense of this duty was not sufficiently comprehensive. She would pray devoutly for the eternal happiness of her family, but it made no part of her concern to promote their tem- poral comfort. Habitually negligent of those small, sweet courtesies, which throw GERALDINE. S29 a nameless charm over familiar intercourse, her cheerless gravity wearied the young and repelled the gay ; and produced, be- sides, the mischievous eftect of disgusting them with pious conversation, and inspir- ing a di'ead of all serious impressions. If, with religious principle, the benevo- lent affections had been fostered and suf- fered to expand, her life might have been useful and lovelv, even without an en- larged education or refinement of taste ; had these been superadded, it would have been bright and attractive, shedding a powerful and beneficial influence over all within its sphere. Upon Helen, the youngest daughter, naturally timid and affectionate, this sys- tem of education produced an effect totally dissimilar, and upon the whole less inju- rious ; she had less vigour of understanding, but a warmth and softness of heart, which seemed to expand itself on all around her. Miss Vincent, though too conscientious not to educate her in the strictest religious 230 GERALDINE. principles, was very little satisfied with the progress she made, and frequently ex- pressed doubts of her ultimate success. As Helen's character unfolded, these doubts increased, and she sometimes ob- served with a sigh, that *Paul might plant, and ApoUos water,' in vain. There was certainly less that was fervid and exclusive in the religious feelings of Helen ; earthly affections played warmly round her heart ; but Miss Vincent's fears and prognostics increased the natural timid- ity of her character ; and instead of that wholesome fear which is the beginning of wisdom, poor Helen was haunted by a dread of doing wrong, so incessant and depressing, that it frequently prevented her doing right. She trod with trembling steps the nar- row path prescribed to her, fearing even to touch the flowers, which the bounty of Heaven had scattered in her way. Gentle, modest, and tender, her heart acknow- ledged the * thousand ties, which bind GERALDINE. ^Sl our race in sympathy together,' and the kindliness of her nature displayed itself in the exercise of all the charities of life, but she did not share the happiness she thus endeavoured to diffuse. Doubts, fears, and disquietudes, preyed upon her sensitive spirit ; and there appeared so strong a tendency to religious melancholy, that Mr. Wentworth became uneasy, and perceiving the effect without precisely un- derstanding the cause, proposed change of air, and scene, as essential to the health of Helen. They accordingly visited Southampton, and before their return home he received the welcome tidings that Miss Vincent intended very soon to relinquish the situa- tion she had so long held in his family. Her brother, hitherto only curate of the parish in which Mr. Wentworth resided, had lately exchanged the curacy for an excellent living ; and as Helen had com- pleted her sixteenth year, she felt no hesi- tation in leaving her, and undertaking the 232 GERALDINE. superintendance of Mr. Vincent's domestic concerns. Mr. Wentworth received Miss Vincent's farewell courtesy, and listened to her fare- well speech, though a long one, with sin- gular complacency ; handed her with great attention to the carriage, rubbed his hands with delight when he had placed her in it, and reiterated with much energy, his hearty good wishes for her health and hap- piness. In the height of his joy at the prospect of her departure, he settled upon her rather a larger annuity than he intended ; but it was so joyful and unexpected a deliverance, that he could not be too grateful to her for having effected it. Miss Wentworth considered her separa- tion from this early friend, as a peculiarly heavy trial ; but the constant habit of re- pressing and subjugating every emotion and feeling, prevented her indulging expressions of regret, at once natural and graceful ; and she took leave of Miss Vincent with a GERALDINE. 253 composed countenance and tearless eye, which would have done honour to a philo- sopher of the Stoic school. Helen, on the contrary, hung over her with a tenderness hitherto unfelt and un- suspected. In the moment of parting, memory conjured up all the little acts of care and kindness she had received, and alternately weeping and embracing her, she promised to remember all her counsels, and assured her, again and again, that she should never forget her. Miss Vincent, * albeit unused to the melting mood,* could not resist the infection of this tenderness, and a tear or two gathered in her eye as she solemnly commended the drooping Helen to the care of her sister. Mrs. Went worth alone felt neitlier joy nor sorrow at the event. Thirteen years before, she had received Miss Vincent into her family with a complacent smile ; and the same complacent smile beamed over her countenance, the same tranquillity sat upon her brow, on receiving her parting 234? GERALDINE. compliments. She sat down to her work the moment the carriage drove from the door, calmly observing to Helen, ** that she had better not cry," and entirely insensible to Mr. Wentworth's unrestrained joy. Mr. Vincent, however, still remained. The new curate was not arrived ; and he had some arrangements to make, which detained him a little longer. He bore a very close resemblance to his sister, in per- son, manners, and opinions ; and estim- ating the importance of his clerical privi^ leges very highly, his reproofs were rather more indiscriminate, and his manners more austere, than hers. He was a frequent guest at Mr. Went- worth's ; who, out of respect, as he declared, to Miss Vincent and the church, endured his visits with exemplary patience ; though they often deepened the gloom which too frequently clouded the cheerfulness of his home. GERALDINE. 2i5 CHAP. XXL Mr. Went worth's house was only five miles distant from Woodlands ; but Mrs. Mowbray proposed ordering the carriages early, and taking a circuitous route, by which they might command a view of some of the most beautiful features of the sur- rounding country. The barouche w^as appropriated to the young party, who were to call at the par- sonage for Mr. Maitland ; w hile Mr. and Mrs. Mowbray, with Mr. Beresford, pre- ceded them in his travelling chariot. It was one of those still, soft, clear au- tumnal days, which succeed a misty morn- ing, having the radiance and beauty of summer, without its glow and ardour. The gossamer, like fairy net-work, glistened in 2S6 GERALDINE. the bright sun-beam, and the robin perched on the tawney bough, poured forth his clear and meUifluous note. " Can any mortal, in his senses," ex- claimed Mr. Spenser, " deny the powerful influence of a genial atmosphere. There are moments in which the mere sense of existence, is in itself happiness." " Yes," said Montague, ** in the frame of mind produced by such a day as this, it would be difficult to persuade us, < That man was made to mourn.' " " 1 believe it possible," said Mr. Mait- land, " occasionally to feel * sentient alone of outward nature,' to be so satisfied with her loveliness, as to forget for a season the existence of pain and evil ; but these feel- ings must, of course, be transient ; and we shall do well to rest our happiness on a foundation somewhat firmer than the fickle temperature of a capricious climate." " You will not deny, Mr. Maitland," said Fanny, " that a quick and exquisite GERALDINE. 237 perception of the beauty of nature, is po- sitive happiness." " Oh ! how are those dull souls to be pitied," added Mr. Spenser, " \vho doubt that truth ; who catch no inspiration from the voice of Nature ; who are insensible to the thousand ineffable sweets and gentle harmonies s!ie presents on every side." ** They are not to be envied, indeed," replied Mr. Maitland, calmly ; "but yet, you will often find that these keen per- ceptions interfere with the happiness of their possessor. Who was ever more alive to every little beauty, to each sublime feature of the creation, than Burns? and yet he came to the pensive conclusion you find it so difficult to believe, * That man was made to mourn.' Who has a nicer, a more exquisite per- ception of the beauties of nature and art, than the author of Childe Harold? and yet, if his own acknowledgments are to be believed, he is but too far from felicity." •« The happiness enjoyed by minds of 238 GERALDINE. this cast," rejoined Montague, " cannot, nxust not be measured by a common stand- ard. They have their own pecuUar joys and woes, not to be penetrated or under- stood by minds of a less ethereal mould. To me they appear hallowed and sacred ; nor have I, a mere dull son of earth, the presumption to attempt coldly and calmly to estimate them ; but, however intense either the one or the other, who would ex- change them for the monotonous calm of dulness ?" ** We had better run the risk of a ship- wreck,*' said Fanny, *< than pass all the days of our lives on the sullen waters of the dead sea." " Do not mistake me," said Mr. Mait- land : " I only desire to prove that some- thing more than the finest taste, something beyond the most consummate genius, is necessary to shield and fortify the heart against the pangs * that flesh is heir to.'" A turn in the road suddenly presented to them a scene so richly varied, that ex- GERALDINE. 239 clamations of admiration and delight were heard from every mouth. A gentle and easy descent conducted them through one of those glades of the New Forest, at ail times beautiful and ma- jestic, now glowing with the finest hues of autumn. The mighty forest rose like an amphitheatre around them, exhibiting every possible variety of tint, displaying alter- nately the richest contrast and the softest gradation. In the fore-ground, which w^as partly thrown into deep shadow by the spreading branches of the oaks, the deer were either frolicking or pausing in patient expectation of the falling acorns. The sun-beams cast a flood of radiance over the tufted heads of the steep woods, brighten- ing and deepening every glowing leaf; and over the whole scene reigned that peculiar stillness, in which * the leaf shed from the aerial spray, scarce quivering, drops through the luU'd atmosphere.' ** Autumn,*' said Fanny, " is an en- chanting season, in England, as well as in 240 GERALDINE. France. Here, it is magnificent and im- posing ; there, gay and smiling." " Yes," said Mr. Spenser, " those who have a taste for happy faces must dehght in the season of the vintage. The natural ease and unconquerable cheerfulness of the French character rise then to hilarity : all is bustle and animation. The song and the laugh resound on every side ; and the work is accomplished apparently without effort or fatigue." ** There is such an air of festivity dif- fused over the whole scene," added Fanny, ** that I used to fancy, while contemplat- ing it, that I had what the French call a vocation pour la vie champetre,^* *« The ardour of this vocation abated, I suppose, as the winter approached," said Montague. " Yes," returned Fanny : " I found, probably, like most other people, that it was all an illusion. It generally grew fainter at the fall of the leaf, and entirely ceased with the first shower of snow ; and I con- GERALDINE. 241 trived with the help of les hals and les spectacles, Moliere and Racine, le theatre Francois and the salle d' opera, to enjoy life through the winter." " And did not your taste for rustic pleasures revive in the spring?" asked Geraldine. " Why, I am not quite certain," replied Fanny. *« I rather think my heart lingered and loitered among the gaieties of Paris, and that I cared but little for the prim- roses and violets." *« And yet," said Mr. Spenser, "I should have expected that the gaiety, the fresh- ness, the youthful graces of spring would have harmonised better with a mind like yours, than the more mellow charms of autumn." " If your taste were unadulterated," observed Mr. Maitland, " you would be peculiarly alive to the hope and gladness diffused by spring ; but a constant succes- sion of noisy pleasures is as fatal to taste, as it is to the higher purposes of life." VOL. I. M 242 GERALDINE. <« So, as a reward for my candour, you take upon you gravely to arraign my taste," said Fanny ; " I cannot help it ; I confess, tliat I prefer the idle tales and glozing words of man, to the melody of the woods and the murmur of the streams." ** Why should a taste for the pleasures of society be condemned ?" said Mr. Spenser. " We have high authority, have we not," said Fanny, smiling, *« for being occasionally pleased with crowded cities, and the * busy hum of men ?' " << We have, indeed," returned Mr. Spenser ; ** and I think Mr. Maitland plays the part of censor rather unnecessarily. That happy versatility, whicli can equally enjoy solitude, and embellish society, is, in my opinion, to be admired and coveted, rather than censured." «' There rise the chimneys of Wentworth Hall!" exclaimed Fanny. "Now, Mr.Mait^ land, I will be as sentimental and romantic as you please ; for I should infinitely prefer dining with the deer, or supping with GERALDIXE. 94^3 the fairies, to being shut up with three of tlie dullest women in Christendom.'* " Is not this a fine approach, Mr. Spen- ser? The old mansion-house looks quite magnificent : — so well sheltered and sub- stantial." *' And the church on the right is beau- tifully situated," said Geraldine. *' By-the-bye," said Fanny, *' I siiould not be surprised, if that croaking, melan- choly Mr. Vincent is there, with his never- ending grace. I suppose, he does it to win ^liss Wentworth's heart ; for she precisely resembles the Pharisees of old, in their taste for long prayers. They would make a charming pair. I hope he will be there ; for I want to get a sketch of his face ; you will know him directly by my description, Mr. Spenser." *' Oh ! a parish register," replied lie, " could not be more intelligible." " Miss Mowbray," said Mr. Maitland, gravely, " you are doing yourself injustice; M 2 244 GERALDINE. you are trying to persuade us that you can be ill-natured and malevolent." A slight blush passed over Fanny's cheek ; with her it was the hectic of a moment, but Mr. Spenser's glowed with indignation. " Conversation would lose much of its spirit and playfulness, Sir," said he, turn- ing to Mr. Maitland, *' if subject to the rigid rules you seem inclined to establish." <« The rule of charity," returned Mr. Maitland, quietly, " can never be dispensed with ; and Miss Mowbray will pardon my availing m.yself of the privilege of an old acquaintance, even though I venture now and then to tell her a disagreeable truth. She runs no risk of being often thus an- noyed, in her commerce with the world." *' Make use of your privileges^ by all means," said Fanny ; *' I would not abridge them for the world ; I promise pardon with all my heart, but not amendment: — that," said she, with one of her brightest smiles, " would be too rash." GERALDINE. 245 Mr. Spenser envied Mr. Maitland the privileges he boasted, and still more the sunny smile with which they were ac- knowledged. He sprang out of the car- riage the moment it stopped, lest he should fancy it one of his privileges to hand her out, and secure a seat by-her side. Mr. Maitland, however, had no intention of contesting the point. He left the prize to Mr. Spenser, and attended Geraldine. M S £46 GERALDIKT, CHAR XXIL ■The interior of Wentworth-hall corre* sponded with its external appearance. All was handsome, substantial, and useful 5 the rooms loftj and spacious ; some com- manding views of the distant country j others confining the eye to the fine woods, and majestic scenery of the park. The furniture, neither modern nor dis- posed with taste, seemed to have been chosen with a view to comfort and durabi- lity, rather than elegance. In the large old-fashioned hall, through which they were conducted, an ample fire was already blazing ; and several dogs, tired with the sports of the morning, were stretched before it. Guns and trophies of GERALDINE. 247 the chace were ranged around. The dogs started up on their appearance, gave themselves a rousing shake, and clamour- ously announced their arrival. Mr. ^yent\vorth came forward amidst the din, and bidding them welcome by a hearty shake of the hand, accompanied them to the room where the rest of the party were assembled. It consisted of their own and one neighbouring family, Mrs. Wentworth and her daughters, and Mr. Vincent, the clergyman, of whom Fanny had spoken with so little reverence. Mrs. Wentworth received her guests with a cordial smile ; and the eye rested with pleasure on a countenance of such perfect serenity, that it seemed never, even for a moment, to have been ruffled by care or emotion. Miss Wentworth's reception was civil, cold, and grave: Helen's, timid and con- strained. "I don't see Ma'am'selle Dubourg,'* said Mr. Wentworth, approaching Mrs. ^48 GURALDII^E. Mowbray, after looking round at the party ; *' I hope she is well." *' Perfectly well, I believe,'* said Mrs. Mowbray ; «« and perfectly happy, I con- clude j for she is visiting a French family, just arrived from Paris." " I was afraid she might have remained at home under the notion, that 1 did not particularly desire her company,'' said Mr. Wentworth. " Oh! my dear Sir, Mademoiselle Du- bourg never distresses herself with any notions of that sort ; she lives so constantly in her own good graces, that she thinks it quite a matter of course, to live in those of other people." " I don't pretend to take her absence much to heart," observed Mr. Wentworth 5 " but I should be very glad to see any friend of yours, whether English or French, putting the English first, which is but fair and natural." " Thank you," said Mrs. Mowbray ; ** and I promise, in return, to receive all GERALDINE. 249 yours, whether EngUsh, French, Dutch, German, Moorish, or Spanish, without en- quiry or distinction." "Well," said Mr. Wentworth, " I shall have the pleasure of introducing my boys to you to-day; you have not seen them for some time. Where are they ?" said he, ad- dressing himself to his lady. " They will be here in a few minutes, 1 suppose," replied Mrs. Wentworth. « They have been out shooting all the morning, and were not fit to be seen till they had changed their di*ess." " I congratulate you," said Mrs. Mow- bray ; ** pray, when did they arrive ? To have them at home together, is rather a rare event, is it not?" " It is indeed," replied Mrs. Went- worth. " I believe," said her husband, ** the sight of them did more good to my gout than this famous French medicine is ever likely to do. It got better from the moment they arrived. We shall keep Harry among M 5 ^0 GERALDINE. US, for a month at least, I hope; but if there is any thing doing in the fighting way, he will be anxious to run away from us again/' ** What a relief must his arrival be to you, Mrs. Wentworth,'' said Fanny, with * malice prepense.' " I dare say you never open a newspaper in comfort during his absence." ** Oh, yes, I read them every day," replied she. " I try not to think about him; you know it would be of no use." " Such practical philosophy is quite en- viable," said Mrs. Mowbray. Mrs. Wentworth smiled benevolently ; the young men at this moment entered the room, and greetings were exchanged on all sides. The manners of Henry, a lieutenant in the navy, were frank and warm; those of his elder brother Edmund, who was preparing for the bar, lively, gay, and gentlemanly. He seated himself between Fanny and Geraldine, giving them a ludicrous history of the morning's GERALDINE. Q5i sport and of the dirt and difficulties in which they had been plunged by the rest- less activity of Henry. ** I would put myself under his protec- tion with pleasure in an encounter with the enemy,'* said he ; ** but he does nothing but mischief on a shooting excursion -y he is sure to make a noise when he should be quiet, and to move when he ought to be still." '* Edmund has taken care to secure a snug birth for himself between the two prettiest gii'ls in the room,'' said Henry, who was seated between Miss Wentworth and Mr. Vincent. ** Those law}^ers dis- cover a pretty girl as dexterously as a flaw in an indictment. I wish I could cajole him into making an exchange. *< Edmund, my good fellow/' said he, ** don't you wish to have a peep at the fine view from this window ? I will change seats with you with pleasure." " Oh, you are too good," replied Ed- M 6 S.52 GERALDINE. mund smiling, " but I won't trouble }ou; lam perfectly satisfied with my situation,'* " Why, Mary," said Henry, turning to his sister 5 <* you look as grave as a sailor does when he is clearing the ship for action j do follow Miss Mowbray's example; she smiles as if the victory were gained: and many a victory she will gain with those eyes of hers, if I am not mistaken." <' Every body may not be of your opi- nion," said Miss Wentworth, coldly. «« What say you, Mr. Vincent ?" said Henry. ** What effect do Miss Mowbray's eyes produce upon you ? Does not your heart quiver and quake when you catch a glance from them ?" Mr. Vincent replied only by a look of astonishment highly diverting to Henry. *' What, you don't like to confess all the pangs they make you suffer ; you don't like to acknowledge that you dream of them all night, and write sonnets about them all day." GERALDINE. 25S Mr. Vincent began formally to defend himself from this preposterous charge. ** How the deuce, then," continued Henry, *« do you contrive to get rid of your time here in the country, if you neither hunt, shoot, nor fall in love ? I intend to do all three." Mr. Vincent was spared the trouble of replying, by a summons to dinner, which was served up with hospitable profusion, rather than elegance. Mr. Wentworth hoped, with rather an ironical smile, that Mrs. Mowbray would be able to make a dinner, though his cook was not so well versed in making French kickshaws as her own. Mrs. Wentworth, commending the ladies to the care of the gentlemen, and entreat- ing the gentlemen to take care of them- selves, presided at the head of the table in silent complacency. Henry had manoeuvred himself into a seat next to Fanny. Geraldine, placed between Mr. Mait* 8 254 GERALDINE. land and Edmund Wentworth, felt sorry when the smile and nod that Fanny had predicted, summoned the ladies to the drawing-room. Mrs. Wentworth, upon reaching it, stirred tlie fire, and remarked that the evening was cold. The ladies coincided. They thought it remarkably cold for the time of year. There was a long pause. " Mrs. Wentworth," said Mrs. Mowbray, vainly endeavouring to suppress a gape, " I must take the liberty of admiring your cap. It is too stylish to have been fabri- cated in the country. Will you indulge me with a pattern of it ?" Mrs. Wentworth readily assented ; and another pause ensued. ** Do you mean to attend the county ball next week ?" said Mrs. Sydney. " If I have no better engagement," re- plied Mrs. Mowbray ; " but they are sad dull things." " Oh! but we are to have plenty of beaux, I understand," said Miss Sydney, in a tone which she intended to be exhi- GERALDINE, 255 larating, " I hope you go, Miss Went- worth ?' Miss Wentworth did not like dancing, and never went to balls. ** Well, that is the oddest thing," ex- claimed Miss Sydney \ '* but, I dare say, your brothers like them well enough." Miss Wentworth knew nothing of the matter. ** Do you dislike balls. Miss Mowbray?" " No, indeed ! I like them so well, that I think a county one better than none at all," answered Fanny \ «* but I don't sup- pose we shall be there. Montague and Mr. Spenser leave us the day after to-morrow 5 and I don't think my father and Mr. Beres- ford likely to be pressed into the service." Various efforts were made on the part of Mrs. Mowbray and Fanny to support something like a conversation ; but they all proved so vain and ineffectual ; subjects were so soon dispatched and exhausted, that at length they relinquished all hope of success 5 and there was another long pause. ^56 GEIULDINE.' Fanny and Geraldine exchanged looks. " Mrs. Wentworth," exclaimed Fanny, suddenly rising ; " will you allow me to introduce my cousin to your ancestors ? I know where to find them." " By all means, my dear," replied Mrs. Wentworth ; *' but I am afraid they will not be seen to advantage by candle-light. You had better ring the bell for Mason to attend you." " Oh ! we shall do very well, thank you, without troubling Mason," said Fanny, hurrying off: " I know the family history as well as she does." They escaped into an adjoining room ; and Fanny, carefully shutting the door, exclaimed, — ** Did you ever know any thing so in- sufferable as those people ? If I had not thought of this manoeuvre, I should have fallen fast asleep in a minute. Why, you don't imagine, my dear," said she, seeing Geraldine walk towards the pictures, " that I really wanted to show you this stifle race j GERALDINE. 2^7 but look at them, if you please. That young gentleman, of ten years of age, with his wig, and sword, and great dog, is at any rate as entertaining as Miss Wentworth :" — she stopped, for the door opened, and Helen came forward to offer assistance and explanation. It was impos- sible not to be pleased with the gentleness of her manners and the sensibility of her countenance. " Pray do the honours, Helen, to your great-grand-fathers, and fifteenth cousins; you will do them much better than I shall," said Fanny. " I can do nothing half so well," replied Helen, v>'ith genuine humihty ; ** but I am anxious to spare you the trouble." She walked round the room with GeraU dine, while Fanny amused herself with stirring the fire, snuffing the candles, and wondering whether it would ever be eight o'clock. From this employment she was roused by the voice of Henry Wentworth urging his mother to abridge the usual 258 GERALDINE. interval and order the tea, complaining that it was dreadful dull work lying at anchor in the dining-room. In another minute he was by Fanny's side, talking over the practicability of dancing after tea, and measuring the room with long impatient strides. Fanny thought it perfectly practicable ; and in the interim sat down to the piano- forte, and played some inspiring waltzes. GERALDINE. ^259 CHAP. XXIII. Tea at length appeared, and the sound of the instrument attracted the young men towards Fanny ; they clustered round. «« Why, Harry," said Edmund, to his brother, " you are gazing a^ intently as the maid of France did on the Apollo." <' Oh ! I am a dead man !" exclaimed Henry ; " done for completely." *« The frequency of this event annihi- lates sympathy," replied his brother. " I have always a secret hope of your resur- rection : like Garrick, you die one-half- hour, and are seen playing a farce the next," " He jests at scars, that never felt a wound," said Henry, placing his hand on his heart. 260 GERALDINE. ** Such wounds, indeed 1" echoed Ed- mund. " They are Hke those of Eneas : some kind Venus is always at hand to cure them/' *' Look at her/' exclaimed Henry j " see how she is smiling upon that happy dog, that Spenser." *' I am looking at Miss Beresford,^' said Edmund ; " though she does not kill at a blow, she is very likely to make one die by inches." *' Miss Beresford is a mere child," re- plied Henry. " There is a dawn of beauty to be sure ; but Fanny ! oh ! Fanny Mow- bray — is — " " Beauty's self, of course," added his brother. " Your Cynthia of the minute is generally a piece of radiant and match- less perfection." The young party now collected to arrange, what could, or could not be achieved in the dancing way. Fanny pro- nounced their numbers too few for country- dances 5 but a quadiille might certainly be GERALDINE. 26 1 accomplished. Mrs. Mowbray would play as long as they liked ; and she busied her- self in marshaUing the dancers. Mr. Spenser had already secured Fanny, and Edmund Wentworth, Geraldine ; Henry was obliged to be contented with Miss Sydney, notwithstanding her want of beauty, which, in the eyes of such an idolater, was little short of a crime ; Montague was in quest of a partner. Per- haps Miss Wentworth would make the eighth ? Miss Wentworth peremptorily de- clined, and seemed to think herself polluted by the entreaty. Montague hoped Helen would be less obdurate. Helen, fearful of doing wrong, and re- luctant to disobhge, blushed, looked at her sister, regretted in a low tone that she could not dance quadrilles, and was at length persuaded to try. Mr. Vincent and Miss Wentwortii inter- changed glances of alarm. Mr. Maitland sat near them, watching the graceful figures of Fanny and Geraldine, with an air of ^62 GERALDINE. complacency which seemed to increase the irritation of his neighbours. Mr. Maitland observed, ** that it was an elegant dance ; more graceful, and less monotonous than countr^^-dances, and Mr. Vincent, unable to restrain his indignation, commenced the attack. " It appears lamentable to me. Sir," said he, " that, as a Christian minister, you should sanction, by your approbation, amusements of this nature." <« I hope," replied Mr. Maitland, " that I am as little friendly to dissipation as yourself, but in a private party like this, associated for purposes of recreation, where seriousness and solemnity would be out of place, I think the amusement they have chosen, quite as harmless as any other." « I think so too," observed Mr. Went- worth. ** I don't see what they can do better ; and I don't think it any particular proof of sense, especially in a young per- son,'* continued he, looking at his daugh- ter, " to pretend to be wiser than Solomon GERALDIN'E. Q63 himself, and he has declared, that there is a * time to dance.' Can you deny that ?" " You may as well tell me. Sir," said Mr. Vincent, " that it is right to have seven hundred wives, and three hundred concu- bines, because Solomon thought proper to have them. I maintain, that the tendency of dancing is, at all times, and in all places, highly mischievous." ** If such be your opinion," observed Mr. Maitland, *' your opposition is per- fectly consistent; but, I think, time and place are material circumstances in this question." ** Too many professors of the present day," said Mr. Mncent, " are indefatigable in weakening the separation which ought for ever to be maintained between them- selves and the world ; they would do well to calculate the awful consequences of such temporising." " Is it not to be feared," rephed Mr. Maitland, calmly, " that an overstrained rigidity may repel, instead of alluring j that 264 GERALDINE. the young and gay may recoil, and the timid shrink from a path involved in un- necessary gloom ?" " Sir," said Mr. Vincent, " you can never make the road to Heaven, a * prim- rose path of dalliance.' " " It is, 1 hope, not unfrequently a path of pleasantness and peace,*' returned Mr. Maitland. *' I suppose. Sir," said Mr. Vincent, with a sneer, " that, as your toleration is so extensive, it comprehends theatrical enter- tainments, and all their abominable et- ceteras." ** -Not their abominable et-ceteras," re- plied Mr. Maitland ; *' but if our theatres were better regulated, I think the stage might be extremely useful." " It will never be any thing," exclaimed Mr. Vincent, " but a hot-bed for vice and voluptuousness." At this moment, the quadrille finished, and the party assembled round the dis- putants. OERALDINE. 265 <* The very atmosphere is contagious," continued Mr. Vincent ; " a young man may as well trust himself in a den of lions, as within the walls of a theatre.** '* And yet," observed Montague, *' men of high morality, and whose religious prin« ciples it would be somewliat rash to question, have honoured the drama, not only with their sanction but with their assistance. Can any one doubt the piety of Milton ? and yet he has left us his delicious Comus. May we not still learn of Johnson, how to live, and of Addison, how to die ; though they both wrot€ for the stage." " To these great names," observed Mr. Maitland, '« I may add that of a lady, whose pure and enlightened piety you cannot but appreciate ; v.hose talents are acknow- ledged by all parties ; whose soundness of judgment none can deny. We are in- debted to Mrs. More for the chaste and affecting tragedy of Percy." ** The authors you have enumerated, Sii," VOL. I. N 266 GERALDINE. said Mr. Vincent, " were human, and con- sequently liable to errors of judgment." " And you. Sir, are also human," said Henry Wentworth, bowing to him with af- fected gravity ; ** and consequently liable, I presume, to errors of judgment." Mr. Vincent frowned ; and the rest of the party, with the exception of Mr. Mait- land, smiled. " Do you imagine. Sir," said Mr. Spen- ser, " that the world would have been wiser or better, if Shakspeare had never existed ? Was not his towering and matchless genius the gift of Heaven itself? Would he have done well to bury this precious and peculiar talent in the earth ?" *' Genius, Sir," replied Mr. Vincent, " may dazzle us with its splendour, but it cannot alter facts. I believe I am not singular in considering theatrical establish- ments to be engines of devilish power, pro- ducing the most fatal and pernicious effects. Whoever, therefore, contributes to increase their fascinations, had better, in my opinion, never have existed." GERALDINE. 267 " I consider that to be a point which it does not become us to decide," said Mr, Maitland. " Let us leave the use and abuse of talents to be judged by Him who gave them." <* Are you intimately acquainted with the authors you so uncharitably condemn ?" enquired Montague. " Have you balanced their merits and defects with a very nice hand ?" Mr. Vincent hoped that he had some- thing of more importance to attend to, than such idle nonsense. " Then we will not hail you as a * wise young judge — a second Daniel.' A man born blind might as well attempt to talk of the radiant colours of the sky ; or one born deaf, to decide upon the effects of harmony." " We, who know what it is to have all the generous sympathies of our nature awakened by theatrical exhibitions ; who have felt our admiration of all that is sublime in mind, or touching in morality, N 2 26s GERALDlKfi* quickened by the combined genius of a great poet and a great actor, are not likely to be much impressed by the anathemas of mere prejudice." " Sir/* said Mr. Vincent, rallying stur- dily against his host of opponents, ** the slight momentary impulses of which you speak, scarcely affect the question at all ; they may be bad as well as good. The sympathy excited by the tragedy of the Robbers, which induced some young men of rank to associate for the purpose of robbing in the forests of Bohemia, was not much to be prized." " The absurdities of the German school are not the question now," returned Mr. Spenser. ** They could not be long toler- ated in England ; but do Macbeth and Othello teach no useful lessons ? the finest sermons that ever were written have not pourtrayed the danger and guilt of ambi- tion, with half tlie energy, the irresistible force, with which Shakspeare paints it : we learn to shudder at the first light thought of evil that passes like a shadow across GERALDINE. 269 the mind, and is gone ; we see and feel its danger. And who, that contemplates the pangs of Othello, and the exquisite, confiding tenderness of Desdemona, does not learn to dread the * green-eyed mon- ster,' jealousy ?" <* If lessons, thus forcible and impressive, were always taught upon the stage," said Mr. Maitland, '' who would deny its uti- lity ?" " I would,'* replied Mr. Vincent; *nhere are innumerable objections to the best play that was ever written, sufficiently obvious and offensive to the serious and conscientious; but I fancy," added he, sarcastically, " the frequenters of theatres are not distinguished by the nicety of their moral sense." " If that blow be aimed at Mr. Mait- land," said Montague, indignantly, «* it falls to the ground ; for he never visits the theatres." ** No ; I think it incompatible with the duties which a clergyman has to fulfil," N 3 270 GERALDINE. said Mr. Haitian d. ** They are of a sacred and important character, and require thorough devotedness of mind." " The duties of a Christian, either in or out of the priestly office," observed Mr. Vincent, " are equally important." " Equally important, I grant," said Mr. Maitland, " but not equally absorbing. 1 am quite willing, however, to allow, that there are powerful objections to theatrical amusements, which present themselves with irresistible force to a considerate mind. I allude to the constant profanation of the name of God, the defective morality of some of our most popular dramas, and the facility, nay, the encouragement, which the theatres afford to licentious habits of life." " After acknowledging all this. Sir," said Mr. Vincent, " can you with the least consistency say a single word in their defence." •* Though I do acknowledge all this," replied Mr. Maitland, " yet I would GERALDINE. S?! neither blot out the drama from the li- terature of our country, nor level our theatres with the dust. I would simply regulate them better ; — a more rigid cen- sorship of the pieces which are performed, would remedy one part of the evil, and a few wise regulations would speedily correct the other." " We have become too solemn by half," said Fanny, in a whisper to Mr. Spenser j " for pity's sake, give a new turn to the subject." " And have you really never seen a play, Mr. Vincent?" said Henry Wentworth, who had overheard the whisper j "I am sure you must have a tiny spark of curiosity about it : let me give you a specimen." He threw himself into a theatrical at- titude ; and fixing his eyes upon Fanny, burst upon the astonished and indignant ear of Mr. Vincent with these words : Oh, woman ! lovely woman ! nature made thee, To temper man : we had been brutes without you. N 4 27^ GERALDINE. Angels are painted fair, to look like jou, There's in you all that we believe of heaven^. Amazing brightness, purity and truth ; Eternal joy, and everlasting love." ** As arrant nonsense, that,*' said Mr. Mow- bray, who had just risen from a whist-table, " as I ever recollect to have been annoyed with, either by poet or lover, absurd as those personages usually are.*' " Nons€7ise I Sir ; do you presume to call it nonsense ?" said Henry ; ** I pledge my- self to prove it to be the truth, and nothing but the truth." <« Upon the whole,** observed Mr. Mow- bray, " it is surprising that any rational person can enjoy the drama.** " Surprising!" echoed Mr. Spenser, in a voice of astonishment. " Surprising !" repeated Mr. Mowbray, calmly ; — " what is tragedy, but a picture of gigantic and exaggerated passions, des- titute of nature and probability, and there- fore utterly devoid of interest ?" ** I must venture to dispute the truth of your inference, Sir,*' said Montague j "you GERALDINE. ^ 273 forget that we can be interested through the medium of the imagination, as well as the heart." " No,'* returned Mr. Mowbray ; *« we may be excited, but we are not interested. Amidst the most complicated miseries, and tremendous scenes, we have always a com- fortable assurance that such things are not." ** I believe. Sir," observed Mr. Spenser, ** that few persons are capable of your phi- losophical abstraction." " And fewer still would desire to be ca- pable of it," added Montague. " To be able coldly to calculate probabilities, when every heart is thrilling with anguish, or melting with sympathy, is a peculiarity which I can never be brought to envy." " One should as soon think of envying the critic his stop-watch," said Fanny. *« As to comedies," continued Mr. Mow- bray, (heedless of their observation,) "they are usually a combination of mawkish sen- timent and extravagant caricature ; and those who are condemned to see them, N J ^74- GERALDINE. must do their best to laugh at indifferent wit, and impossible blunders." " The Critic, and the School for Scan- dal, for instance," said Montague, tri- umphantly, " are remarkably mawkish and insipid,^* ** I say nothing of the Critic," replied Mr. Mowbray ; ** that is beyond praise ; and as to the School for Scandal, it is not mawkish, but mischievous." " One happy circumstance in that play," said Montague, *' is, that the pair of lovers who so regularly make their appearance are by no means conspicuous." '* We are so sure of a joyful termination to their soft, sentimental sorrows," said Fanny, " that they make no impression on the hard hearts of the audience. I always long to beg they will adjourn, and tell their tender tale * under the hawthorn in the dale.' " " Now, I have so much fellow-feeling for them," exclaimed Henry Wentworth, ** that my heart is always brimful of pity at the sight of them." GERALDINE. 275 " And I have no doubt,'* added his bro- ther, " that you are in love with the tender lady yourself, for the time being : your heart is a kind of mark, a sort of target for Cupid, at which he is constantly practising?" " After al],'' said Fanny, ** my old friend and favorite, the clown, who comes in oc- casionally, and snuffs a man's head off with a pair of snuffers, of suitable length, is in- finitely more entertaining." " Our taste for pantomime, notwith- standing its ingenuity," observed Mon- tague, ** seldom outlives the simple age in which we long for Harlequin's wand, and ascribe to its magic touch the wonders we see ; when the deception is unveiled, the spell is broken for ever." " And yet," said Mr. Mowbray, " are the pantomimic shiftings and changes of Harlequin and his friends at all more pre- posterous than the rapid succession of ex- traordinary events and improbable adven- tures which tragedy and comedy present ? Does not the tragic hero fall in love one N 6 276 GERALDINE. moment, become jealous the next, kill his rival, poison his mistress, and dispatch him- self, with all the dexterity and speed of Harlequin? And is not the fashionable lover in comedy transformed instantly from a gay, profligate, dissipated fellow, with a seraglio like Mahomet's, into the most de- licate, devoted, and constant of husbands? What change, in the whole range of pan- tomime, can be more marvellous? «* You must allow, Sir," said Mr. Spen- ser, *' that comedy is valuable for preserv- ing a picture of manners and customs, which would otherwise be lost. If our old comedies could be purified from their gross- ness, they would be invaluable in this re- spect." *« Such a reformation," said Mr. Mow- bray, " far from increasing their value, would annihilate the little merit they pos- sess. They would no longer paint the age in which they were written. The language of fashion and of the court was then gross and licentious j and the dialogue of the 19 GERALDINE. ?77 comedies of that day may rather be con- sidered as a satire on those defects, than an apology for them : they are disgusting; but the pictures they give of the manners of the times are more correct than any of modern date." ** It is much more difficult to produce a good comedy in the present day/' observed Montague. ** Amidst the general polish and refinement which pervades society, strong and ludicrous contrasts of character are no longer to be found ; and it is not so easy to seize and distinguish those evanescent shades of folly which furnish, at present, the chief subjects for com^edy." " The French contrive to hit them off admirably," said Fanny. ** They are to be envied their unrivalled Moliere. At Paris, dear Paris, a happy variety of en- tertainment suits every varying humour. You may listen gravely to Racine, or laugh with Brunet and Jolly. Oh ! how I have enjoyed them all, and I can hardly believe, my dear Sir," continued she, turning to ^78 GERALDINE. her father, " that you have not enjoyed them too." " Retain your incredulity, if you please," replied Mr. Mowbray ; " but allow me to be the best judge of what constitutes my own enjoyment." " I rejoice. Sir," said Mr. Vincent, " that your opinion coincides with mine." " I fancy. Sir," replied Mr. Mowbray, " we coincide in distaste, but not in opinion. That a thinking and reflecting being should be gratified with bombast, ex- travagance, and folly, is matter of astonish- ment to me ; but the great mass of men are not reflecting beings ; therefore, 1 da not quarrel with theatrical establishments, nor am I visionary enough to doubt their political expediency. Let those who in- veigh against them point out a more harm- less and effectual m.ode of amusing a million of people." The carriages were now announced. Henry followed Fanny, entreating her to pity the woeful condition towhichher bright GERALDINE. ^79 eyes had reduced him ; and she promised to think of his hard case with all the com- passion it deserved. ** How long ought my pity to last?" said she, turning to Edmund ; — " From eve till morn, and from morn till dewy eve again." " Yes ; that will do very w^elL His cure is generally affected in about twenty -four hours. This may be a more desperate affair to be sure; but in ordinary cases, he begins by sighing and striking his forehead the first evening ; walks about furiously the next morning ; towards noon, is sufficiently recovered to whistle ; dances off the greater part of his love in the evening ; sleeps off the rest, and wakes the next morning as brisk as a bee, and as gay as a lark." Henry vowed that he had not been in love more than five times ; and never to such excess in his whole life: that he would with pleasure walk fifty miles to gaze upon her shadow, or kiss the hem of her garment. His rhapsody was interrupted by Mr. Mowbray, who enquired, whether Fanny 280 GERALDINE. intended to keep the horses watting all night ? She hurried away. " One moment, only one moment,'^ ex- claimed Edmund Wentworth ; *« it would be a thousand pities, if that profound parting sigh and desponding bow of Harry's were lost upon you. They are the best of the kind I ever saw performed." Fanny was sorry that she had not time to show how properly she was affected by them J and the party separated. GERALDINE. 281 CHAP. XXIV. ** Well, Geraldine," said Fanny, when they were seated in the carriage, " those two lively young men have made the day much more endurable than I expected. As to Mr. Vincent, he gets worse and worse. I suppose, by-and-by, he will think it too great an enjoyment for us sinful creatures to breathe the pure air, and smell the fresh flowers. Mr. Spenser, did you ever see so repulsive a personage?"; << No," said Mr. Spenser j " I have heard the genus described ; but this is the first specimen I ever m.et with.'* <* And I am sure you may hope it will be the last," returned Fanny ; ** a stiff, per- pendicular, crabbed creature ; he always conjures up in my mind Praise-God-Bare* Bones, and his precious parliament," 282 GERALDINE. ** Mr. Vincent means so well," observed Mr. Maitland, " that I sincerely regret his manner is so little conciliatory." " If he really means to do any good," said Fanny, " he defeats his own purpose : whenever I have the misfortune to be with him, I always long to turn Mahometan. That poor dear Helen shudders and trembles at every step she takes in this world, as if she walked, like queen Emma, over burning plough-shares ; and her odious sister watches her just like one of those griffins who used to keep guard over the poor imprisoned damsels in the days of genii and giants. If these be the effects of religion, we are ten times better with- out it." " Beware, I conjure you," said Mr. Maitland, " of so rash, so false, so fatal a conclusion. Do not let the mistakes of others involve you in an error ten thousand times more dangerous." Geraldine had been enjoying Fanny's vivacity J but the energy of Mr. Maitland*s GERALDINE. 283 manner arrested her attention. Just so, thought she, would my dear mother have reasoned -, just so, would she have felt on such an occasion. «« Theirs," continued Mr. Maitland, " is a mistake which makes them less accept- able, and less useful to their fellow-creatures. The effect of yours would be far more awful and enduring. They act from principle, up to their own view of what is right ; they contemplate the fleeting joys of time, con- trasted with the immense value of eternity, and shrink from them as worthless and vain.** *< Is it possible, Mr. Maitland," said Fanny, impatiently, " that you can be the champion of such a disgusting fanatical set?" '* I think their system too rigidly exclu- sive, too gloomy and contracted," replied he ; " but still, a strong sense of duty, and the desire of pleasing God, are the spring of their actions, the powerful motive by which they are guided j and however I may lament 284 GERALDINE. the needless severity of manner they adopt, which I think extremely mischievous in its effects, still the principle and motive lose none of their intrinsic value : they are too high and holy not to claim our deepest re- verence." A tear stole down the cheek of Geraldine j but Fanny, to whom such subjects were entirely new, and completely tiresome, an- swered giddily, that she could not possibly say any thing about their grand and sub- lime motives. All she knew was, that their society gave her les vapeiirs noirs, to an in- sufferable degree; and, therefore, she should do her utmost to escape from them, and all who resembled them. " It is a pity they are not Roman Ca- tholics," added she ; " and then Mr. Vin- cent might become a monk of the order of La Trappe, and Miss Went worth a Car- melite ; and they might be as grim and as grave as they pleased." ** Their objection to literature, and general intellectual cultivation," observed GERALDINE. QS5 Montague, "is so preposterous and irra- tional, that, I confess, it excites my disgust." " That is certainly a most unfortunate mistake," said Mr. Maitland. " The fa- culties which God has graciously given us may, and ought to be exercised and im- proved to the highest pitch of which they are capable ; nor are those lighter sun-beams which cheer, and grace, and gladden the path of life, to be ungratefully excluded." ** I suppose," said Mr. Spenser, " these people, with their little contemptible pre- judices, would exclude us from every book but the Bible." " Oh ! no," said Fanny ; " they would indulge you, besides, with Fox's Book of Martyrs." " Their spirits may claim kindred with that of the enlightened Caliph Omar," con^ tinned Mr. Spenser, in a contemptuous tone, " who thought all books but the Koran pernicious or superfluous." *< And with Cromwell and his party, who ^86 GERALDINE. called themselves the saints of the earth," added Montague. Mr. Maitland sighed. It was impossible for a well-ordered mind, for one fully sen- sible of the importance, the value, the love- liness of real piety, not to regret that she did not always appear in her own perfect and attractive form ; that she should ever be so masqued and disfigured by human weakness or human perversity, as to repel instead of alluring, to excite disgust rather than affection. ** Who are you sighing for so deeply, Mr. Maitland?" said Fanny; «< for us, or for the Caliph and Cromwell ?" " I hope you do not mistake me, Mait- land," said Montague eagerly; " good feeling, and good taste, would alike deter me from speaking lightly of religion." " You must be under the influence of something more permanent than good feeling, and more powerful than good taste, before you think or speak on it correctly," replied Mr. Maitland. GERALDINE. ^8? '' But you must allow," resumed Mon- tague, " that the disastrous effects of the system we have been reprobating were sufficiently proved at the period to which we allude. May not the unbridled licen- tiousness of the age of Charles the Second be in a great degree attributed to the dis- gust excited by the bigotry and cant of the preceding years j the bow, too strongly bent, recoiled with proportionate violence. Men of genius and wit disclaimed all rever* ence for religion, lest they should be con- founded with the fools who had perverted, or the hypocrites who had disgraced it.'* " Unhappily, there is too much justice in your observation,'* replied Mr. Mait- land ; " but the residence of Charles in the French court, where the morals were any thing but pure, and the effect of his example upon his own court and country, should also be taken into the account." " Ah ! poor Charles," exclaimed Fanny, " I have often pictured to myself his feelings, upon exchanging all the gaiety ^88 GERALDINE. and splendour of that charming French court, for the long faces and long sermons of the Covenanters. It is miraculous that he ever survived it : cutting faggots in the woods of Staffordshire must have been a blessed exchange.*' The carriage stopped at the gate of the vicarage, and Mr. Maitland took his leave. The night was clear and still, and the moon-beams played brightly upon its white walls, and silvered the shrubs and trees by which it was sheltered. Geraldine was struck with the softness, repose, and beauty of the scene. «* How quiet, how peaceful,'* said she, in a low voice to Montague. " How ad- mirably this sweet place must suit Mr. Maitland's taste.*' " Yes, I think he will be sorry to leave it, when Mr. Fullarton returns,*' observed Montague. ** But 1 believe they see a great deal of each other -, he is very much there." " Mr. Fullarton thinks him < toi jeune GERALDINE. ^89 homme, comme il y en a pen /" said Fanny ; " indeed he certainly is a very amiable, consistent being ; rather too parsonic, to be sure ; but I suppose he thinks it right, now and then, to show off his talents, j)oiir le metier du pretre,^* " An exalted motive, indeed, you at- tribute to him, Fanny," said Montague, ** I believe him to be influenced by the pure and disinterested wish of doing good." " Very likely," replied Fanny; <* but I fear his habit of sermonising, will become rather formidable in time ; for it certainly increases." " I fancy," said Mr. Spenser, <* that they think it right to give us * line upon line, and precept upon precept,' and a word * in season and out of season.' " Fanny laughed; but Montague continued warm in the defence of Mr. Maitland. ** Well, you are right, I suppose," said she ; ** so pray w^ear him at your heart's core, if you please : I dare say he deserves it." VOL. I, ^90 GERALDINE. <* 1 once thought you were incHned to wear him at yours," retorted Montague, half maliciously. Mr. Spenser felt a sudden beating at his heart. " Why, no," said Fanny. « He has some engaging qualities, it must be con- fessed ; but he did not insinuate himself so far. He attracted me, for a certain time, as the sun does a comet; but then, you know, it flies off again, no one can tell why, to a prodigious distance.*' The carriage stopped again; but Mr. Spenser did not seem to perceive it. His eyes were fixed upon the stars, which he appeared to be intently studying. ^' What are you thinking of, Spenser? Are you puzzling yourself about the astronomy of comets ?" said Montague. " It is not worth while. They are capri- cious sort of things : you can make no- thing of them." " They are rather difficult to under- stand, perhaps," said Mr. Spenser, as he GERALDINE. 291 handed Fanny from the carriage, and walked with her through the hall ; "but they have something splendid and eccentric about them, which irresistibly captivates the at- tention.'* " Yes, there is a little variety about them, is there not ?'* returned Fanny. " They are much more amusing sort of things, altogether, than the fixed stars. There they are, twinkling and sparkling for ever, precisely in the same place. Now, a comet is so charmingly bewilder- ing, it always keeps the mind in play 5 we long to know whence it comes, and whither it goes." They joined the rest of the family in the drawing-room, where they found Mr. Mowbray combating his lady's assertion, that Mrs, Wentvrcrth vras the ir.ost stupid of women, and Mr. Vincent the most dis- agreeable of men. He admitted that they were positively stupid and disagreeable ; but he denied that they were so in the su- perlative degree. He had known several o 2 292 GERALDINE. people still more stupid and still more dis- agreeable. ** I cannot be too grateful to you, then, my dear," returned Mrs. Mowbray, ** for having reserved them for your own pri- vate acquaintance ; for I am sure Mrs. Wentworth is the most fatiguing woman I ever met with. An automaton is a per- fect treat compared to her. When we are tired to death of seeing it do the same thing, we can be amused by wondering at the mechanism of the figure, and examin- ing the springs and contrivances by which its various movements are effected. Now, Mrs. Wentworth only irritates one. It is the most provoking thing in the world to see real eyes and ears of so little use. I am sure, if her poor head were dissected, it would not contain even the semblance of brains found in the beau's head in Addi- son's day. It would not even be stuffed with trifles. It would be full of empti- ness. Such a ridiculous contrast to Mr. Vincent ! Her eternal smiles, and his GERALDINE. ^93 eternal frowns, are really too wearisome. I hope they won't haunt me in my dreams ; but I must run the risk ; for I am quite worn out." She left the room ; and the party dis- persed. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. Printed by A. and R. Spottiswoode, Printers- Street, London. -lf< r. ^ V UNIVERSITY OF ILUNO««-URBANA 3 0112 049770289 y^-^ k. I ,' p"