HANGoa.
 
 L I B RAFLY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 UNIVLR5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 623 
 BTr42 
 
 v.l 
 
 y
 
 THE 
 
 TOUNO BEIDE. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. BRISCOE. 
 
 " Now imaginings will hover 
 Round my fireside, and haply there discover 
 Vistas of solemn beauty."— Kkats. 
 
 U THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1857.
 
 CHARLES BEVAN AND SON, PEINTERS, CHAPEL STEEET, GEOSVENOR SQUARE.
 
 8t5 
 
 ^nn^?iy 
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 ^; CHAPTER I. 
 
 +^ 
 
 ^"If it were possible for us to do all that we desire, 
 
 Jeverj poor faquir would be a pasba." 
 TuRiasH Proverb. 
 
 qJ 
 
 ^•^SiR Aldrich Bulstrode was a fine, noble- 
 
 ^Jooking old man, fast approaching to his 
 
 ;;;^ seventy-fifth birthday. Though he had come 
 
 '.to the time appointed by the Psalmist, when 
 
 , ^;he might have expected to find ^ his strength 
 
 j^but labour and sorrow,' no traces of weakness, 
 
 ' "^-or any signs of the infirmities of age, were 
 
 visible. Strong, hardy, welb formed, and of 
 
 Herculean mould and size, his years sat lightly 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 \ 
 
 Z THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 on him, and he bore in and about him the pro- 
 mise of lengthened life — one of the heir-looms 
 of his ancient, time-honoured line. 
 
 This Sir Aldrich was one of England's oldest 
 baronets — a noble specimen of what such 
 ought to be : erect, well-proportioned, hand- 
 some and commanding. He was the owner of 
 a very magnificent property, whose estates 
 extended through many different counties and 
 various districts of the British Isles. He was 
 master of a magnificent dwelling, and possessor 
 of a pedigree of wondrous length and marvel- 
 lous antiquity. Proffers of advancement in rank 
 and peerage promotions had ofttimes been 
 tendered to his acceptance and that of his 
 ancestors, but, true to the sentiments of their 
 forefathers, no favour or political temptations 
 had power to induce the baronets of ancient 
 name to become the nobles of new and un- 
 known cognomen. 
 
 Since the Conquest had the Bulstrodes 
 claimed their name and bearings ; and from 
 father to son this proud old house had boasted 
 of that time when the Saxon father of their 
 line attended the summons of the invading 
 William the Norman, after the battle of
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 6 
 
 Hastings, attended by his seven stalwart sons, 
 who, with their parent, all bestrode bulls. 
 This formidable and redoubtable race of giants 
 paraded themselves upon their unique steeds, 
 to the utter astonishment and surprise of the 
 conqueror, who at once bestowed upon the 
 patriarch and his progeny the appellation of 
 the * Bulstrodes,' which they ever after bore. 
 
 They were and ever had been a fiery and 
 impetuous race, and their hereditary passions 
 and turbulence were as inseparable from their 
 descendants, as were the lands, tenements, 
 and hereditaments of their worldly goods. 
 The present representative of the old stock, 
 Sir Aldrich, was himself no exemption from 
 the general rule. He too was richly endowed 
 with all the Bulstrode pride, passion, and 
 haughtiness of demeanour. He was a very 
 arbitrary and despotic being — a man of most 
 savage and determined stamp. Brought up 
 by an imperious and haughty father, he in- 
 herited from him, as well as from his prede- 
 cessors in general, a wonderful amount of 
 indomitable and over-bearing self-importance. 
 He was positive to the utmost degree, and of 
 an uncompromising temperament. His words 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE YOUNG BRIDE 
 
 and wishes must be laws, which, like those of 
 the Medes and Persian, allowed of no change, 
 and ' altereth not.' Happily for those around 
 him, his violence and over-bearing character 
 had not increased with his years in the same 
 ratio which might have been expected. The 
 loss of his only child and heir had been a 
 dreadful and unexpected blow, and for some 
 time it was feared that the severity of the 
 calamity would have deprived the miserable and 
 worldly-minded man of his reason. But such, 
 fortunately, was not the case ; time restored to 
 him the blessings of a sane mind. Indepen- 
 dently of his son, the younger Bulstrode's, 
 amiable and popular disposition he had en- 
 deared himself to his father's heart by promising 
 to add much to the already vaunted name he 
 bore. A profound scholar, and a man richly 
 blessed with rare and varied talent he was. 
 As the representative of the line of Bulstrode 
 baronets, he had bidden fair to grace it nobly, 
 and add lustre to that lineage which, since 
 the eleventh century, had never lacked an 
 heir from father to son. But, now, alas ! the 
 Bulstrodes had become but few and far be- 
 tween, and, the young daughter of that dear
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 5 
 
 son was all that remained to Sir Aldrich, to 
 support the tottering fabric of his house, and 
 to inherit the enormous wealth and properties 
 which had come to him, not only by his wife, 
 but also by right of his mother. 
 
 Very early in life, Sir Aldrich's son had mar- 
 ried — poor young man ! The marriage was en- 
 tirely to please his griping and avaricious parent. 
 The chosen bride was dowered with untold pos- 
 sessions ; she was young, delicate, and tender 
 hearted; but, unfortunately, she did not survive 
 the premature birth of a little girl, who, on 
 the sudden death of its father, shortly after his 
 widowhood, became the heiress and idol of 
 Sir Aldrich, the inheritress of all the unentailed 
 estates, whicli far exceeded in value the here- 
 ditary j)OSsessions, which, unfortunately, would, 
 on the event of the baronet's death, devolve by 
 entail upon a nephew of his, Harold Bulstrode. 
 
 TJiis nephew was a son of Sir Aldrich's only 
 brother, who had been a prelate of the church, 
 and who also was a possessor of the family 
 pride and hereditary austerity of manner. On 
 the deatli of this brother. Sir Aldrich had de- 
 voted hims^4f most scrupulously to the ad- 
 vancemeiit and aggrandizement of his child, 
 and liad the pleasure and happiness of seeing
 
 6 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 him at an early age an officer of note and rank, 
 who had earned for himself a brilliant position, 
 and a high character for bravery and military 
 prowess, in India. The death of Sir Aldrich's 
 own son and heir had placed Harold Bulstrode, 
 however, in a different position to that which he 
 formerly held, and increased the old uncle's 
 love and interest in and for him a thousand- 
 fold, now that he filled the place of his lost 
 child, and had become the representative of the 
 family. The grand -daughter was named Mary, 
 after her dead mother, and very much to Sir 
 Aldrich's disgust. The sweet but primitive 
 name was utterly despised, and the old man 
 wanted much to have had it altered to Elgiva, 
 Adela, Maude, Philippa, or any of the ancient 
 female designations of the Bulstrode females 
 of the olden time ; but his son, with unusual 
 decision, had declared for Mary, therefore Mary 
 it was that the precious child was named. 
 
 She, truly, was a precious child, that grace- 
 ful, timid, little fairy, Mary Bulstrode. Eeared 
 and nurtured in all the pomp and dignity be- 
 fitting her birth, station, and expectancies, 
 her gentle mind had entirely escaped the con- 
 tagion which surrounded it, and she remained 
 unspoilt — the child of nature, and a little
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 7 
 
 being of generous, unselfish disposition. She 
 was an object of interest and deep affection to 
 all around her ; for her own sake every one 
 was devoted to her. From her birth she was 
 the centre of attraction, and surely she was 
 favoured and blessed with some peculiar charm 
 which won the love of all with whom she was 
 associated. As for Sir Aldrich's attachment, 
 it was intense, absorbing. It exercised the 
 utmost power over him, curbing, restraining, 
 softening, and rendering him mild and oft- 
 times tractable. He was never happy or at 
 ease without her, and spent daily, hours upon 
 hours, watching her, and aiding and assisting 
 in her pleasures and amusements. To no one 
 was he half so gentle, or so considerate ; he 
 was loving, almost playful, with the darling 
 of his heart, whose power over him was un- 
 bounded ; her sweet smile and winning words 
 would be sure to win from him any coveted 
 boon she craved, although, perhaps, the same 
 thing would have been sternly refused before 
 to other applicants. 
 
 Extreme delicacy, from her natal day had 
 been the doom of this little girl ; her mother's 
 frail constitution and extreme debility had
 
 O THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 seemed to fall to the lot of her little orphan 
 child, who had been reared almost by art. 
 The dangers and perils of infancy had been 
 in her case doubled, and continual fears and 
 dreads were entertained that she would never 
 be reared to womanhood. But, on reaching 
 her tenth year, she gradually shook off the 
 languor of disease, and its consequent nervous- 
 ness, and became changed and converted — 
 most unexpectedly — into a lively, healthy 
 little girl. As time added its renovating aid, 
 and as she increased in years, she became 
 more and more robust, till, by the time she 
 had reached early girlhood, few traces of her 
 delicate childhood and hopeless infancy re- 
 mained. She gradually grew on to health, 
 and winning gracefulness of mind and form, 
 holding fast in her possession the lives and 
 hearts of those about her. 
 
 She inherited every promise of the vaunted 
 beauty of her family. The Bulstrode ladies 
 had always and ever claimed as one of their 
 rightful privileges that of hereditary loveli- 
 ness. Mary bore a striking re.^^emblance to 
 her father, no less than to her mother. There 
 was the broad, intellectual forehead and deep
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 9 
 
 expressive eye — unfailing notices of the Bul- 
 strode blood ; and the clear, rich colour that, 
 mantling over the pure white skin, told of 
 her maternal descent. Still, she was most 
 like to the paternal source, for she bore strik- 
 ing resemblances to the stiff old females — 
 maids, wives, and widows — who graced the 
 walls of the family picture-gallery at Bulstrode. 
 Ringlets, thick and profuse, of golden hue, 
 hung far do>vn upon a neck and shoulders ex- 
 quisitely moulded, whose whiteness was abso- 
 lutely dazzling. Her eyes, large and dark as 
 night, were full lustred and almond-shaped, 
 like those of the gazelle. The nose, long and 
 straight, of that perfect aquiline formation 
 and outline, which gives to countenanc»*s of 
 the plainest cast an intellectual expression ; 
 while her cheek was coloured with a fresh- 
 clear bloom, deepening at each word she spoke, 
 till it claimed allinity to that delicious hue which 
 tinges the interior of an Indian shell. Teeth ! 
 oh, such wondrous pearly teeth ! — sucli tiny 
 treasures as they were when peeping from out 
 those ruby lips ! — such gems of purity encased 
 within an opening rose-bud ! — within that 
 mouth which only opened to give forth soft, 
 swelling words of harmony.
 
 10 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 Eeared alone, without companions of her 
 own age, this child grew up, and lived in a 
 happy world of her own pure, innocent imagin- 
 ings. The precocious tastes and feelings with 
 which she was endowed, rendered the task of 
 education (usually so difficult and dishearten- 
 ing) one of comparative ease and pleasure. 
 Her short periods of study were never irk- 
 some, nor ever hastily passed over. By 
 herself, she would, unasked, diligently fathom 
 and overcome all difficulties that lay in her 
 path of knowledge, drinking greedily from the 
 fountains of instruction. Then, when satisfied 
 that she had left nothing undone, she would 
 go forth, rambling into the depths of her 
 native forests alone, with naught but the 
 companionship of her fresh and pure young 
 thoughts — away from the ken of man, into 
 the lone dells and bosky glades, pouring forth 
 volumes of untaught melody, filling the listen- 
 ing air with her wood notes wild.' 
 
 The evening walk amid the lovely green 
 wood ; the deep musing in the dense forests 
 that surrounded her ancestral home, beloved 
 Bulstrode; the startled deer; the cooing birds; 
 the stroke of the woodman's axe; the soft mur-
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. H 
 
 muring of falliug waters ; the music of the 
 summer leaves, and the cahn beauty of the 
 moonlight, with the star-lit canopy of heaven, 
 were taken into her innocent soul and treasured 
 therewith feelings of deep and rare enchantment. 
 It was not to be wondered at, that this 
 fair young girl's spirit drank deeply of the 
 pervading witchery of scene and place. 
 Books did but nurse the passion. Ofttimes 
 strolling forth to some forest nook, beneath 
 which the beautiful and the sublime most 
 charmingly mingled ; the calm landscape, 
 stretching out to an amazing breadth before 
 her, filling her mind with the delightful visions 
 of loveliness and freedom which coloured the 
 pages she had been reading, and bringing into 
 her pure young thoughts flmcies of those 
 *' Arcadian paradises, which the shepherds of 
 the east are said to behold sometimes, when 
 wandering into the far distant plains." 
 
 A sister of Sir Aldrich's, much younger 
 than himself, and of a very different disposi- 
 tion, lived with him as nominal mistress of his 
 house and household. She was a maiden lady, 
 now passed her sixtieth year. She had been 
 once very lovely, and even now, at her ad-
 
 12 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 vanced period of life, she possessed the purest 
 and most delicate complexion, softest and 
 kindest blue eye, and the most faultless fea- 
 tures. Tall and graceful, she looked to be 
 what she ever was — a lady. 
 
 Ever and always she had been, unfortu- 
 nately, under the dominion and entire com- 
 mand of her brother, Sir Aldrich, whom she 
 reverenced and regarded with the most com- 
 plying and obedient spirit, joined to the most 
 sisterly devotion. She had been at all times 
 of her life a perfect slave to him, and to 
 his whims and caprices. He was fully 
 assured of his complete power and influence 
 over her, and he did not fail to rule her with 
 an iron rod, as he did every person with whom 
 he was associated or connected. His views, 
 wishes, ideas, and fancies were to be implicitly 
 obeyed and reverenced, most especially by 
 this sister, and his very look and glance — not 
 to talk of his tone of voice — was sufficient to 
 awe her into immediate subjection and perfect 
 submission. He had an implicit faith in the 
 belief that all his pleasures, plans, feelings, 
 and troubles, must be equally hers, and she 
 dared not broach a feeling or sentiment on
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 13 
 
 any subject that was not in accordance with 
 his. 
 
 Dear excellent Mrs. Penelope Bulstrode ! 
 she was, indeed, a rare and an uncommon 
 woman. The child-like gentleness of her 
 mind and its pure influences had never been 
 dimmed, nor had she ever lost one iota of the 
 fresh simplicity which had been the charm of 
 her early life. Refined and dignified, she was 
 ever ready to atone, by her soothing and 
 amiable deportment, for the roughness and 
 rudeness of her easily excited and fiery 
 brother. 
 
 Her dress was remarkable, belonging to an 
 age gone by, but not the less eminently suited 
 to her appearance and her years. It was rich 
 and quaint, and never varied in form, or 
 shape, or style. It never claimed from her the 
 precious time devoted to the welfare of others, 
 or the pious purposes of her own life of faith 
 and truthfulness. Dress and the unworthy 
 works and ways of fashion never arrested her 
 thoughts one fleeting moment ; as sometimes 
 they do those of others of the fairer sex, where 
 minds, less evenly poised than hers, waste 
 time and energy on trifling unmomentous
 
 ]4 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 objects, which are unworthy of the place so 
 largely and freely granted them, and placed 
 under their dominion in the female heart. 
 
 The continued and unnatural provocations 
 and annoyances of Sir Aldrich, though always 
 able to wound with bitterness his sister's 
 heart, lost by degrees much of their power to 
 distress her. He always professed to look 
 down with sovereign contempt on ^ woman- 
 kind.' They were below the level of man's 
 intellect, and were unable to bear any part in 
 the nobler matters or affairs of life : so he 
 declared. Therefore the advice and intellect 
 of Mrs. Penelope were but little thought of or 
 appreciated. But she was happily unmindful 
 of all his denunciations ; his cross-grained 
 manners to her had only served to strengthen 
 and increase her religious feelings, and had 
 helped to bring forward more prominently the 
 tender workings and forgiving disposition of 
 her gentle soul. She was a deep reader and a 
 profound thinker. She wrote well, for her 
 powers of observation^ were extremely acute, 
 and her memory very retentive. But what 
 enhanced most the charms of her erudite and 
 cultivated mind, was her sincere and unaf-
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 15 
 
 fected piety — a piety which marked and im- 
 pressed each and every thought, action, and 
 feeling. Her true devotion and love for her 
 niece, little Mary Bulstrode, were not thrown 
 away upon the grateful and engaging girl — 
 the little fascinating orphan — the object of so 
 many cares, anxieties and fears. The little 
 creature returned her venerable grand-aunt's 
 tenderness with unbounded affection, with deep 
 and silent gratitude, with utter and unchanging 
 confidence. The good old lady felt amply 
 repaid and well rewarded, for all she had, 
 done and suffered for Mary ever since the 
 hapless babe was placed in her loving arms, 
 and pressed to her tender heart, at the mo- 
 ment of her birth, which was that of the young 
 mother's death. The infant's years of suffer- 
 ing and its precarious life, had doubly endeared 
 her to Mrs. Penelope. The child's extreme 
 delicacy had never permitted her good aunt to 
 have one moment's respite from care and 
 watchfulness on her account; and amply was 
 she remunerated for all. Mary was the sole 
 drop of sweetening in the embittered cup of 
 Mrs. Penelope's life. 
 
 " Relationship is in some families only a
 
 16 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 poetical idea, and there is in reality nothing 
 more absurd than the fanc}'' that there is 
 anything real in the notions which such ties 
 often give rise to. There is more beauty than 
 truth in the fancy of relationship inducing of 
 itself affection. Brothers and sisters, uncles 
 and nephews, aunts and nieces, all expect to 
 find themselves affectionately and cordially 
 regarded, because, simply, those relations exist ; 
 though, perhaps, it may be, that no true in- 
 terest or affection actually subsists." So says 
 an able and intelligent author, and very truly, 
 too. However, without doubt, there is a 
 kindly feeling engendered in the human heart, 
 a cordial one, too, which draws us all our lives 
 towards those who are our near ^relatives, be- 
 cause vie consider them to be part of ourselves ; 
 although beyond that idea, and those feelings 
 which are implanted by nature, there may be 
 nothing calculated to produce attachments be- 
 tween us and those connections. "We often see 
 friendships much stronger than brotherly love ; 
 old affections more valued than sisterly ties; 
 and old associates more disinterestedly attached 
 than the children of one house. '* But, neverthe- 
 less, where the warm reciprocal love of parents
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 17 
 
 and children, brothers and sisters, uncles and 
 nephews, exists ; also aunts, and nieces, and 
 cousins, in its pure and holy form, the blessing 
 of Almighty God is most generally found to 
 hallow and bless the sacred ties. 
 
 Thus it was that the haughty Sir Aldrich 
 had little or no affection for his sister — indeed, 
 he did not pretend to have any ; but he be- 
 lieved and knew very well that she was 
 devotedly attached to him and his interests ; 
 that was right, and as it should be. Her 
 extreme attachment to him was no reason why 
 he should not treat her exactly as he pleased 
 and thought proper. He always acted with 
 proud austerity and sarcastic bitterness of tone 
 and inuendo ; nevertheless, it was her duty to 
 reverence him as a demi-god, and pay all due 
 honour and attention to his will and way, 
 because he was her brother — the head of the 
 house and family — the autocrat of Bulstrode. 
 He might insult her, and to that add injury; 
 he might mortify her feelings, and wound her 
 sensitive mind and nature, yet would he ex- 
 pect her to crouch at his footstool, the more 
 obedient and loving, though so much ag- 
 grieved. His delight was to show a constant, 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 severe dignity and reserve towards her, which 
 no one could see without despising him for ; 
 and, in return for all, he looked and expected 
 unbounded devotion and unchanged sisterly 
 affection. 
 
 It was widely different with his grandchild 
 Mary. To his love, nay, almost adoration, of 
 her there was no limit or boundary. His love 
 for his son had ever been tinctured and poi- 
 soned by a jealous feeling, which many men 
 naturally feel towards those who are to suc- 
 ceed them. But towards the child of the next 
 generation, Mary, this vile, selfish feeling never 
 existed. She was but a weak, feeble girl ; 
 there could be no dread of rivalry with her. She 
 was his heiress, and now that he had so de- 
 cidedly fallen into the sere and withered leaf- 
 time of his age, it was a happy thought to 
 possess one, so fair, promising, and gentle, to 
 come after him. Besides, she was the sole 
 remaining relic of his dead son, whom he did 
 love intensely, though he had ever been to 
 him so severe, and harsh, and unjust. 
 
 Alas ! when that son — the good, noble, and 
 beloved — the heir of wealth and lineage — the 
 hope and idol for future years — had found
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 19 
 
 himself, upon his death bed, nigh unto his end, 
 with thoughts of earth and earthly things 
 purged from his heart and brain, and only the 
 blessed hope of eternity remaining, he had 
 neither strength or memory left to make any 
 arrangements which could shield his darhng 
 child, so soon to be an orphan, from the iron 
 rule and despotic sway of Sir Aldrich. 
 
 When Mary's mother entered into the Bul- 
 strode family as a rich and wealthy bride, her 
 father-in-law had no intention that his son, 
 Egbert Bulstrode, should become too fond or 
 too much attached to her. He did not want 
 or wish any one to come between him and his 
 son, or to interfere in any way with his plans 
 and arrangements ; therefore he had himsel^ 
 selected the lady he deemed most fitting, and 
 had not permitted his son to have a voice or 
 choice in the affair. It was necessary he 
 should marry ; there must be birth, and blood, 
 and wealth : but there was no need of love or 
 affection. Pah ! it was useless. Indeed, the 
 same good, filial Egbert had been strongly 
 suspected, and with good cause, too, of cherish- 
 ing a profound tenderness for a lovely and 
 amiable girl, the daughter of a neighbouring 
 
 c2
 
 20 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 gentleman, of moderate means and unpretend- 
 ing position. Some unlucky chance brought 
 the embryo attachment to light ; some time- 
 serving hypocrite revealed the matter to the 
 imperious baronet, who, immediately, and 
 without any compunction, dissolved the bu- 
 siness, and, at once, hurried forward the mar- 
 riage with Mary de Burgh, without the least 
 show of delicacy, or respect to the feelings of 
 any one. 
 
 It was in vain that the young man — a 
 victim to so much covetousness and pride — 
 prayed, entreated, and implored for a respite, 
 until he endeavoured to wean his heart away 
 from the image, so tenderly cherished there ; 
 and, until he might try to feel, towards his 
 future partner, some feeling more warm and 
 hopeful, than he did — but no prayers or en- 
 treaties were availing — he was worried uncea- 
 singly, till he lost health and spirit to resist, 
 and the old man won the victory in the cele- 
 bration of the marriage. 
 
 Miss de Burgh — the young Mrs. Bulstrode 
 — was a most affectionate, gentle, and talented 
 young person ; but very shy, timid, and reti- 
 ring. Happily for her, Egbert Bulstrode
 
 THE TOUNG BRIDE. 21 
 
 became soon aware of what a treasure he had 
 become possessed ; and, ere long, became 
 totally devoted to the increasing of her happi- 
 ness. The young bridegroom soon lost his 
 repugnance to the wife, so roughly forced upon 
 him, and each day of their short union, only 
 added to his tenderness. Careful to conceal 
 from her, in every particular, the sacrifice he 
 had made of his own feelings and happiness, 
 he only lived to administer to her comfort, and 
 promote her peace. The fair young wife 
 threw a charm over the intercourse of the 
 home circle, with pleasures before unknown to 
 the young heir, by her varied talents and 
 many accomplishments. Though so very 
 young, she had been long and actively cm- 
 ployed in doing the will of God — striving to 
 please him — while she sojourned on earth ; 
 and, preparing for that time, when she should 
 have her home in heaven. The peculiarly dis- 
 tressing circumstances of her death, two years 
 after her marriage, in giving birth to a 
 daughter, added to the recollection of a cha- 
 racter so pure, and beautiful, and holy, 
 conspired to invest her memory with a halo 
 of the deepest affection and regret, and to
 
 22 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 enshrine it with the fondest recollections in 
 her husband's heart. 
 
 His extreme love for the child — his little 
 Mary, was the only source of happiness he 
 found on earth — but then he was blessed with 
 a source of rejoicing, not of this earth's giving 
 — secure of a heavenly peace, which nothing 
 could take from him. He had ever had an 
 innate enthusiasm for excellence, which ever- 
 more urged him to ascend to higher perfection. 
 But all this was the result, under God's bless- 
 ing, of the severe discipline of mind, which, 
 under the stern, ruthless teaching of Sir Aldrich, 
 had been engendered. 
 
 As Mary grew up to require increased 
 teaching, beyond what the excellent Mrs. 
 Penelope could bestow, it was found necessary 
 to select an experienced governess. The 
 choice was not made hurriedly or unadvisedly, 
 but diligently and anxiously. A lady was 
 chosen, who proved to be a woman of superior 
 mind and extended acquirements — an English- 
 woman, by birth and education, and one who 
 had married, early in life, a German. Circum- 
 stances obliged her to leave the comforts and 
 happiness of her own dear home, and turn her
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 23 
 
 education to profit. Mrs. Penelope, fortu- 
 nately, secured the services and assistance of 
 Madame de Bohn, when Mary was about ten 
 years old. Madame combined, in her own 
 educational course, the requisites for foreign 
 instruction, as well as she did those of English 
 literature and domestic training. As one 
 happy family party, the aunt, governess, and 
 pupil, continued to live happily together, en- 
 joying and benefiting by each others' society ; 
 and the little maiden had neither joys or 
 griefs unshared or unsoothed by her elder 
 companions. Thus were the family at Bul- 
 strode Court placed and situated, when Mary, 
 in all the bloom of her fresh, young life, en- 
 tered on her fourteenth year.
 
 24 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The heart may be sad, without the eye being wet." 
 
 Lover. 
 
 BuLSTRODE Court was a princely dwelling, 
 large, magnificent, and imposing; but its 
 architecture was irregular, for it had been 
 added to, and improved and enlarged, from 
 time to time, in all modes, styles, and orders, 
 till it became an amazing pile of building, 
 without any pretensions to regularity. The 
 only remains of the primitive dwelling, 
 erected by the first Harold Bulstrode, was an 
 arch and part of a window, over which, in 
 rude carving, was engraved the date of the 
 erection, in 1153, with the name of the 
 erector. From this early and primitive
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 25 
 
 epoch, it appears as if all the succeeding 
 generations of the Bulstrodes had, in 
 every century, added building to building, 
 tower to tower, and angle to angle, till 
 the edifice so simply and unpretendingly com- 
 menced, was extended and over-grown to a 
 marvellous degree, bearing evidence to the 
 varied tastes of each and every baronet of their 
 line. 
 
 It was no common place, nor was it the 
 resort of common people. The common dust 
 with which the greater part of the sons of 
 Adam are formed, was as uncongenial to Bul- 
 strode as the vulgar earth and stones of other 
 and more modern mansions. From time 
 immemorial it had been honoured with the 
 presence of kings and princes. As early as 
 in the times of the Empress Maude and her 
 son, Henry the Second, both mother and 
 child sought and found shelter under the 
 roof-tree of Bulstrode Court, from their 
 pursuers, and tarried there long, protected 
 from without, and loyally supported within 
 its walls. Elizabeth graced its halls during a 
 three days' visit, when journeying on a royal 
 progress through her fair kingdom. The un-
 
 26 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 happy Charles found there a safe refuge, and 
 sure hiding-place, when hotly pursued by 
 the victorious Cromwell and his rebellious 
 army. In more modern times, a regent, with 
 a train of royal dukes, proud marquises, and 
 noble earls, visited the old place ; and, by 
 the profuse liberality and unbounded wealth 
 of Sir Aldrich himself, proved and bore witness 
 to the hospitable munificence of the almost 
 regal dwelling. 
 
 The park in which the vast old building 
 stands is magnificent. It comprises an area 
 of six miles in circumference ; crowded with 
 hordes of noble deer, ornamented with superb 
 and venerable trees ; embellished by clear and 
 rapid streams, broad lakes, and mountain 
 boundaries. The gardens and pleasure 
 grounds are extended, and must be viewed 
 with particular interest, as no innovating or 
 intruding hand has ever robbed them of their 
 ancient features ; formal, straight, and rigidly 
 exact in shape and design, they surround the 
 south and west sides of the house, and, from 
 their quaint, original appearance, add much 
 interest to the fine old place. 
 
 Sir Aldrich, Mrs. Penelope, and Madame
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 27 
 
 de Bohn, with her pupil, were seated in the 
 dining-hall of Bulstrode Court. The cloth 
 had been removed, and the brilliant polish of 
 the black oak table was resplendent with the 
 reflection of the crystal flasks, and exquisite 
 old glasses of Venetian mould, which shone 
 upon its surface. 
 
 That dining-hall was a noble and imposing 
 one ; well fitted for the baronial feastings and 
 magnificent entertainments which, since its 
 erection in some early year of the sixteenth 
 century, had been continually taking place 
 within its walls. Of vast size and noble 
 height, the apartment was well proportioned, 
 and well lit by six gothic windows of rare and 
 ancient painted glass. The floor was of 
 tesselated marble, forming paths of the most 
 exquisite designs and glowing colours, here 
 and there hidden from view by the luxurious 
 and costly Turkey carpets, which the increasing 
 years and chilling frame of Sir Aldrich de- 
 manded on the portions of the hall most 
 generally used. A noble fire-place graced 
 each end of the apartment. The walls were 
 wainscoted with oak panellings, elaborately 
 carved; the centre of these panellings were
 
 28 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 one and all graced with the brightest gems of 
 Claude and Cuyp, some of the rarest master- 
 pieces of Titian and Vandyke, and some of the 
 most glorious works of Eaphael and Murillo. 
 
 Massive sideboards also of dark polished oak, 
 that for centuries had groaned beneath the 
 hereditary weight of precious metals, stretched 
 down both sides of the dining-hall ; and were 
 now, as ever, crowded with gold and silver 
 vases, tankards, and drinking-cups, of every 
 possible form and shape and size. There 
 were massive goblets of ancient times, enor- 
 mous christening vases, the gifts of royalty, 
 presents from peers and princes, prizes from 
 the years of tilt and tourney, when, by the 
 powers of hand and steed and lance, the 
 Bulstrodes' prowess was triumphant. 
 
 An exquisite ornament, '^ a golden shrine,'' 
 from the hands of Benvenuto Cellini, graced 
 the centre of one buffet, while the other was 
 crowned by the " golden shield of Apollo," the 
 exquisite copy from the same artist by a more 
 modern one. Everything in the hall was 
 suggestive of wealth and luxury, and bore an 
 imposing aspect of the lineal nobleness of the 
 house so richly dowered.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. ' 29 
 
 The small party of four were quite lost in 
 the vast extent of the hall, though the table 
 at which they sat was placed close to one of 
 the capacious windows, and round and about 
 was a huge Italian screen, drawn from its 
 numerous folds so as to place the little circle 
 within a small compartment. It was the 
 universal rule and command of Sir Aldrich 
 that every apartment should be held scrupu- 
 lously to its legitimate use ; and to have 
 dined in any other room at Bulstrode, but the 
 original dining-hall of his forefathers, would 
 have been to him as a committal of one of the 
 seven deadly sins. 
 
 The brightest hues of a glorious summer 
 sunset streamed through the stained windows, 
 and formed a halo round the old man's head 
 of the richest light. As it poured its glory on 
 the white hairs of the venerable old man, so 
 did it bathe in its golden hues the silken 
 tresses of Mary's classic head. The elder 
 ladies of the family, Mrs. Penelope and 
 Madame de Bohn, were removed from the 
 dazzling jets of light thrown through the 
 coloured panes, as they sat at the lower end 
 of the table. They were silent ; they always
 
 30 ■ THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 were so when in Sir Aldrich's presence, as if 
 afraid to speak and rouse the lion, ever so 
 ready to spring upon them. Indeed, they 
 never dared to intrude their remarks or 
 opinions upon Sir Aldrich at any time. 
 
 The old, generous wine, of which he always 
 drank long and deeply, generally possessed a 
 soothing influence over him ; and he usually 
 was more conciliating, and less arbitrary, after 
 dinner, than before it. This afternoon, he im- 
 bibed more than usual, and yet he did not 
 change from his gruff, silent mood. A second 
 bottle of claret was drained, ere his mood was 
 softened, or his tongue loosened. « 
 
 '' Mary,'' he said ; at the sound of his deep 
 voice — so proud and sonorous — the little, 
 gentle girl, started, coloured, and turned her- 
 self hastily towards him ; but, quickly reco- 
 vering herself, she answered, with a smile, as 
 she looked into his face — 
 
 " Well, grandpapa ?'' 
 
 " Are you well, darling ? I think you are 
 not, for you seem tired, or dull, or mopish. 
 How is it, my child, that the little glib tongue 
 is silent this evening T 
 
 " I am neither dull, sick, nor mopish, grand-
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 31 
 
 papa, thank jou ; I was only just think- 
 ing " 
 
 "Thinking! — a little girl thinking! — of 
 what then were you thinking, darling ?'' 
 
 " Of nothing wonderful or great, grandpapa ; 
 only something came into my head, and set 
 me thinking." 
 
 " Oh ! but I must know the cause of such 
 deep thought ; come. Birdie, let us have it — 
 tell — tell grandpapa, you must." 
 
 A deep sigh was the only rejoinder ; and as 
 the old man turned an anxious glance upon 
 the little being who breathed it, he was 
 touched — deeply touched.'*' The child looked 
 so like her father — so thoughtful, grave, and 
 beautiful — so very gentle and sad. He cleared 
 away a rising husky emotion from his throat, 
 and said, with a look of deep affection, extend- 
 ing his hand towards her — 
 
 " Sighing, too, oh ! this will never do, my 
 wee woman. Your little heart was never 
 made for sighing; neither that pretty head 
 for melancholy thinking. Come now, tell the 
 thoughts, I must have them " 
 
 " Why, grandpapa, I was just thinking how 
 rich you were — how great — how grand — what
 
 32 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 countless treasures you had here and every- 
 where — gold, silver, pictures, painted glass, 
 and precious things. And then I found my- 
 self wondering why you thought so much 
 about this world and all in it ; when, in a 
 little time, you and I and every body must 
 leave these pictures, those golden vases, this 
 great old hall — aye ! and even Bulstrode 
 itself — to go into the cold, dark vault, until 
 the time will come when God shall summon 
 us to stand before His great white throne — 
 small and great, good and evil — what will 
 everything matter to us, when we are 
 dead ?" 
 
 " Dead ! dead ! my darling child ! there is 
 no fear of that, for many a long year ; none 
 of us are going to die." 
 
 Another sigh, and then was added, in a very 
 low, tremulous voice, of deep feeling — 
 
 " Oh ! sir, do you forget that my own dear 
 papa, was younger than you, and so was poor 
 mamma, too, and yet they are dead — both 
 dead — long, long ago !" 
 
 " Yes, Mary, they are unhappily dead, long 
 ago ; but you won^t die young, as they did. 
 You must live to bless grandpapa, a long.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIL'E. 33 
 
 happy life. You are not going to die, dearest, 
 neither am I." 
 
 ** Indeed, I hope not, dear old grandpapa, 
 but still, you know, it may be that you will, and 
 so may I, too, when we are not thinking of 
 such a thing. We may live, and we may not. 
 We may have to leave this beautiful world 
 when w^e don't expect it ; and, indeed, grand- 
 papa, you must know that I would so much 
 like to die when 1 was very young — while 1 
 am but a child — then, surely, I would be with 
 papa and mamma for ever. And, when I am 
 called l)y God, you must give me up willingly, 
 and not try to keep me fi-om the kingdom of 
 Heaven." 
 
 ** Mary, you are a very silly, foolish, little 
 girl, to be talking and dreaming of things you 
 know nothing about." 
 
 ^^ Oh, but I do know about them, dear 
 grandpapa — more about them than about any- 
 thing else in the world. You know we are 
 told to * seek out first the kingdom of God and 
 his righteousness ;' and I have been trying and 
 striving — oh, so much ! — to do so." 
 
 *' Peace, child ; you will make me angry. 
 I pity you very much, poor little girl — pity 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 you more than I blame you ; for it is not your 
 fault that you are such a little, methodistical 
 goose. Your Aunt Penelope, my wise sister, 
 deluded creature as she is, has laid the foun- 
 dation of all this saintly humbug. A torment to 
 herself, a nuisance to me and mine, she is and 
 ever was. I shall know no peace till she 
 takes up her habitation in Bulstrode vault. 
 Yes, madam, I speak truth. You are the 
 greatest nuisance a brother was ever cursed 
 with. I speak as I feel. Your crazy, nonsen- 
 sical, methodistical fancies will craze the child, 
 and send her a fitting occupant to a lunatic 
 asylum. Die, indeed ! Let me not hear such 
 words again ; let no such vagaries fill your 
 brain, Mary, I desire, I command. Young, 
 noble, rich, and beautiful, you have every 
 promise and prospect of unalloyed happiness, 
 my child. You shall not die." 
 
 " Oh, fie, grandpapa ! please do not speak 
 in^ such a way again. It makes me so un- 
 happy to hear you. Don't you know, sir, 
 that it is appointed to all that they must die ? 
 Surely none can escape God's will. But, 
 indeed, grandpapa, you must not speak so 
 roughly and so unkindly to my aunt. Scold
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 35 
 
 me, please, as much as you like ; but you 
 must not be cross to Aunt Penelope — our 
 best, best, kindest, dearest Pen !" 
 
 ^' Hold your tongue, child. Be silent when 
 I command it. You are beginning to be very 
 disobedient and headstrong. It is my privi- 
 lege to find fault in my own house when I 
 choose to do so ; and I shall act just as it 
 suits my wishes towards your saintly aunt. 
 She is a stubborn, self-willed fool — was ever 
 one, and ever will continue to be the same. 
 She can't alter ; for she is but a woman — a 
 silly, old, romantic woman ; a stiflf-starched, 
 despised old maid, good for nothing but to 
 warn you, Mary, what an useless, valueless 
 thing an old maid is." 
 
 ^Irs. Penelope did not reply to all this vitu- 
 peration, but remained utterly silent. A crim- 
 son hue rushed to her face, and suffused each 
 feature of the beautiful old lady. For one 
 little moment it stayed, then dying off" rapidly 
 till it left her as marble-white as before, and 
 just as calm and gentle, too. The baronet 
 was vexed that he could not win an answering 
 retort, and he contiimed to speak with in- 
 creased vehemence of voice and manner. 
 
 d2
 
 o6 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 ^* You wiirnot be an old maid, Mary, I can 
 promise you that, without pretending to be a 
 conjuror. You shall have a fine, noble, hand- 
 some husband for yourself; then you will be 
 able to laugh at the single sisterhood to your 
 heart's content — that sisterhood of which Mrs. 
 Penelope Bulstrode forms so very striking an 
 adornment. You shall marry, dearest, and 
 shall be great and very happy." 
 
 "Marry, grandpapa ! shall /marry ? Well, 
 perhaps I may, sometime or other, when I 
 grow up to be a great, big woman, old, and 
 steady, and sensible ; but that is far off time 
 to think about. I am sure 'tis hardly worth 
 caring for at such a distance of time ; so 
 that I shan't fret myself about marriage now. 
 And, after all, I may not like to be married, 
 and if I don't I shall be an old maid, too, just 
 such a one as aunty here ! Oh, how happy 
 we all should be together so lovingly — two old 
 maids, what do you say to that, aunty?" 
 
 Auntie's heart w^as very full at that 
 moment, and it beat so violently that she 
 looked quite low and faint. She felt totally 
 overpowered ; but she stole her arm round the 
 slender waist of the child, who had crept from
 
 THE TOUNG BRIDE. 37 
 
 her seat to her aunt's side, when the harsh, 
 biting words of Sir Aldrich were spoken — 
 
 *' But you must and shall marry, Mary," 
 continued her grandfather. '^ Aye ! you 
 shall marry, my bonnie little one ; you shaU 
 manr noblv, and be a comfort and source of 
 pride and joy to me, — to your old grandpapa's 
 heart. Aye I we shall be rery happy then, 
 and we shall live many gay, gladsome years, 
 joyous years in old Bulstrode, together ; you 
 shall have a brave, handsome, noble husband, 
 worthy to be such; — some one great and grand, 
 like myself — it shall be so, Mary, shall it not, 
 darling ? " 
 
 Mary laughed, a sweet, innocent, merry 
 laugh, as she replied — 
 
 " Like you, grandfather ? it would be very 
 hard to get any one like you, I think. Oh ! 
 no, I don't want a husband like you, though 
 I am so very fond of my own dear gran. 
 Why there is nobody in the world like you, 
 excepting cousin Harold, and you know very 
 well that I don't love, nor like him at all ; no I 
 not one bit. Everybody ought to be able to 
 love their husband before they marry him ; so 
 my aunt Pen always told me, and she is never 
 wrong."
 
 38 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 "Nonsense, Mary! I never heard such 
 nonsense before in all my life ; I did hope 
 you would be a clever, wise little body, but I 
 see I am doomed to be disappointed. And so 
 you dare to tell me you don't love Harold, 
 your own handsome, noble cousin, who is so 
 much admired by everybody. You must love 
 him, — no fuss or nonsense about it — I say 
 you must and shall love him/' 
 
 " No, grandpapa, I can't love Harold, even 
 a little bit." 
 
 "And why so?" 
 
 " Because I don't." 
 
 " But that is no answer. Why do you dis- 
 like him?" 
 
 " Oh ! for a thousand different reasons, 
 sir. I can't love him; indeed, I have tried 
 and wished to be able, but could not do 
 it." 
 
 " But I insist on your giving me the exact 
 cause of offence which your cousin has com- 
 mitted against you." 
 
 " AVell then, first, he don't love me ; nay, he 
 hates me — he is so proud and cross and com- 
 manding to me — looking down so haughtily 
 on me, and always calling me ' child.' Se-
 
 THE YOUNG BRFDE. 39 
 
 condly, he is so cruel to Tiny that ho quite 
 makes me hate to see him near the pet. 
 Thirdly, he is proud to everybody, as if the 
 poor mortals he meets every day were made 
 of clay, while he himself, great and mighty as 
 he is, is formed of double refined stufi' Then 
 he will keep poor old George holding his 
 stirrup for an hour in the pour of rain, and 
 the old creature shivering without his hat, 
 looking daggers all the time he is devoting to 
 make himself comfortable on his horse's back. 
 And as dear Dr. Simpson says every Sunday 
 at the end of his sermon, ' lastly and in con- 
 clusion,' grandpapa, he is so unbearably cross 
 and impertinent and disagreeable to Aunt 
 Penelope, that 1 feel I could never love him, 
 but hate him more and more each time he 
 says a nasty rude thing to her — to our own 
 Pen, whom everybody else loves and respects, 
 and who, after all, is so kind and generous to 
 him — the proud, cruel fellow." 
 
 "More of your confounded impertinent inter- 
 ference in this matter, madam, I perceive, — your 
 cursed, impertinent, unwarrantable interference. 
 It is too bad, by Jove it is ! It is very hard to 
 be thus endlessly thwarted. I say, madam,
 
 40 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 that this young girl is brought up by you to 
 disobey and utterly disregard my wishes and 
 my commands, to scoff at my authority. 
 She is made to detest and abhor my relatives 
 and favourites ; to abuse her own cousin, and 
 think slightingly of him in every way ; she is 
 countenanced in opposing my counsel and 
 authority, merely and entirely because, for- 
 sooth, the wishes of my heart and the plans 
 of my brain do not agree with your ideas and 
 inclinations ; because, indeed, they do not co- 
 incide exactly with your saintly views and 
 maxims and motions. But I won't be hum- 
 bugged — by Heaven, I won't ! You shall 
 quit this house, and that at once. You shall 
 set up your evangelical conventicle somewhere 
 out of Bulstrode, and out of ear-shot of its 
 inhabitants. You must be separated, and 
 that quickly, too, from this child, before your 
 puling, empty mind contaminates her ; and 
 the world shall know the why and wherefore 
 — why a vile old hypocrite has been cast away 
 in ber dotage from the fostering hand and 
 protecting care of her brother. There shall 
 be no more discord sown here. Mary is my 
 own grand-daughter, my only child, my heiress,
 
 THE YOUNG B:JDE. 41 
 
 my property, my lawful right, and with her I 
 shall do whatever seems best to me." 
 
 Sh^ Aldrich rose with a violent gesture of 
 defiance from his chair, pushing it from the 
 table with a hurl that threw it to the floor, 
 and, striding rapidly across the marble floor, 
 opened wide the folding-doors, which con- 
 nected the dining-hall with the library — and, 
 stalking forth with the mien of an irritated 
 hysena, slammed the heavy oaken doors after 
 him, with the noise of a thunder clap and the 
 fury of a thousand giants. 
 
 He left the trembling trio in a state of ter- 
 ror and bewilderment. They were silent, and 
 afraid that the tyrant would return. Mrs. 
 Penelope and Madame de Bohn knew how 
 deeply Sir Aldrich was attached to Harold 
 Bulstrode, and how proud he was of him. 
 They also knew how long the union between 
 the cousins had been planned, and how firmly 
 the old man was bent upon the matter. So 
 impressed were the two ladies with the neces- 
 sity of conciliating Mary on the subject, and 
 smoothing the asperities which lay in the path, 
 that they had never lost an opportunity of plac- 
 ing Harold before her in favourable lights, and
 
 42 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 endeavouring to obliterate the aversion with 
 which she had been inspired by his cold 
 heart and haughty manner. They had 
 been indefatigably anxious to promote 
 peace between the cousins, but war had 
 ever raged between them — dire uncompro- 
 mising warfare. He delighted in mocking 
 and teazing the little sensitive girl, till she 
 absolutely and unreservedly disliked him : the 
 older she grew, the stronger her feelings of 
 dislike became. Therefore, the unwarrantable 
 attack of Sir Aldrich upon his unoffending 
 sister was the more unbearable and unpro- 
 voked, and the harder to be borne with 
 patience. 
 
 Harold was no favourite with any one ; he 
 did not care or wish to conciliate the favour 
 or affection of anybody. He had all the 
 towering, indomitable hereditary pride, and 
 obstinate, passionate disposition of his race. 
 Cold, haughty, reserved, and severe in de- 
 portment, he was feared in the same ratio as 
 his uncle was ; consequently, he was not more 
 liked, or more esteemed. In and about Bul- 
 strode his pride and self-consequence were more 
 glaring and offensive than elsewhere. He was
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 43 
 
 the first in importance at home ; and he made 
 himself to be felt and known there as such. 
 
 Still he had much to attract and win regard 
 about him, if he chose to exert himself for 
 such an end. Splendidly handsome, with all 
 the attributes of his family — form, feature, and 
 talent — he might have commanded love and 
 affection where he only inspired disgust and 
 dread. He was generous, too, after his own 
 manner ; brave in the battle-field beyond all 
 doubt, and honourable in all his dealings with 
 man and with mankind. Education had done 
 her work, and impressed the highest culture 
 upon his mind, aiding the undeniable stamp of 
 birth and breeding with all the charms and 
 treasures of erudition. But these graces and 
 qualities of mind and body were obscured by 
 his unbending disposition and puerile pompo- 
 sity, and when he came to Bulstrode these 
 disagreeable adjuncts were the prominent and 
 leading features of his character, hiding and 
 concealing all that was loveable and to be 
 admired. 
 
 Sir Aldrich fully recognised him as the fu- 
 ture inheritor of Bulstrode. All and every 
 body knew the fact ; therefore, it is not to be
 
 44 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 wondered at, that Harold should take upon 
 himself much, and continue self-important 
 and arrogant. He came and went, to and 
 from it, when he pleased and wished, unques- 
 tioned and uncommunicative. He was the 
 only being with whom his uncle never quar- 
 relled. No, they were perfectly united in 
 heart and mind, on every question of import- 
 ance, as well as on every trifling matter. A 
 brilliant campaign in India, resulting in rapid 
 advancement and well-earned promotion, with 
 the highest encomiums, had all been suddenly 
 ended by the unexpected death of Egbert 
 Bulstrode, and the summons to England, 
 which had been sent to him immediately 
 after, to return home as heir of Bulstrode. 
 
 It was, in truth, very much against his own 
 inclinations, that Harold returned home, 
 though his prospects had become so altered 
 and improved. A severe shock to his affec- 
 tions had given him a dislike to his native 
 land, and he resisted, for some months, all at- 
 tempts to draw him back again to it. But 
 interested views, and Sir Aldrich's entreaties, 
 overruled his wishes,* and he came home more 
 stoical, reserved, and sarcastic than ever ; his
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 45 
 
 heart seared, and his affections thrust back 
 upon himself. 
 
 But when he did come, his pride rejoiced ; 
 and, ere long, he was completely reconciled to 
 England. His position, expectations, and' con- 
 dition, were altered and improved, so as to 
 please to the utmost his fastidious selfishness. 
 He was informed of his uncle's wishes, relative 
 to his marrying his little cousin, Mary, at a 
 suitable time ; and the idea was in accordance 
 with his own thoughts and inclinations — not 
 that he had ever felt any tenderness or affec- 
 tion for the little sickly child — but simply 
 because the old leaven of Bulstrode covetous- 
 ness was lurking in his heart, and he could not 
 brook the idea, that so many broad acres, and 
 so many vast sums of money, should be alien- 
 ated from the old stock, and the inherited 
 domains of his ancestors.
 
 46 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Within that nook secure she hides 
 When danger imminent betides, 
 Of storm, or other harms besides 
 
 Of weather." 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 On the sudden exit of Sir Aldrich from the 
 dining-hall, the afirighted females remained 
 nearly motionless. They were afraid, it would 
 seem, to hear their own voices ; and might 
 have continued in the same state of pertur- 
 bation for hours, but for the forethought of the 
 little, tender, thoughtful Mary, who imagined 
 they could not be possibly allowed to remain 
 where they were, and who, affectionately em-
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 47 
 
 bracing her aunt, in a sweet, low-toned 
 whisper, entreated her to leave the hall, and 
 proceed to her own boudoir. 
 
 Mrs. Penelope, as if awakening from a dis- 
 turbed dream, hastily started up at the sound 
 of the child's voice, and, followed by Madame 
 de Bohn and the timorous Mary, quickly pro- 
 ceeded to the happy sanctuary, sacred to the 
 hours of Mrs. Penelope's peace. 
 
 How cheerful, and happy, and bright, did 
 that dear old room appear, as they entered it. 
 How much it spoke to their hearts of quiet- 
 ness and contentment and comfort. There it 
 was, revealed to their sight, so sparkling and 
 welcoming, as the heavy old door turned on its 
 hinges to admit them. There that dear old 
 chamber lay open to their gaze, smiling its 
 warm welcome, and looking so charmingly, 
 coy and inviting, with its closely-drawn cur- 
 tains, prepared to exclude the gathering 
 twilight. The brilliant blazes of a splendid 
 wood fire illuminated every nook and corner. 
 The atmosphere was deliciously impregnated 
 with the odour of flowers and plants. Into 
 that ark of safety and peace, where Sir Aid- 
 rich never ventured, Mrs. Penelope entered ;
 
 48 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 and, as the genial temperature and perfect 
 stillness became gradually felt and appreciated, 
 her agitated mind became calm, and each irri- 
 tated feeling appeased. By degrees she sank 
 into a deep musing of ^ holy hope and peace,' 
 wherein memory, with unerring force, recalled 
 the past — both pleasing and depressing — to 
 comfort and appease the present. 
 
 This dear old woman, Mrs. Penelope, pre- 
 sented one of the very few instances where unti- 
 ring affection, deep, devoted kindness, fail to 
 receive their reward. Most generally, where 
 unchanging benevolence of mind is devoted to 
 subdue unjust enmity, it succeeds. The first 
 efforts of the most anxious heart may be 
 unsuccessful, but let the devoted wish to 
 please continually flow towards the cold, un- 
 bending soul, be it ever so ' iron in its forma- 
 tion,' returning -kindliness and reciprocating 
 affectionate feelings must be the result. 
 
 Let any person put the question to himself, 
 ^'Whether, under any circumstances, he can 
 deliberately resist continued and unchanged 
 kindness and affection ? ' and an inward voice 
 will promptly reply^ ^That good is omnipo- 
 tent to overcome evil.' But with all the
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 49 
 
 strenuous efforts, and all the unceasing exer- 
 tions and untiring determinations of the best 
 and most generous of human minds, Mrs. 
 Penelope's exertions were useless and unavail- 
 able. She never could alleviate the annoy- 
 ances of her own position. Sir Aldrich was 
 and ever remained the same harsh arbiter of her 
 fate and happiness. 
 
 Sir Aldrich could not govern his passions, 
 neither could he soften off the sarcastic mean- 
 ing of his speech. He had ever found it 
 impossible to do so, and now it was utterly 
 hopeless. There was no hope or chance that 
 she could ever ^ light the lamp of affection ' at 
 his cold heart. He had tyrannized over his 
 gentle sister from earliest boyhood. From her 
 very infancy she had been his slave and vic- 
 tim ; in matured age she had been the same. 
 Never had he resigned any wish, or given up 
 any demand of his, to her earnest require- 
 ments. 
 
 Far from it ; for in former years she 
 had given up to this brother every thought, 
 and wish, and love of her own early days; 
 and for him she had resigned every affection 
 of her matured age. 
 
 VOL I. E
 
 50 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 Sir Aldrich had tyrannized over her — his 
 own gentle sister — from her earliest youth. 
 From his own very boyhood she had been, as 
 she now remained, his willing and obedient 
 slave and victim. In maturer age she had 
 continued the same to him, unchanged and 
 unchangeable as ever. Mrs. Penelope had 
 resigned the most cherished object of her 
 woman's life and heart, in obedience to her 
 brother's revengeful feelings, and in accordance 
 with his stern decrees. 
 
 The chosen being to whom she had plighted 
 her faith, and to whom she was shortly to 
 have been united in the bonds of matrimony 
 — that being to w^hom she had consecrated her 
 purest and warmest affections — had uninten- 
 tionally given cause of deep and dire offence 
 to Sir Aldrich ; and the imperious, haughty 
 baronet, from that very moment of the com- 
 mittal of the imagined insult, ever viewed him 
 with feelings of unmitigated hatred and utter 
 disgust. From this time nothing could ap- 
 pease Sir Aldrich's vengeance. Although 
 every exertion was made to conciliate him, it 
 was useless. From the very instant in which 
 the offence was offered, the old baronet shghted
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 51 
 
 insulted, and abused, till even the gentle 
 spirit of Mrs. Penelope's lover could bear no 
 more. 
 
 It was in vain that Mrs. Penelope strove 
 and prayed, in favour of the unfortunate 
 offender; he was repulsed, slighted, and at 
 last forbidden to intrude at Bulstrode. 
 
 It was a very heart-rending case, but there 
 was no help for it. The poor injured lover 
 entreated and remonstrated without avail. 
 Mrs. Penelope wept and implored without 
 success. Sir Aldrich felt and knew he pos- 
 sessed unlimited power over his sister, and he 
 was not backward in exerting the same. For 
 the sake of peace, at last she gave up all her 
 heart's hope and happiness, sinking by degrees 
 into the feeling that she had become a slave, 
 and had in future no will of her own. 
 
 Thus she marred all her own happiness, as 
 well as that of him whom she loved better and 
 more devotedly than her own life. From that 
 time nothing could ever induce the gentle, 
 heart broken Mrs. Penelope to accept another 
 lover. No suitor ever had a claim on her 
 affection, and she remained a gentle, un- 
 pretending vestal to grace and adorn the 
 
 E 2
 
 52 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 home where all loved and valued her, save its 
 owner. 
 
 All these things would rush unbidden into 
 her remembrance on every fresh outbreak of 
 her brother's passion ; but not long nor bit- 
 terly would they tarry, or claim possession of 
 her tender and forgiving heart. The return- 
 ing dew of holy peace, and love, and forgive- 
 ness would quickly obliterate every angry 
 thought, and leave her as calm, trusting, and 
 arentle as before. 
 
 On this afternoon, her memory was pecu- 
 liarly acute — her feelings more deeply wounded 
 than usual. Sometimes a deep, deep, sigh 
 would escape, but ever as it did so, it was 
 hurriedly smothered and suppressed. Though 
 no tears coursed down her pallid cheek, there 
 was some difficulty to arrest them, most 
 especially when her eyes wandered to the 
 young girl so unutterably dear. By degrees 
 self and all attendant troubles passed away, 
 and Mary, with her life and long perspective 
 of trials, took possession of every thought. 
 
 Ay ! now those clear, deep, fond, grey eyes 
 involuntarily fixed upon that precious child, 
 so unspeakably loved by that old woman, the
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 53 
 
 sole link that bound the venerable relative to 
 
 4 
 
 an ungrateful world — that orphan girl, who 
 claimed the devotion and love of all claiming 
 affinity to the line of Bulstrode ! 
 
 What a dim, uncertain future rose to the 
 ^ mind's eye ' of the ancient spinster, as she 
 traced its outline with reference to Mary ! 
 How selfish and unchristian had been the plan 
 marked out for her ! A being so peculiarly 
 sensitive, and loveable, and unobtrusive, as she 
 was, had been, indeed, hardly dealt with. 
 Fate, with iron sternness, had marked out for 
 her a harsh, unhopeful course. Doomed to 
 be a victim to the jealous will and uncompro- 
 mising decision of her grandfather, and fated 
 to be the enforced, unwilling wife of one who, 
 even in her helpless childhood, was unkind 
 and unloved. Bitter — very bitter — were the 
 feelings of that futurity which were opening 
 to that young orphan heiress. 
 
 Was the fair, blooming maiden, whose years 
 and stature had not yet reached girlhood — 
 that sweet, soft, gentle child, who sat so 
 gracefully, reclining her lovely head against 
 her own aged knees — who, young and beloved, 
 knew nought of trial or affliction — doomed to
 
 54 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 the pitiless position of being an unvalued bride, 
 a mere conveyance wherewith to consign added 
 lands and increasing gold to the haughty 
 selfish cousin, already dreaded and avoided ? 
 Was she, the scion of that old and noble line, 
 to be regarded solely for the worldly wealth 
 so unpropitiously bestowed, and personally 
 regarded only as means by which to win that 
 wealth ? Poor Mary ! alas ! and alas ! for 
 her. 
 
 There she was, supported by that old, dear 
 aunt, happily unconscious of all that was to 
 be. There, in her graceful innocence, looking 
 into the bright and glowing !^fire, intently re- 
 garding the changing figures emanating from 
 the brilliant embers, careless of all that Bul- 
 strode wealth and blood could give or claim, 
 unknowing and unconscious of the arbitrary 
 will that bound her. And as Mrs. Penelope 
 thought over and over, and ever on the same 
 dear, absorbing subject, a profound sadness 
 crept over her, and she could with difiiculty 
 restrain the bitter tears which were craved by 
 her depressed heart. 
 
 In this, her own especial boudoir and 
 morning room, the old lady was always
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 55 
 
 happier and more at ease than in the splendid 
 and gorgeous reception rooms of Bulstrode. 
 There, as to a harbour of refuge, she hurried 
 for shelter and security at all times from the 
 influence of the stormy outbreaks of her 
 brother's furious temper. This happy place 
 of seclusion was far apart from the rest of 
 the building ; a snug nook, added in the time 
 of Elizabeth, and which, ever since its erection, 
 had been dedicated to the uses of the Bul- 
 strode ladies. Full of angles, corners, and 
 windows, it was a curious relic of olden times, 
 far away from the noise and bustle of the 
 house and its occupants, and reached by a stair- 
 case which led only to itself. 
 
 It had been the ladies' boudoir of her 
 family from age to age ; it was in it that the 
 loved mother of Mrs. Penelope had passed a 
 long term of invalid life, therefore it was 
 particularly dear and especially sacred to 
 her hours of meditation. At all times 
 it seemed to befit the moods and tem- 
 peraments of the fair spinster's mind. The 
 coverings of the panels were rich and elaborate 
 tapestries from fair hands long since crumbled 
 into their original dust. A huge piece of this
 
 56 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 domestic monument of ancient industry en- 
 tirely concealed the wall of the lower end of 
 the room, and was regarded with peculiar 
 veneration, being the production solely of 
 Mrs. Penelope's grandmother's needle. Such 
 a ponderous triumph of intense and attentive 
 industry was never seen. Colossal figures, 
 exquisitely formed, beautifully coloured, and 
 ten in number, told the different tales of the 
 loves of Jupiter, while the god of thunder 
 himself, with his attendant, Ganymede, looked 
 down in calm contemplation, from the sMes, 
 upon the group below. What a stupendous 
 piece of work it was ? — what a fearful amount 
 of labour and trouble did the ancient matrons 
 of past ages inflict upon their eyes and 
 fingers. 
 
 The cornices, sub-bases, and chimney piece, 
 were quaintly carved and gilded, as was also 
 the ceiling of the boudoir, with most fantastic 
 and strange devices, representing grotesque 
 figures and outre scroll work. There was in 
 this dear old room a venerable spinnet ; there 
 were marvellous old Indian cabinets, of inlaid 
 ebony and ivory, bound with costly ormolu 
 clasps, and locks of the same metal ; un
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 57 
 
 wieldy inlaid tables of Chinese design, upon 
 consumptive, tottering legs ; stiff, formal 
 escritoires, of old Italian mosaic, very rare 
 and precious ; straight-backed venerable sofas, 
 unavailable as places of repose or comfort ; 
 high-backed chairs, of antique mould and un- 
 wieldy proportions, with coverings of exquisite 
 silk embroidery. Here and there had been 
 introduced some modern articles of use and 
 comfort, a few easy chairs, a delicious and 
 luxurious couch, some footstools, and a modern 
 piano. There were gathered, too, in this 
 sanctum, stores of literary worth, the 
 treasured darlings of Mrs. Penelope's imagi- 
 nation. There were finely illustrated editions 
 of Shakspeare, Pope, and Cowper ; ponderous 
 tomes of Hume, Racine, and Gibbon ; ele- 
 gantly-bound volumes of Cotton and Fenelon ; 
 modern editions of tales, poets, and travellers ; 
 besides heaps of books long unknown, pro- 
 ductions of ages and pens, when the wit of 
 Smollett and the morality of Richardson were 
 read unblufhingly, and openly enjoyed. 
 
 It was here, in this delicious old nook, that 
 the little Mary Bulstrode loved to learn and 
 study, work and play. It was here she en-
 
 58 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 joyed the instruction of the good and gentle 
 guides of her youth ; and here it was, that she 
 was impressed with those noble thoughts, feel- 
 ings, and designs, which, in her after life, 
 supported and cheered her through the dark 
 and weary paths of her pilgrimage — supporting 
 her through the varied trials that had been 
 appointed for her lot. 
 
 Here in the old boudoir, in the dear old 
 chamber, she sat, at Mrs. Penelope's feet, as I 
 said before, quietly regarding the flickering 
 blazes of the oaken fire. Her soft and affec- 
 tionate heart still dwelling painfully on the 
 late scene of strife and commotion, and on the 
 troubled countenance of her venerable aunt. 
 By degrees, getting on to think, and dream, 
 and long for that time to come, when added 
 years, would give to herself added power, to 
 aid and protect — those halcyon times when it 
 would be her own proud prerogative to resist 
 all attempts and endeavours to misuse and 
 abuse Mrs. Penelope. Ah ! how that warm 
 heart of Mary's throbbed at the thought, that 
 she might, and could, and would be able to 
 appease the angry lion in his wrath, and 
 shelter from his rage her own trembling dove-
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 59 
 
 like aunt. Dear, most dear, indeed, that 
 aunt was. The soft hand ot the young girl 
 was clasped in one of Mrs. Penelope's thin, 
 worn ones. The lovely head, with its showers 
 of golden curls, was laid on the old lady's lap ; 
 and the graceful outline of the slight, girlish 
 form was fully developed, as the huge jets of 
 flame, cast out by the blazing wood-logs, irra- 
 diated the whole of the room. 
 
 After some time had passed, silently and 
 perfectly still, Mary exclaimed — 
 
 *' Auntie ! I remember once to have read a 
 story about a gentleman, who had a very 
 large, fierce watch-dog, chained in his stable- 
 yard. It was a very noisy, savage animal ; 
 very quarrelsome, and very dangerous to 
 every body. He was the terror of all the 
 surrounding neighbourhood ; no one would 
 venture near him, or dare to pass within the 
 length of his chain. But, notwithstanding all 
 this terrific appearance, and savage demon- 
 stration, on the part of the dog, a little miser- 
 able duckling — the sole, and only remnant of 
 its tribe remaining alive in the yard with him 
 — became most courageous, and ventured to 
 approach, from time to time, nearer to the
 
 60 THE YOUJ^G BRIDE. 
 
 canine monster, without dread or fear. The 
 little, half-fledged thing was at first tolerated, 
 then permitted to make free, and, at length, 
 encouraged, and met with kindly marks of 
 favour and protection ; so that, at last, the 
 little duckling knew the value of the dog's 
 friendship so well, that it would ever and 
 always rush to the kennel for security against 
 every aggression, lying secure between the 
 very fore paws of its boisterous defender. 
 Now, aunt, darling, that little, helpless, un- 
 fledged duckling reminds me of myself, and 
 grandpapa is like the great, noisy, rough 
 watch-dog. You and every body are afraid of 
 his look and voice, and rush up here to hide, so 
 that you may escape from him ; while I, 
 pigmy as I am, can venture into the very den, 
 and get no harm. Is it not very like, aunt 
 Pen?" 
 
 ^' Very like, indeed, Mary. Your little 
 allegory is very perfect. Grandpapa is, in- 
 deed, so very fond of you, that you may 
 venture to do with impunity what others dare 
 not. For the present you are quite as privi- 
 leged as the duckling of your story, but I 
 fear much that hereafter a change may come,
 
 THE YOUNG BEIDE. Gl- 
 
 and your power may be diminished. A time 
 may come — nay, it must come — when he will 
 require from you obedience in many things 
 which you may be unwilling to give. He 
 will, without doubt, exert his authority over 
 you, as he does over others, and if you ven- 
 ture to oppose him, or contradict his wishes, 
 you may find him just as violently inclined, 
 and quite as savage, as your canine monster 
 just described." 
 
 *' Ah, me ! I am very much afraid of that, 
 too, aunty, mine. And I try to do all I can 
 to please him, and would not vex him for all 
 the whole world. Oh, it would be an awful 
 thing to make him angry ! I could not bear 
 it, I am sure. Sometimes his very look turns 
 me quite sick, and makes my heart tremble so 
 dreadfully. But it is all nothing until he 
 raises his voice in a true passsion ; then I get 
 cold and sick, as if I was going to faint out- 
 right. Ob, surely nothing can ever tempt me 
 to vex or displease him now or ever !" 
 
 "I trust so, dearest child. My constant 
 and earnest prayer is that no real cause of dis- 
 sension may ever arise between you and 
 grandpapa. It would be very wrong, nay,
 
 62 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 sinful, in you, dearest, to fail in any exertion 
 that you ought to make to please him. He 
 is your only parent now ; he stands in your 
 departed father's place. God grant he may 
 faithfully discharge the duties of such a posi- 
 tion. He loves you devotedly ; he cares for you 
 tenderly ; he shows you more consideration 
 and affection than he ever evinced before to 
 any one. You are, in return, to render to him 
 all obedience and dutiful submission. To you, 
 Mary, there is in him no bitterness or severity. 
 His temper does not harshly vent itself on 
 you or against you ; he seems to regard you 
 as something too precious to deal harshly with. 
 But, for all that, a time may come when he 
 will expect you to act in accordance with his 
 wishes entirely ; when he will hear no reason- 
 ings, nor brook any opposition, though you 
 may find your heart ready to break at the 
 demand that may be made of you. Then, 
 dearest, if you act against his will, you may 
 find him a ruthless and relentless opponent. 
 Your fear of vexing and opposing him may 
 not be strong enough to induce you to comply 
 with his commands." 
 
 "Aunt Penelope, I guess what you mean.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 63 
 
 It is about my cousin Harold marrying me, is 
 it not ? But you are quite right — perfectly 
 right — in thinking that nothing ever can or 
 will induce me to love Harold. No, not even 
 the fear of grandpapa's anger could induce it. 
 In everything else I shall strive hard to please 
 and obey him, and I am sure that I shall 
 succeed." 
 
 " And yet, Mary, your loving Harold is the 
 great point of fear. On every other subject 
 your obedience will be easily insured ; but in 
 this matter you will have to do and strive 
 much to please my brother — indeed, darling, 
 you must try and love Harold." 
 
 " Never, aunt ; I never can love him." 
 
 " But time may overcome your aversion, 
 Mary ; you will succeed if you wish to do so." 
 
 " Indeed, I cannot try more anxiously than 
 I do. Oh, I have tried long and anxiously, 
 aunty. You cannot think how I have prayed 
 and striven to forgive and forget every- 
 thing that Harold has unkindly done or 
 said ! But the more I have tried, the more I 
 disliked him ; and I never could myself begin 
 even to love him one little bit more, or hate 
 him one little bit less-"
 
 64 THE YOUNG BRIDE.' 
 
 " I fear, Maiy, you have allowed yourself 
 to brood over your cousin's conduct too se- 
 verely, and that you have forgotten the pre- 
 cept of forgiving those that trespass against 
 you. Still, I must allow you have ofttimes 
 tried to do all you ought towards Harold, 
 even when he has been unkind to you. 
 Madame and I have often noticed, with plea- 
 sure and satisfaction, your exertions ; we have 
 noted and watched your strivings, and quietly 
 looked on, and closely observed you. Even 
 the other day, when you were so grieved and 
 fretted about his beating your little Tiny, 
 for barking at his horse as he rode past you, 
 we felt you were very good, and we saw 
 that you struggled hard to master your angry 
 feelings ; and all that evening you never let him 
 feel, or grandpapa perceive, how vexed you 
 were at his conduct to your little favourite." ^ 
 
 " Oh, I was not much vexed ; but I was 
 grieved so deeply for darling Tiny — to hear him 
 whine and moan so bitterly, and for nothing 
 but a little innocent bark — my own poor darl- 
 ing Tiny ! but he never liked Harold a bit 
 more than I did — indeed, he had every cause 
 to dread and fear him. When the little crea-
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 65 
 
 ture held up his dear leg to me for pity and 
 consolation, I saw it all bleeding from the 
 severity of Harold's hunting-whip, which he 
 so unmercifully lashed him with. Oh ! I could 
 have cried, I was so grieved, only that I could 
 not bear cousin to see me; and then he rode 
 off, laughing at me. But I forgave him, in- 
 deed, I did, as I always try to do ; sometimes 
 I will allow that it is very hard to forgive and 
 forget all he does and says." 
 
 " You acted rightly, dearest ; I hope you 
 forgive and forget, but I hardly think Tiny 
 did/' 
 
 ^' No aunty, we could not expect the little 
 creature to forget such conduct. He has 
 neither sense nor feeling, and can only remem- 
 ber the unkindness he receives, without reason 
 to forgive it. I often wonder the pet can bear 
 to be in the same room with him ; but, surely 
 he behaves rudely and unkindly to every one, 
 as well as to Tiny, Surely you, aunt, don't 
 escape his selfish unkindness." 
 
 " Never mind me, Mary. Do not trouble 
 yourself about any treatment that I receive. 
 It is, unfortunately, my misfortune to meet 
 unkindness where I do not think I deserve 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 QQ THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 it; but I am accustomed to it, and all that 
 troubles me is, that you, darling, should take 
 it so much to heart as you do, and feel addi- 
 tional dislike to Harold in consequence. He 
 but copies his uncle's treatment of me, for- 
 getting that, though I must meekly endure 
 my brother's conduct, there is no reason why 
 I need suffer others to insult and annoy me. 
 Sir Aldrich's peculiar temper and oddities are 
 bearable, but, in truth, it is hard to bear with 
 Harold's. Besides, you know, my child, that 
 your grandfather is always irritated and an- 
 noyed when you notice any of your cousin's 
 disagreeabilities ; therefore, I entreat you will 
 never, for my sake, seem to resent anything 
 he says or does." 
 
 ^^ For your sake I — yes, for your sake, 
 dearest and best aunty — I can do, or will do, 
 anything and everything. For your dear, pre- 
 cious sake and comfort, for your peace and your 
 happiness, I could do everything. You need 
 not fear me, you have only to speak or wish, 
 and I shall obey — oh ! how willingly. There 
 is nothing, absolutely nothing, Aunt Pen., 
 that T could not do to please or gratify you ; 
 I could refuse you nothing. No; were you
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 67 
 
 even to wish or desire me to marry Harold, 
 much as I hate him, I woulcl do it." 
 
 And as she spoke vehemently and pas- 
 sionately, the young girl burst into a violent 
 paroxysm of tears, and, bending forward her 
 head, she buried it in her hands. Then Mrs. 
 Penelope drew her tenderly from the footstool 
 on which she had been seated, and placing her 
 on her lap, encircled her in her loving arms ; 
 turning the agitated face into her bosom, 
 clasping her in a long and silent and loving 
 embrace to her heart, After a while the 
 burst of passion subsided, and the old lady 
 said, tenderly — 
 
 "It is very hard to do some things, Mary, 
 nay, sometimes impossible : for instance, to 
 try and love and reverence those for whom we 
 have no affection or respect, and who do not 
 merit or seek for our regard, and do not care 
 whether they please us or not. Harold has 
 never been, in any way, or at any time, kind 
 or affectionate to you, nor has he cared to 
 seek to please you, or win your love and 
 affection. Times may change him, and you 
 too, love. The firm and decided will of my 
 brother, and his absolute determination to 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 unite you both in marriage when you attain a 
 suitable age, is so evident that there can be no 
 denial of it ; therefore your cousin may yet 
 see the necessity of attaching you to him by 
 the bonds of love and kindness. I cannot 
 bear the idea of joining young persons together 
 in the eternal bond of marriage for interested 
 motives ; it is a dreadful and an unholy thing. 
 I fondly hope that the union of properties 
 may induce a complete union of affection, but 
 I have too often seen the misery caused by 
 worldly, covetous arrangements and pro- 
 ceedings, not to loathe the thought of such 
 transactions again taking place in our unhappy 
 family. Oh ! I hail the hope of a unity of 
 mind and disposition between you and Harold 
 before the awful time of trial comes ; for, as 
 matters are at present, I can see nothing but 
 a promise of misery in my brother's scheme. 
 Oh ! darling child of my heart, how happy do 
 your prospects appear to be to those who 
 know nothing of the internal arrangements and 
 plans of the family ; you have youth, health, 
 grace, and abundant wealth, joined together 
 to bless you ; every one looks upon you as 
 fortune's favoured child, the fairest and most
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 69 
 
 promising daughter of prosperity; you are 
 considered blest, happy, and without a care, 
 surrounded by all the worldly goods that 
 station and accumulated wealth can bestow ; 
 people look upon you as one too largely gifted 
 with all that can make life happy — for is not 
 all round and about you smiling and serene ? 
 do you not seem to breathe unceasingly the 
 invigorating atmosphere of prosperity ? " 
 
 As the lady spoke thus fondly and im- 
 pressively, Mary sighed deeply, and checking 
 her tears, which had continued to fall, an- 
 swered, with a quivering lip and a trembling 
 voice — 
 
 "And must I really marry Harold ?'' 
 
 " I believe, my child, hereafter you must ; 
 it was all settled and arranged long ago." 
 
 " Aunt, is there no chance or hope of 
 escaping from him ? Surely he won't want 
 to have me marry him when he knows how 
 much I dislike him." 
 
 " Mary, I do not think he will care much 
 for that ; if your grandfather is so anxious for 
 the union, Harold will be satisfied to have 
 your love afterwards, if he has it not before 
 marriage."
 
 70 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 " But if I tried to coax grandpapa, surely I 
 might succeed. If I never worry or vex him 
 ony other way, he may forgive and pardon 
 this one act of insubordination and dis- 
 obedience. Besides, Harold can't have me, 
 with all his pride and greatness, if I go 
 courageously to him and ask him not to 
 marry me, as I cannot love him." 
 
 " All useless, Mary. Too long have we all 
 given up our own wishes and inclinations, to 
 the stern will and way of your grandfather, to 
 hope for much concession on his part. His 
 authority has been so long acknowledged and 
 yielded to, that we can hardly hope to turn 
 him now, from so fondly cherished a project as 
 this, by a little coaxing, even from you, Mary. 
 So you will have to make up your mind, and 
 resolve to be obedient and happy, and here- 
 after, marry Harold." 
 
 " Then I can solemnly promise you, aunt, 
 here in the presence of our dear and kind 
 madame, whom we both fondly love and value, 
 that I never will marry Harold. In this noble 
 land of ours — brave, free, generous England — 
 no one is born a slave ; and even the wretched 
 beings, elsewhere born and reared in slavery,
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 71 
 
 become free as air, as soon as the soles of their 
 feet touch British ground. Am I not a Briton ? 
 a native of that soil, where all and each are 
 free? — nay, smile not, aunt — though but a 
 timid, helpless girl, I am still a Briton — still 
 able to claim the rights and privileges of such. 
 Like unto Paul himself, I can claim the right 
 of being ' free born,' and appeal, not unto 
 Caesar, as he did, but unto our own bright, 
 glorious queen." 
 
 " The appeal would be useless, Mary." 
 ^' Then how comes it, aunt, that I must be, 
 of necessity, worse off than any other subject 
 of the British isles ? — why am I not to have a 
 will or way of happiness for myself? — am I 
 to know no peace, or quietness, or protection ? 
 — is there to be nothing for me, eternally, but 
 Harold ! Harold !— oh ! I am sick and weary 
 of him — his name is an abomination to me , 
 let me have no more of him, I beseech you, 
 aunt. Oh I I shall do all I can to win grand- 
 papa's love and confidence — I can do no more 
 — I shall love him with heart, and mind, and 
 strength ; he shall have no cause of fault to 
 find, if I can help it. With him to please and 
 love, and with you, aunty, to care for me, as
 
 72 THE YOUNG BKIDE. 
 
 you do, 1 want nothing more — I want no 
 marrying, or giving in marriage — I shall be a 
 devoted, loving child, to you both ; and, in 
 the end, perchance, a kind and winning old 
 maid, such you yourself are, Mrs. Penelope ; 
 and I shall inherit from you all the rights and 
 titles to succeed you, as Mrs. Mary Bulstrode." 
 
 '^ Well, hope on — hope ever, darling — hope 
 is our greatest blessing, and our greatest com- 
 fort. You may be an old maid even, and yet 
 be a happy one. But hearken ! there is the 
 gong sounding, so we must hurry down to tea. 
 Here is dear madame, who, though she has 
 never uttered a syllable during all our doleful 
 evening's converse, evidences that her heart is 
 Avith us, though her tongue is silent. Come, 
 let us hasten, ere we are wanted." 
 
 Many timorous glances were cast towards 
 the baronet, as the ladies entered the drawing- 
 room for tea. To their great delight. Dr. 
 Leslie, the family doctor, and Dr. Simpson, the 
 rector of Bulstrode, were already seated with 
 Sir Aldrich at the card-table, enjoying the 
 pleasures of dummy whist. This happy, un- 
 expected break in the anticipated disagree- 
 abilities of the family party, helped to raise
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 73 
 
 and recruit the spirits of the females, who 
 chatted and talked, and even called up a few 
 faint smiles amongst themselves, till the termi- 
 nation of Mr. Leslie's tea-drinking took place, 
 and enabled them, after his ninth cup, to 
 dismiss the tea equipage, and withdraw.
 
 74 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "Here hovering lowers 
 The shady cloud, there downward pours 
 Streaming direct a flood of joyous day." 
 
 Beattie. 
 
 Harold Bulstrode was a man of a fastidiously 
 refined mind, and his society was much sought 
 after and courted in the circles , in which he 
 moved. His talents and acquirements were 
 fully appreciated, and his hauteur and stern- 
 ness of manner were kept in subjection and 
 well masked from general observation, so that 
 he bore about him in general society none of 
 the offensive appearances belonging to it, and 
 which, in truth, were only allowed to have 
 their full dominion exhibited at Bulstrode.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 75 
 
 His early youth and manhood had been 
 marked by a long and passionate attachment 
 to a very beautiful, fascinating relative, much 
 of his own age. She had no fortune, being 
 the daughter. of a clergyman, unblest with a 
 large share of the ' loaves and fishes,' but one 
 who had married a female descendant of the 
 Bulstrode family, and had been forgotten 
 thenceforth by them. Her fiither, of an 
 ancient line too, was a good, simple-minded 
 man, too easily led, as it was proved in his 
 second marriage, for he permitted the only 
 child of his first wife, a girl, to be tyranized 
 over by her stepmother, and became himself 
 a painful example of a hen-pecked husband. 
 
 Some chance brought Harold and his 
 cousin Edith acquainted in their early 
 days ; for years they loved each other. 
 The afiection continued and increased and 
 Harold Bulstrode never, in all his life, 
 forgot that first love, or swerved from the 
 afiection he felt for his fair cousin. During 
 his long sojourn abroad, and while his heart 
 and soul were engrossed with the changing 
 scenes of his long and brilliant campaign in India, 
 Edith felt herself forgotten. Poor girl, gifted
 
 76 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 with beauty and talent, she was unloved in 
 her own home ; victimized to the care and 
 tuition of stepsisters and stepbrothers ; tram- 
 melled by the watchfulness and jealous sur- 
 veillance of her stepmother; and unable to 
 claim the love of her poor deluded father. 
 
 Thus she was heartsick and weary of life, 
 when she became an object of intense ad- 
 miration to Lord Marley ; from the first 
 moment he beheld her, he determined to have 
 her as his wife. He had frequent opportu- 
 nities of seeing and meeting her, as he pos- 
 sessed a large property, in which her father's 
 living was situated. The more he saw her 
 the more he loved her, and coveted to make 
 her Lady Marley. 
 
 Thrice was he refused, without the know- 
 ledge of her father or his wife ; but when 
 Lord Marley applied to the parson for his 
 interest and influence with his daughter, the 
 stepmother hurried to his assistance, and by 
 her effectual workings and stratagems achieved 
 the desired end, and told Lord Marley that 
 the point was gained, and that she had 
 compelled Edith to become his. She was 
 happy in getting rid of the poor girl, and very
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 77 
 
 proud of the added consequence to herself, of 
 becoming mother-in-law to an earl. 
 
 He was a jolly, jovial man, — Lord Marley 
 — kind-hearted and generous ; his rent-roll 
 was very long, but unfortunately his mind was 
 'very narrow and contracted ; his age more 
 than double that of his bride ; he wore a wig, 
 and his face evidenced his extreme partiality 
 for the pleasures of the table. Poor Edith, 
 she felt herself a burthen in her own home ; 
 uncared for, and unvalued. Her heart had 
 long been another's, and had met no com- 
 forting hope to support the separation, so she 
 gave way and married. 
 
 It happened that, on the return of Harold 
 to his native land, he became constantly asso- 
 ciated with Lord and Lady Marley. His own 
 inclinations and feelings, and those of Lady 
 Marley, Avere equally gratified by a renewal of 
 that intercourse and intimacy which had been 
 the principal charm of their earlier life. His 
 altered and improved prospects, consequent on 
 the death of his cousin, the heir of Bulstrode, 
 made him bitterly and unceasingly regret his 
 own folly and passion in quitting England, 
 without having secured and engaged a right to
 
 78 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 claim the beauteous Edith on his return. He 
 had neglected and slighted the being whom he 
 alone loved ; and had left her, unpledged, to 
 fall into the snare which had been laid for her. 
 She, too, had never ceased to love, though her 
 pride had been so severely hurt by neglect and 
 silence ; therefore, her regrets were ceaseless, 
 that she had permitted herself to be hurried to 
 her fate ; and that, for the sake of mere 
 worldly aggrandizement, she had bestowed her 
 hand, when her heart was — as it ever had 
 been — the property of Harold. 
 
 She possessed all the hereditary traits of the 
 loveliness of her family, and was liberally 
 favoured with its extreme beauty and grace, 
 wit, and talent. Self taught, and full of the 
 fire of genius, Lady Marley was a bright star 
 in the fashionable world — the most popular 
 woman of her set — joined to a man, who pos- 
 sessed no one sentiment in common with her, 
 she had, from the first day of her wedded life, 
 considered her husband as a very secondary 
 being, and only as the medium through which 
 she could have gained her present position ; 
 so she took good care to enjoy, to the full, the 
 unbounded pleasures and luxuries his wealth
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 79 
 
 and generous, liberal disposition, allowed her 
 to possess. Marley House, in town, and 
 Marley Villa, at Brighton, were altered, im- 
 proved, and embellished with unsparing mag- 
 nificence, and with rare and wonderful taste. 
 The most exquisite adornments and additions, 
 with the most costly articles of art and virtu, 
 were lavishly procured, to deck the temples of 
 wit and fashion, where she reigned the queen 
 of grace and beauty ; and where, in an end- 
 less whirl of pleasures, she lived — courted and 
 admired. 
 
 As she had surrounded herself with every- 
 thing charming, so she drew round her people 
 of taste, men of eloquence and profound 
 learning, women of loveliness and bewitching 
 gracefulness — the wise, the gifted, the great — 
 in short, all and every one that were calcu- 
 lated to please, grace, adorn, and delight, 
 gained admittance to her dwelling. 
 
 It was under these circumstances that Harold 
 Bulstrode first saw the young and beautiful 
 countess, after a separation of six long years 
 — six years that had changed him from 
 his twenty fifth year to his thirty first, and 
 which had transformed her from the sylph-
 
 80 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 like maiden of a score years, to the full-pro- 
 portioned, matronly charms of woman's prime. 
 There she was — the long-loved — the long-idol- 
 ized being — who had first caused his cold, 
 proud heart to warm to the influence of the 
 tender passion. There she was — so calm — so 
 queenlike — arrayed magnificently — covered 
 with superb jewels — in all her glorious beauty 
 — the noble mistress of that splendid dwelling 
 — dispensing smiles and courtesies to her 
 various guests, unaware of his proximity. 
 
 Oh ! Harold, how hard and bitter it is to 
 witness all this ! — how deeply wounded is that 
 proud spirit of thine — how overwhelmed is 
 your stern soul — thus, and is it thus you meet ! 
 — forgotten, perchance — forsaken, yes ! — has 
 she then ceased even to remember your exis- 
 tence? — is there no secret latent memory in 
 that heart, once yours, and yours only ? But, 
 behold ! a turn of that graceful head brings 
 her large, full, lustrous eyes upon you — upon 
 Harold — upon him who, through her whole 
 life — woman's life — she had loved wholly and 
 alone. He approached ; his voice was hoarse 
 — his tones were cold — and he attempted to 
 appear indifferent ; but in vain ; his efforts to
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 81 
 
 encase himself in his panoply of pride, were 
 useless ; and, as she arose, trembling with 
 agitation, and eagerly advanced and caught 
 his unwilling hand, he found himself conquered ; 
 his pride subdued — his rancour flown — he 
 himself bound a surer victim than ever in the 
 bonds of unutterable love. 
 
 Poor Edith ! what a revulsion of feeling — 
 what a complete paralyzation of heart and 
 mind overwhelmed her ! What a change had 
 one short moment caused ! — what an unlooked- 
 for happiness had befallen her ! Doubt, misery, 
 distrust, all were flown ; the hope, and joy, 
 and consolation had come back. One glimpse 
 of him had changed her, hardened, icy, callous 
 as she had been but one instant before, into 
 the tender, warm-loving Edith of times long 
 past, ' long, long ago ! ' 
 
 For one moment she paused, and felt as if 
 she must faint, but no, the weakness passed 
 away. She commanded herself to speak calm 
 collected, welcoming words. For a few short 
 moments she stood with him, apparently in- 
 different ; then, by degrees, strength and 
 courage resumed their power, and, taking his 
 arm, she turned, with an almost regal air, 
 
 VOL I. G
 
 82 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 away from lier admiring guests, and conduct- 
 ing him to a portion of the saloon less crowded 
 than the rest, she seated herself, motioning 
 to him to take the unoccupied seat, which also 
 filled up the recess. There, shaded by the 
 sweeping velvet of the ponderous Avindow 
 curtain, they remained awhile, removed from 
 the inquiring eyes of the multitude, who that 
 night honoured Lady Marley with their pre- 
 sence. 
 
 Then it was that Harold Bulstrode felt 
 how utterly unconquerable were the sentiments 
 of affection, engendered in his breast, for her 
 who, thus evidently agitated and reciprocating 
 his attachment, sat silently overpowered by 
 his side. It was long — very long — before 
 they could trust themselves to speak. The 
 sound of her voice filled him with deep emo- 
 tion — those rich musical sounds so impressed 
 upon his memory! His replies to her ques- 
 tions were few and far between. For nearly 
 an hour, they were together thus. But, by 
 degrees, Edith, who manifested more command 
 of herself than he did, was able to draw 
 from him some answering responses. He was 
 completely under the spell-like influence of
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 83 
 
 her presence ; and ere long his own manner 
 responded to the genial force of that influence. 
 His manner, cold and repulsive to many, was 
 to her, ever and always, eminently winning 
 and tender, now she found it had remained 
 unaltered. Then there was such a peculiar 
 charm in his noble and expressive countenance, 
 The broad, wide forehead, so marked with 
 deep thought and firm determination; those 
 deep-speaking eyes — such beautiful eyes ! — 
 so brilliant and intellectual, so like in shape 
 and colour to her own, with the same long, 
 black, silken lashes ! But ever and anon from 
 • out them flashed forth stern blazes of fiery 
 wrath, and easily-roused passion, fearful to 
 behold ; but so softened in their glance and 
 their expression, when turned upon her, that 
 she hardly knew of their existence. Then 
 when he smiled, it was as if a ray of some 
 unearthly light illumined the whole coun 
 tenance, dispelling the stern meanings which 
 lurked round his firm and handsome mouth, 
 and enshrining the whole countenance with a 
 perfect halo of manly beauty. He was speak- 
 ing ere they parted. 
 
 " I can now realize some hope of happiness 
 
 g2
 
 84 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 in returning to mj native land. Some short 
 hours since I would have deemed it impossible 
 that I ever could be as happy as I this mo- 
 ment am. I would have laughed to scorn the 
 very supposition that such a thing was possi- 
 ble. Yet, strange as it may seem, I feel it 
 to be true. My heart is re-awakened to the 
 hope of joyful reunion, and the prospect of a 
 return of that affection which I deemed to be 
 lost for ever. The first — nay, the only wish 
 of my soul now is, Edith, that I may look 
 forward with confidence to the renewing of 
 that affection, which I prize beyond all this 
 world can offer to me. Though I may be to 
 you no more the lover of olden times, I claim 
 the privilege of being your friend. Yes, 
 Edith, a friend ten thousand times more truth- 
 ful and devoted than was ever such before. 
 May I not venture on the right of that friend- 
 ship — cold as the term must seem when 
 naming the sentiment which must henceforth 
 exist between us — may I not as that first 
 most privileged Mend, for the first time, 
 though not for the last, take this most dear 
 hand, and on it swear the fealty of our 
 Mendly covenant ; " so saying, he raised that
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 85 
 
 chiselled hand reverentially to his lips, then 
 kissed it affectionately — nay, passionately — 
 again and again. 
 
 The tears stood in Edith's eye ; her lips 
 quivered as she strove to reply, but the words 
 were unheard ; she pressed the hand still 
 holding hers with fervour, and in acceptance 
 of the bond and treaty of union, henceforth to 
 be between them. An energetic blessing 
 called down upon her a long, long look of deep 
 love; a sad, suppressed sigh, which told the 
 agony of separating, and he was gone ; she 
 was alone. 
 
 There was at all times in Lady Marley's 
 countenance an expression of mind and soul, 
 which had been the first charm that captivated 
 Harold's fastidious taste. Now the fascinating 
 impression was doubly increased. Though her 
 beauty was of a peculiar caste, and universally 
 admired, she was so singularly graceful and 
 artless, that it seemed as if she needed no 
 other attraction. The union of her beauty, 
 gaiety, and grace were so completely blended 
 into one, that they threw round her and abou^ 
 her a spell, which rendered every look and 
 action impossible to be resisted.
 
 86 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 Thus Harold renewed his old intimacy with 
 Edith Marley, and, as an old friend of hers, 
 was warmly and cordially received by Lord 
 Marley, and welcomed to his house. There 
 Harold found himself perfectly at home, and 
 regarded with sincere affection by the master 
 of the mansion. At Marley House his pride 
 and vanity were copiously administered to by 
 the adulation and deference paid to him. He 
 found himself courted and regarded in the 
 highest degree. He was looked upon with 
 the most favourable eyes, and the most flatter- 
 ing respect, by the numerous friends and 
 political associates of Lord Marley, whose con- 
 servative principles and party happened to be 
 those of Harold's family, as also of himself. 
 Thus it was that attraction was added to 
 attraction to bind him to his new friend, 
 when, indeed, none was required beyond the 
 charm of the lady herself. 
 
 In every point Harold Bulstrode was a very 
 proud man. He was proud of his old ancient 
 lineagO; his noble prospects and position — 
 proud of his talents, his hardly-earned reputa- 
 tion in the battle field, his prowess, and his 
 military achievements ; but, above all, he
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 87 
 
 was proud of his honourable and unstained 
 character. He would have defied any man 
 to mortal combat, and slain him willingly 
 in defence of that name and honour hitherto 
 so perfectly irreproachable. He would have 
 laughed to scorn the hints and inuendoes of 
 the slanderous world, had they been raised 
 or awakened by his intimacy with the young 
 and gifted Lady Marley, or, perchance, he 
 would have deemed them beneath his notice, 
 too insignificant to claim a thought. But 
 such hints and inuendoes Avere undreamt and 
 unthought of; for the proud lady was known 
 to be innocent as she was beautiful, pure, and 
 good, and virtuous as she was fair and gentle. 
 As years sped on, Harold was true to his 
 firm, unchanging friendship. He retained his 
 place in the afiection of Lord j\Larley, and 
 possessed, unaltered, the heart of Edith. He 
 had at once acquainted her with the family 
 arrangements contemplated by Sir Aldrich for 
 him, with reference to his little cousin, Mary 
 Bulstrode. He told her all the circumstances 
 of the case, and how he had promised his uncle 
 to gratify all his wishes, and carry out all his 
 plans. At first, a feeling of extreme anger
 
 88 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 was predominant in the heart of Edith. The 
 idea of Harold's marrying any one, no matter 
 who, was hard to be borne. It was a painful 
 and depressing idea, one that, at first, she 
 thought she could never bear to think of It 
 required much argument and persuasion on 
 his part to bring her to regard the matter in 
 any light but that of annoyance and vexation. 
 A marriage would, of course, so completely 
 separate him from herself — so utterly destroy 
 the compact of fraternal affection and devo- 
 tion, which he had so solemnly promised never 
 to resign, and which now was her sole hope 
 for happiness. 
 
 But little by little she began to compre- 
 hend the scheme more perfectly, and dis- 
 covered that the union with his cousin would 
 greatly advantage and benefit him. As soon 
 as this point was established in her mind, she 
 shortly came round to view the subject more 
 calmly. By degrees her objections were with- 
 drawn, and finally she became a convert to his 
 views. When she became convinced that the 
 arrangements were solely to advance his pros- 
 pects, and increase his wealthy and that not one 
 particle of love or of affection existed towards
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 89 
 
 the little sickly, spoilt cousin, all hesitation at 
 once vanished. The event of his marriage was 
 viewed even with complacency. The only feel- 
 ing of regret mixed with the idea was solely 
 that Harold would be sacrificed to his family 
 aggrandizement — that he was to be the vic- 
 tim of the Bulstrode advancement. Of the 
 unfortunate little Mary no note was taken, no 
 trouble felt for her, no feeling of distress for 
 the sacrifice that she would make of her affec- 
 tions, hopes, or happiness. Secure in her own 
 loveliness and matured talents, and trium- 
 phantly aware of her own powers over Harold, 
 Lady Marley henceforth cared not one whit 
 for the child, who, unformed, immature, and 
 uninteresting was to have the name only of 
 the man whose heart she totally and entirely 
 possessed herself.
 
 90 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Fast bind the vow, its mystic charm 
 No future recantation can disarm ; 
 The right vindictive does thy fate involve, 
 No tears can move it, no regrets dissolve." 
 
 White. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL Shetland pony was purchased 
 by Sir Aldrich, and presented to his grand- 
 daughter. It was a charming sight to see the 
 little graceful girl seated on the pretty, spirited 
 little animal, trotting by the side of the huge 
 black steed which bore the ponderous weight 
 of her grandfather. From the night of his 
 passionate outbreak with his sister, not a word 
 had been breathed by him with reference to 
 the painful disagreement. 
 
 Calmness spread over the domestic circle of
 
 THE YOUJ^G BRIDE. 91 
 
 Bulstrode, and the gift of the pony seemed to 
 be a peace offering ; for unusual serenity pos- 
 sessed Sir Aldrich, and he experienced great 
 delight in witnessing Mary's pleasure with her 
 new favourite. Accustomed to riding from 
 her very early childhood, the little girl was a 
 brave and graceful equestrian, and charmed 
 the baronet with her pretty appearance ; so 
 that the current of all things ran smoothly on. 
 
 A visit to the sea, whose bracing influence 
 had been prescribed for Mary, took up two or 
 three happy months, and gave Mrs. Pene- 
 lope a respite from her brother's iron rule, as 
 he did not accompany the party. There, 
 strolling on the sandy beach, or resting be- 
 neath the stupendous rocks, the child gained 
 health and strength. There, too, the young 
 mind drank deeply of the pervading influences 
 around her; and stores were added to the 
 treasures of that dear young breast, to be 
 brought forward hereafter for enjoyment and 
 improvement. 
 
 Harold was not in her thoughts, as she 
 said often. She had had too much of him, 
 and would utterly banish him from her 
 thoughts as long as she could. So she did,
 
 92 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 and, until her return, she never heard his 
 name, or spoke it. Unfortunately, he was re- 
 called much sooner to her thoughts than she 
 dreamt of. 
 
 One fine afternoon, shortly after her return 
 from the sea-side, as she was coming home 
 from a pleasant ride on the Shetland with Sir 
 Aldrich, whom should she behold, as she can- 
 tered up to the steps of the hall-door, but the 
 unloved, unwished-for Harold ! 
 
 Mary drew a long sigh, very much resem- 
 bling a hysteric groan or gasp, when her eyes 
 fell upon his figure, as, with folded arms, he 
 stood haughtily regarding their approach. 
 With all his aristocraric beauty and nobleness 
 of form, the sight was perfectly hateful to the 
 child. Not so with Sir Aldrich ; he ahghted 
 joyfully from his horse, extending his hand 
 to his nephew, and cordially exclaiming as he 
 did so — 
 
 " Ah ! Harold, you here ! Welcome, my 
 dear nephew. This is indeed an unexpected 
 pleasure, for in your last letter you said you 
 would be absent until the frost brought you 
 to wage war against the woodcocks." 
 
 "And so I thought then, my dear sir."
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 93 
 
 Then, for a wonder, Harold had the civility 
 to turn from his uncle and offer to assist 
 Mary from her saddle, an attention never be- 
 fore shown or thought of ; but the agile fairy 
 was too quick for him — in a moment she had 
 eluded his arms, and slipped off to the ground; 
 then, rapidly gathering up the skirt of her 
 habit, she ran up the steps as if she dreaded 
 any other proof of politeness from him, and 
 was out of sight in a moment. 
 
 Harold entered the house with Sir Aldrich, 
 to whom he continued speaking. 
 
 " I had no intention of leaving Scotland for 
 some weeks longer. The sport was capital ; 
 I never remember such glorious weather on 
 the moors — not one bad day all the time we 
 were there. But some affairs of importance 
 obliged Lord Marley to leave, and the same 
 matters induced me to hurry up to London 
 with him.'' 
 
 " Nothing unpleasant, I trust, Harold ?" 
 
 " Why, no, my dear uncle, not exactly 
 unpleasant, but a totally unlooked for and un- 
 expected event." 
 
 '' What was it ?" 
 
 " Only a very flattering offer was sent to
 
 94 THE^ YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 me from Government, requesting me to accept 
 an Indian appointment of considerable import- 
 ance — one that I never could have Imped for. 
 far above anything that my former services 
 could warrant me to expect.'' 
 
 ^^And have you accepted the offer, nephew?" 
 ^' Of course, my dear sir, I did. How 
 could I possibly refuse so flattering a remem- 
 brance of my claims ? You know, my dear, 
 uncle, how thoroughly I abominate idleness 
 and inaction. Only to please and gi'atify you, 
 to whom I owe so much, I would not have 
 lost so much time as I have done in England. 
 At your request I returned ; to please you, I 
 have remained so long in Europe. I trust you 
 will not be annoyed at this sudden change. 
 But surely you would not have me reject an 
 opportunity of distinguishing myself again, and 
 refuse a compliment so flatteringly bestowed?" 
 But the old man was angry, and did not 
 answer. On reaching the library, he had 
 seated himself in injured silence. He looked 
 exceedingly displeased, and Harold felt how 
 deep an impression had been made on his 
 irritable mind by the sudden announcement. 
 Therefore, he himself became silent, and did
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 95 
 
 not venture to intrude a word, knowing from 
 experience that quietness and solitude were 
 the only panaceas for the venerable baronet's 
 angry moods. After a short time, Harold 
 quitted the apartment, and left his uncle to 
 ruminate alone. 
 
 All during dinner silence was maintained 
 by each member of the family party in the 
 Bulstrode dining- hall. The long-continued 
 pompous meal passed w^earily away, and very 
 tediously, for nobody was at ease. Little 
 Mary was mute from dislike to Harold him- 
 self ; Sir Aldrich was so from positive rage ; 
 and the older ladies were likewise dumb from 
 a dread of some unknown impending evil. 
 
 The baronet drank deeper than he generally 
 did; and as the effect of the grape showed 
 itself, he became at length more placable and 
 serene ; so that by the time the ladies left the 
 dining-table, he was smoothened and softened 
 into a more favourable humour, and, seeing 
 this to be case, Harold addressed him. 
 
 " My dear uncle, I am very sorry to see 
 you so much depressed this evening. I greatly 
 fear that I troubled and annoyed you by ray 
 accepting this appointment without your sane-
 
 96 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 tion or approval. But, at the period I did 
 so, I was unable to command time to come to 
 you, or write to you, so as to be able to get 
 your reply before I gave a definite answer. 
 I feel perfectly assured you will not like me 
 to leave England, but what can I do ? My 
 dear sir, you are too well-judging, and too 
 generously-minded towards me, to wish me to 
 lose an opportunity of distinguishing myself 
 You are aware my inactive life does not suit 
 me : it is such a pity, I think, to resign one- 
 self in the hey-day of life and strength to a 
 do-nothing life. I feel quite disgusted with 
 myself for the length of useless time that has 
 rolled over my head since I returned from 
 India. You know I have ever been guided 
 by your advice in all things; therefore, I trust 
 now you will pardon and sanction this step 
 (the first one I have taken unadvisedly), and 
 that you will overlook the hurried arrange- 
 ment, contrary as it may be to your wishes, 
 and make allowance for the circumstances 
 under which I entered into the responsibility 
 under which I now am placed.'' 
 
 ^' Nephew," said Sir Aldrich " I am indeed 
 greatly troubled, and very much annoyed at
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 97 
 
 the whole afiair ; you acted too hastily and 
 rashly in binding yourself to any responsibilities 
 without first acquainting me. You know the 
 peculiar and anxious wishes of my heart, rela- 
 tive to the union of all the family properties ; 
 and, therefore, you must know how this change 
 of your plans must perplex me.'' 
 
 " My dear sir," interrupted Harold, '' I 
 know all, and feel your mind must be dis- 
 turbed at the idea of any falling off on my 
 part, with reference to your wishes. Such is 
 not the case — never can be — make your mind 
 easy on that score." 
 
 " Ah ! but, Harold, your departure before 
 the time arrives for the fulfilment of our treaty, 
 is a great source of uneasiness and distress to 
 me. I have ever loved you as my son, sin- 
 cerely and unselfishly. Your aggrandisement 
 has been the whole object of my wishes. Now, 
 since Egbert is lost to me, you fill his place, not 
 only as regards his birthright, but also in the 
 warm love of my heart. You should have 
 hesitated before you pledged yourself to a 
 scheme so utterly at variance with the plans, 
 wishes, and hopes of my whole life.'' 
 
 " My plea for pardon must be, that I never 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 TEE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 thought the arrangements of my appointment 
 could be so suddenly completed ; I hardly 
 knew anything of the matter till I was nomi- 
 nated. No one can feel more deeply and 
 gratefully your continual kindness and affec- 
 tion than I do ; and I beg to assure you, 
 nothing ever can or shall interfere or militate 
 against the fulfilment of the plan you have 
 formed for me and my cousin Mary." 
 
 " I hope not, my dear Harold : that plan is 
 one of vital importance to your future pro- 
 spects and prosperity. I do heartily wish 
 the time was come for the arrangement to 
 take place, so that all affairs should be defi- 
 nitely arranged. No one knows how matters 
 may turn out, when left in a state of uncer- 
 tainty. No matter how securely things may 
 seem to be arranged, there can be no certainty 
 till the marriage is legally solemnized. My 
 years are drawing to a close, and who can say 
 but that ere another year runs its course, I 
 may be but a ' clod of the valley ?' Long 
 before you return from this mission I may be 
 gone ; and then, perhaps, you may not find it 
 as easy as you now deem it to be, to carry out 
 our original plan. The child may grow up
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 99 
 
 with very different thoughts and wishes to 
 those we have formed and fostered for her. 
 She may be a determined, self-willed woman, 
 full of Bulstrode headstrong, stubborn self-will 
 — a girl with a will and way of her own, and 
 averse to our family compact. It may seem 
 impossible to make her feel the importance of 
 the union of so much wealth and family be- 
 longings. Last of all, but not least, is the 
 dread I have that she may form some attach- 
 ment elsewhere, and totally overthrow all my 
 arrangements. That last and greatest misfor- 
 tune would be the worst that could befall her 
 and you too." 
 
 ^' If such troublesome thoughts beset you, 
 my dear uncle — and really they are very just 
 and reasonable fears — why not put into exeo.u- 
 tion and practice, the other arrangements of 
 which we have before spoken ? Cheer up, 
 my dear sir; you know I would not break 
 faith with you for worlds. You are assured 
 that your washes shall be implicitly carried 
 out by me, now or at any other time you 
 choose. No one knows better than I do the 
 vast importance of a union with my cousin ; I 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 should be indeed an idiot to wish to alter any- 
 thing relative to it." 
 
 "- 1 believe you, my dear nephew. My mind 
 is quite at ease about your wish to promote 
 the great subject of my anxiety. Your in- 
 terests are mine — mine are yours. There can 
 be no doubt of our mutually aiding and assist- 
 ing each other. I can but do my best, and 
 keep a strict watch on Mary, while I live ; 
 and perhaps I may, before I die, have the 
 happiness of placing her out of all reach of 
 danger, in your keeping." 
 
 " But, uncle, if my memory fails me not, 
 you formed a plan, which you detailed to me, 
 about my union with Mary. You were ill at 
 the time, and fears, similar to those which now 
 haunt you, troubled and disturbed you then. 
 Do you remember your anxiety for a private 
 marriage, even at my cousin's childish age, so 
 as to secure her completely? Should you 
 again think of putting such a design into 
 execution, you may rsly on my being ready 
 and willing to agree to it." 
 
 " I have never lost sight of that plan, 
 Harold. I remember all and everything 
 about it. It was a scheme formed after much
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 101 
 
 serious thought and deliberation. I have not 
 the least objection to re-consider it, for to me 
 it seems a most admirable plan. There can 
 be no possible objection to the performance of 
 the ceremony, which hereafter would give you 
 power to claim her as your wife ; the settle- 
 ments being duly made and drawn up, so that 
 your title to wife and wealth would be unde- 
 niable." 
 
 ^^Just so, sir. T have of late pondered 
 over the subject, and come to the same opinion 
 as you have. Mary being securely mine, can 
 have no pretext for not receiving me as her 
 husband, on my return. By that time she 
 will have grown to a suitable age, and be im- 
 pressed with the advantages which must accrue 
 to herself from our union. As a child, it is 
 no use arguing now with her ; in years to 
 come she will be glad that the step was taken, 
 which at present she may rebel against. It is 
 a matter of the first importance. There can- 
 not be any impropriety in carrying out our 
 family arrangements. Young as Mary is, 
 every one must feel that the marriage is for 
 her benefit as well as for mine, and, there- 
 fore, there can be no surprise about it. I
 
 102 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 really think the union should take place, and 
 that my departure offers a most excellent 
 reason for it. I know how generously your 
 inclinations lean towards me, and I feel with 
 you that there can he no security for our 
 interests during my absence, but in the prose- 
 cution of this plan." 
 
 " I said so a year ago, Harold." 
 
 " You did, sir ; but then I felt very averse 
 to the apparent injustice of binding down such 
 a mere child for life. Now she is older, has 
 considerable sense, and can be easily reasoned 
 with to her own benefit. You, uncle, have 
 deep sagacity and unrelenting stability of 
 purpose, with a long-sighted nature, that far 
 surpasses mine. But, then, I may possess a 
 quicker art to complete a plot ; it was from 
 knowing and feeling this to be the case, [that I 
 begged you to remain quiet and inactive in 
 this matter for a while. Now, I think, it is a 
 favourable time and opportunity to concede to 
 your desire ; and, in consequence, I have 
 hurried hither to-day, to consult and arrange, 
 and lay my opinions before you. Separated, 
 our interests and properties are insecure, and 
 lose half their real value ; united, they are 
 safe and prosperous."
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 103 
 
 ^' Your reasoning is just and right, Harold, 
 and fully agrees in every iota with my ideas. 
 All things, and especially present circum- 
 stances, warrant a marriage. To no one in the 
 world would I consent to relinquish my trea- 
 sure — my precious Mary — but to yourself. I 
 have fondly nurtured, and tenderly reared 
 the darling child. I love her above and be- 
 yond all this whole earth possesses. '' 
 
 '^Eelinquish her, Sir Aldrich ! 1 never 
 dreamed of such a thing ; I never asked you 
 to do so, years may, must roll over us both 
 before I can think of claiming my wife from 
 you ; the gift you are so willing, generously 
 to bestow upon me, shall be yours, wholly and 
 entirely yours. Surely our present plan is 
 only an act of expediency and necessity, to 
 secure all our interests as they should be here 
 after. All things must be as you wish to have 
 them — believe me no interference on my part 
 shall ever militate against your power and au- 
 thority over Mary." 
 
 "Thanks, Harold — I fully and confidently 
 rely upon all you have said — I fully believe 
 you will honestly discharge the duties which 
 will devolve upon you not only now, but when
 
 104 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 you become my successor, and take your place in 
 the list of our old line. But the eyes of the 
 world will be on us, its clamours will be raised 
 vehemently against us — in the judgment of the 
 over scrupulous, the step we are about to take 
 will be decried and abused as an unwarrantable 
 one. However, we will take no heed of rumour 
 or scandal ; we have our own consciences to 
 guide us, and our own ends to attain. Our 
 plans and projects are of too much consequence 
 to ourselves, and of none to others, so that we 
 need care but little for the censure or approval 
 of a gossiping censorious world '' 
 
 " Why my dear uncle, if you and I are con- 
 vinced of the propriety and expediency of our 
 proceedings, I do not think we need mind the 
 opinion or gossip of indifferent persons.'^ 
 
 " Certainly not, Harold, our only difficulty 
 is with my sister — she is so confoundly straight 
 laced, and puritanical in her ideas and senti- 
 ments, that I very much fear that this project 
 will drive her to desperation ; she is so 
 deucedly methodistical that she will denounce 
 us to the world, as profligate covetous sinners. 
 As for the child, she is so devotedly fond of 
 her, that she will work upon her feelings, until
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 105 
 
 the little creature will be brought into a state 
 of rebellion against us Penelope will upset 
 everything ; when I think of her I hardly 
 know how to commence operations — only for 
 her, methodistical fool that she is, matters 
 would be easy enough — you know yourself my 
 dear nephew, how confoundedly hard it is to 
 get her to agree to anything that she chooses 
 to consider wrong." 
 
 " Ah I certainly my aunt will be a stumbling 
 block in the way ; she will be wonderfully 
 furious and irate I am quite sure — indeed, 1 
 feel convinced that she will from a feeling of 
 duty, give us all the hindrance she possibly 
 can." 
 
 " Without a doubt, Harold, she will, still, 
 perhaps she may not dare to do or say too 
 much against my will, when she sees that I 
 am sternly determined to proceed." 
 
 " Well, sir, we must only work silently, and 
 allow her to have no suspicion of our in- 
 tentions ; by this way of acting, we shall de- 
 ceive her completely, and, freed from her inter- 
 ference with Mary, and opposition to ourselves, 
 we shall out-general her, and carry out our 
 own operations.
 
 106 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 " Oh ! it would be impossible to keep our 
 secret from her, especially where the child is 
 concerned ; every thing about Mary is soon 
 found out." 
 
 " What think you, uncle, as to acting mys- 
 teriously? Plan a little trip to London, on 
 business ; carry the child with you for com- 
 pany, and to show her the sights and lions of 
 town — there will be no suspicion ; you will 
 leave all spies behind, and then the game will 
 be in our own hands." 
 
 " Yery good, and feasible too, Harold ; it 
 might be done, but there is the governess, and? 
 Mary is never allowed anywhere without either 
 her or Penelope." 
 
 '^ That is no matter ; you can proclaim a 
 fortnight's holydays, and dispense with all 
 care and attendance, excepting nurse ; she is 
 too simple or ignorant to see or suspect any 
 thing." 
 
 ^^ To be sure it can be arranged as you say ; 
 I can act exactly in accordance with your ad- 
 vice ; it is a capital arrangement. Besides, 
 Mary has a painful tooth, and has been oft- 
 times complaining of it ; Leslie advised that a 
 dentist should see it. I will arrange every-
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 107 
 
 thing ; and, on our return, there will be no 
 use in recriminations ; the deed will be done, 
 and the women will see the necessity of mak- 
 ing the best of it. How soon must you leave 
 England ?" 
 
 ^' Not before two months, I think. I shall 
 make all arrangements for your journey to 
 London, and will meet you there to assist in 
 forwarding the necessary preliminaries. You 
 need not come up to town until immediately 
 before my day of sailing." 
 
 " Certainly not. A few days will suffice 
 for us to be in London together. Mary will 
 be fourteen next month. I shall, as you 
 say, only take the child's attendant, and my 
 own, Walters ; so that we shall be free from 
 all inquisitive watchers. After all, this may be 
 the wisest way of conducting the affair ; for 
 added years, and Penelope's increasing power 
 over Mary, might only be the cause of in- 
 creased opposition to the marriage at any 
 time, no matter how distant.'' 
 
 And so saying, the uncle and nephew sepa- 
 rated for the night, mutually pleased with each 
 other. The departure of Harold did not take 
 place for a week or ten days after the im-
 
 108 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 portant conversation had taken place. During 
 his stay at Bulstrode, long confidential com- 
 munications took place between him and Sir 
 Aldrich — weighty and important arrangements 
 were decided upon — drafts of settlements were 
 noted down ; and, in fact, they were eternally 
 engaged in the consideration of investments of 
 huge accumulated sums, which the maternal 
 predecessors of poor Mary had brought into 
 the family, as it proved, to render her a slave. 
 There were long rides, too, with little Mary 
 as their companion ; and poor Tiny permitted 
 to follow at a humble distance. There was a 
 change — a visible change in cousin Harold's 
 manner — so Mary said ; but for all that, there 
 was no possibility of repressing her outbreaks 
 of frantic delight, when she saw him drive off 
 from Bulstrode, and when she rushed up to 
 Aunt Pen's boudoir to tell her that Harold 
 said he was going away for a long, very long 
 time, and would not come home from India till 
 she would be a great woman.
 
 109 
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 ■ While duty bids me all thy griefs assuage, 
 And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age." 
 
 White. 
 
 Foe a fortnight after Harold left Bulstrode, 
 Mrs. Penelope was very alarmingly ill, and she 
 continued so weak for a long time after, that 
 serious fears were at one time experienced for 
 her. A slight bruise on her lip brought on 
 erysipelas, to whicli the dear old lady had 
 always been subject, and it spread over her 
 whole face and head, bringing with it high 
 fever, and consequent delmum. But she 
 rallied after some time, and gradually began 
 to regain her lost strength.
 
 110 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 She had been completely confined for more 
 than a month to her own room, so that she had 
 never seen her brother all that time, as he had 
 an intense aversion to sick rooms and invalids. 
 Mary scarcely ever left her dear aunt, so that 
 Sir Aldrich had to be most commanding and 
 authorative in compelling her to accompany 
 him in his daily rides. Poor little girl ! she 
 was obliged to comply with his command ; but 
 it was with a bad grace, and most sorely 
 against her will and inclination. The idea of 
 leaving Aunt Pen all the time she would be 
 out, lonely, and sad, and sick, while she was 
 riding and enjoying the fresh, pure air, and 
 Shetland's jolly canter, was too much, she 
 could not bear it. 
 
 The old lady was so completely wrapped up 
 in her darling little niece, that her return to 
 her sick room alwavs seemed to revive her, 
 and Mrs. Penelope grudged to lose sight of 
 her, even for a moment. The girl's gentleness 
 and feeling attentions were unceasing ; and 
 each day added to the mutual affection and 
 love of the aunt and niece. Often, while em- 
 ployed in fond offices of devoted love, Mary 
 would find the soft eyes of Mrs. Penelope
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. Ill 
 
 intently fixed upon her, and observe that their 
 expression was ever deeply sad and mournful. 
 
 One evening, after a severe and length- 
 ened paroxysm of pain, and consequent 
 debility, Mrs. Penelope fell into a deep sleep. 
 Mary, who stood by the couch on which 
 the poor worn-out invalid was lying, had 
 one little arm under the loved old head, 
 supporting it against her slender form. The 
 attitude in which she stood was fatiguing, and 
 very cramped and distressing. No power 
 could induce her to alter it, or make any 
 change. The old lady reposed long — for hours 
 — and seemed to find in her position some- 
 thing most unusually comforting. The day- 
 light faded into the shades of night, still there 
 was no sign of awakening; the moon rose, and 
 poured a flood of light upon the sleeping 
 woman and the watching child, yet there was 
 no symptom of the sleep terminating. 
 
 Mary became pale from constraint, then 
 weak from fatigue, exhausted for want of 
 food ; but not an inch w^ould she move from 
 the coveted place, where her help and pre- 
 sence gave rest and relief. Not a word was 
 spoken, not a movement made ; for quiet —
 
 112 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 absolute quiet — had been pronounced neces- 
 sary to preserve the doubtful life of the vener- 
 able sufferer. 
 
 In vain madame, nurse, and all the female 
 attendants tried to coax the sinking Mary 
 to resign her post. No, nothing could induce 
 her even to raise her head. At length, in 
 reply to an earnest entreaty, she said — 
 
 " Have done, I implore you ; not for worlds 
 would I move one jot — not if I died for it.^' 
 
 Oh, then ! how fully was that little affec- 
 tionate being gratified ! — how was that warm 
 heart rewarded with the intent, absorbing look 
 of profound affection and thankfulness, cast 
 upon her by that aunt she so tenderly and 
 unselfishly nursed and cared, who, roused from 
 her slumber by the unusual vehemence of 
 Mary's voice, became at once aware of the 
 untiring care bestowed upon her comfort. 
 
 In such tender offices of love and duty did 
 time fly, till Mrs. Penelope was declared con- 
 valescent; but it was very long before she 
 wholly regained her wonted strength. 
 
 The educational course of Mary had been 
 rapidly going on, and no cause of annoyance 
 or dread of disturbance had arisen in the
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 113 
 
 family. The total separation from the society 
 of his sister, caused by her long illness, had 
 been a matter of much rejoicing to the baronet 
 on many accounts ; and, therefore, he did not 
 urge her return to the drawing-room and its 
 attendant duties. 
 
 Indeed, Sir Aldrich appeared to enjoy a 
 peculiar serenity of aspect and demeanour, 
 most unusual to him ; his manners became 
 softened and altered, his temper almost gentle. 
 This wonderful change was not lost upon his 
 household and retainers, who all and each 
 felt the influence of this new and happy mood 
 of the arbitrary man, and drew auspicious 
 omens of its continuance, and the consequent 
 comfort to be derived from it by themselves. 
 
 Harold paid a few short, hasty visits at 
 Bulstrode during his aunt's illness and con- 
 valescence. He publicly announced his in- 
 tended departure for India. A long and 
 voluminous correspondence was commenced 
 and continued between the baronet and various 
 business people in London ; and rumours 
 were afloat of large unwieldy packages of 
 books and parchments, with almost ante- 
 diluvian dates, being drawn from their hiding- 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 U4 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 places, and iron safes, to be perused and copied 
 by strange clerk-like men, sent for the purpose 
 to Bulstrode. Legal gentlemen, law advisers 
 to the family, performed many journeys back- 
 wards and forwards ; and some secret mission 
 only known to Sir Aldrich, and Harold Bul- 
 strode, was evidently in agitation. 
 
 These unusual circumstances caused some 
 sensation among the members of the lower 
 house, but no rumours of them ever reached 
 the corner of the mansion where the ladies of 
 Bulstrode were peacefully located ; indeed, 
 they never knew or interfered with any 
 business matters, so that these things would 
 never have raised any surmises or sentiments 
 of curiosity in their minds. 
 
 It was in consequence of the political in- 
 fluence of Lord Marley, that Harold Bulstrode 
 had been appointed to fill the important post 
 entrusted to him, relative to an Indian 
 mission of extreme importance. This noble- 
 man's family influence was extremely great, no 
 less than his political. He himself had just 
 been nominated to go out as Governor-Gene- 
 ral to India. Then it was that, on the know- 
 ledge of this fact, and unable to bear the
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 115 
 
 thought of a separation from the being he so 
 fondly loved and worshipped, Harold had 
 hearkened to Edith's wish that he should ac- 
 company her and her husband to India, if 
 some suitable appointment could be procured 
 likewise fur him. She set herself to work im- 
 mediately, and, with her husband's powerful 
 interest and her own untiring exertions, soon 
 achieved the desired end, and got for Harold 
 the command he had long wished to obtain. 
 Thus was he enabled to gratify his anxious 
 desire 'of remaining with Edith, wherever she 
 might be, and being the companion of her 
 travels and voyages. 
 
 After all arrangements had been satis- 
 factorily settled, Harold thought it necessary 
 to tell Lady Marley the change which was to 
 be made in his affairs, in connection with his 
 cousin. It was a great pleasure to him that 
 she did not offer any objections to the plan, or 
 seem to consider it an unwarrantable one. 
 Poor lady ! she only gloried in the knowledge 
 that, whatever might happen to him, his 
 affections were most irrevocably hers, that she 
 alone reigned sole mistress of his heart. 
 
 Mrs. Penelope was getting gradually on to- 
 
 i2
 
 116 THE YOUNG BRIDL. 
 
 wards renewed health and renovated strength. 
 She was able to drive out in the pony-chaise 
 each afternoon. These drives were sources of 
 perfect enjoyment to Mary, who, with a steady, 
 demure air, brandished her whip, and guided 
 the pony through the devious paths and wood 
 glades of Bulstrode — proud, very proud, at 
 being considered able to do so much. Those 
 drives were a very great treat to both aunt 
 and niece ; and the roads all round the park 
 and demesne were beautiful. The afternoons 
 were deliciously fresh and invigorating. As 
 they slowly wended their way, one evening, 
 at a gentle pace, Mary was in high spirits, 
 chatting to her aunt and madame (who occu- 
 pied the little back seat of the chaise) inces- 
 santly. The light danced amongst the trees, 
 and sparkled on the gay primroses and hare- 
 bells, and on the sweet blue violets, which 
 peeped from amid the dark green underwood. 
 The rich moss which covered the old trees, 
 was of a bright and brilliant hue like unto 
 that of emeralds. They turned the pony under 
 long rows of lime trees, by the side of the 
 noisy silver stream, which poured itself into 
 the broad, glassy lake, one of the principal
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 117 
 
 ornaments of Bulstrode Park. The sufferings 
 of the past weeks had given the old lady re- 
 newed zest to enjoy the rich luxuriant beauties 
 which surrounded her, and for which she had 
 so long pined. 
 
 " Oh, aunt," said Mary, as she reined up 
 the little steed by the water-side, ^^do you 
 think anybody could be unhappy here ?" 
 
 " Alas ! yes, Mary ; wayward, sinful man 
 may be unhappy even here. The happiness 
 of heaven itself is distasteful — nay, hateful — 
 to the wicked." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! the wicked, aunt, could not 
 enjoy any happiness ; but I am not thinking 
 of them, only of ourselves. Grandpapa, for 
 instance, surely, here in this lovely spot, he 
 could not find it in his heart even to be angry 
 for a moment ?" 
 
 The aunt made no reply, so Mary prattled 
 gaily on. 
 
 " You know, aunty, that grandpapa ought 
 never to be angry. Think of all the blessings 
 he possesses : health, yes, he has health — 
 everyone says wonderful health and strength, 
 for his age — wealth, that, too, he has — money, 
 and lands, and gold beyond counting; friends,
 
 lis THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 oh ! many friends, kind, good, loving ones- 
 such a sister, too ! Yes, you know there never 
 was, nor never will be, such another as his 
 old Pen ; a little grandchild, pretty tolerably 
 good ; and, oh ! I was going to say something 
 of his nephew — but never mind, no matter 
 about him, we'll pass the comfort of him over. 
 So, you see, we have counted up his health 
 and wealth, friends and relatives — what more 
 can he want ? " 
 
 "Nothing more, darling, from this earth. 
 He is indeed richly favoured with the goods 
 of this life. The requirements of life are but 
 few — our imaginary wants, legion. Scripture 
 tells us that ^ man's life consisteth not in the 
 abundance he possesses,' but that contentment 
 of mind with godliness is the great gain." 
 
 " Yes, aunt, but is grandpapa contented ?" 
 
 " I trust so, Marv." 
 
 " Then, why does he want me to marry 
 Harold, for the sake of keeping so much more 
 money than he can use, together ?" 
 
 " Because, darling, large estates will belong 
 to your cousin when your grandpapa is no 
 more. Harold must inherit them, with the 
 baronetcy — that is, the family claim to the
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 119 
 
 ' Sir/ which is put before the christian name 
 of each Bulstrode heir and representative. 
 Your grandmamma, great-grandmamma, and 
 your own angelic mother, all had large fortunes, 
 which belong to you. Now, to unite all to- 
 gether, my brother intends to marry you to 
 Harold, so that none of your money shall go 
 to other persons ; and you can be still mistress 
 of Bulstrode, and owner of all attached to it, 
 equally as if it did not go from your own pos- 
 session ; as husband and wife, there can be no 
 division of interests, or separation of properties, 
 on grandpapa's death." 
 
 "I am afraid, Aunt Pen, grandpapa is an 
 idolater.'' 
 
 " For shame, Mary — an idolater ! — what do 
 you mean ?" 
 
 ^^ Simply because all grandpapa's desires are 
 for money — coveting to add wealth to wealth 
 — gold to gold — land to land — where it is not 
 needed. Don't you remember the Bible says, 
 ^ Beware of covetousness, which is idolatry ?' " 
 
 " You should remember, my dear child, that 
 Sir Aldrich is not coveting any thing for him- 
 self — all his anxieties are for you — his affection 
 for you makes him careful for many things 
 beyond the one thing needful."
 
 120 THE TOXrSG BRIDE. 
 
 "Then that is a pity, auntv — a sad. sad 
 pity. 
 
 " Man wants bnt little here below. 
 Nor wants that little long/' 
 
 Oh ! I want but little ; I only want the air 
 and breath of heaven — my daily bread — the 
 grace of God to keep and bless me — you, 
 aimt, to lore me — the kind, good firiends I 
 have, to care for me. Let cousin Harold hare 
 all and everything; 111 hare none of him." 
 
 Mrs. Penelope looked as if she could not 
 speak ; but madame, kindly placing her hand 
 on the shoulder of the child, said — 
 
 "Mary, my dear pupil, your wants are 
 known to a merciful Father ; He can do more, 
 and better, and more abundantly, for you 
 than you can either desire or deserve. He may, 
 by a touch — a breathing of His holy spirit — 
 change your heart, and thereby change your 
 mind in all things. Nature has given you a 
 soul of finest mould ; and the deep religious 
 feeling in which you have been nurtured, has 
 imbued you with a singleness of mind which 
 can never, I trust, be wholly obliterated. To 
 please Sir Aldrich, you will change the sisterly 
 affection which you ought to feel towards your
 
 T0C9# IZIDi;. 
 
 eoiKzii, far tibe rfiygi i i, deepa, 
 flfmwife. Yo«willksAe 
 of Kiftj^ A^appf, 
 an wi^cs togediflr. Widi jom to Iwe Ub, 
 jon- kKiMod wffl beeoM an tint jov iMBii 
 cobU deare Um to Ik to JOS. Heinilme 
 Ae ^y wodd, lie wSl aladi 
 andliiere wiU be aodd^licfee jam, I 
 and pnj, bat kifiyuiea and (^nstiaa 
 
 ftr, vaim «s are IIk dty% lii 
 
 stin cbOlT, »d jfMV ant k Bot m a 
 
 to bear w^ kmaiftT the €3gM
 
 122 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 -Let it plead 
 
 In my behalf, who am a feeble girl, 
 Too feeble to resist. Ah ! do not force me 
 To wed that man ! I am afraid of him ! 
 I do not love him. On my knees I beg thee 
 To use no violence, nor do in haste 
 What cannot be undone." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 The week at last arrived which had been 
 named, by the new Governor-general of India, 
 as the one that was to witness his departure 
 from England, to take up the reins of govern- 
 ment, which was henceforth to devolve upon 
 him — with his lady, staff, retinue, and 
 suite, and all the necessary and attendant 
 etceteras. He had engaged the goodly India-
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 123 
 
 man Trafalgar to carry him and his fortunes 
 to the seat of his future government. As 
 Harold Bulstrode had arranged to depart with 
 him, he, of course, was included in the party. 
 
 About ten days before this 6 vent was to 
 take place, Harold left Brighton, where he had 
 been staying with the Marleys, and hastened 
 up to London. On arriving there, he wrote 
 to Sir Aldrich, to acquaint him with the utter 
 impossibility of his getting down again to Bul- 
 strode before his departure ; at the same time 
 requesting his uncle to hasten up to him, to 
 say ' farewell,' and see him before he set off on 
 his journey. 
 
 Prepared in his own mind for the summons, 
 Sir Aldrich issued orders for immediate pre- 
 paration to be made for setting out at once, 
 and proclaimed his intention of leaving home 
 next day. J^fter some little time, he an- 
 nounced that he would take Mary, as his 
 travelling companion, attended by her nurse 
 only, for the purpose of a little recreation, as 
 well as for the inspection of a dentist. 
 
 He told his granddaughter a thousand 
 things to add to her anxiety to accompany 
 him. She was to see the shows and wonders
 
 124 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 of London ; she was to buy books, and maps, 
 and everything she fancied ; she was to get 
 plants and flowers for Aunt Pen ; her likeness 
 for madame ; remembrances for all her friends. 
 The dentist — that horrid man !— was the only 
 drawback to her anticipated felicity ; but even 
 that she was willing to put up with. Perhaps, 
 after all, that weary eye-tooth, which was 
 pressing so violently on its next neighbour, 
 would not require to be taken out. Poor 
 Mary ! her cup of anticipated happiness 
 seemed full to overflowing. 
 
 With all her rapturous expectations, and 
 happy prognostications, she did feel her spirits 
 damped at the idea of leaving Aunt Pen be- 
 hind her. Poor madame, too ! They would 
 both miss her so dreadfully, and be so dull 
 and lonely till her return ; that but for the 
 fear of ofiending grandpapa, she would have 
 asked permission to stay at home. But both 
 the ladies cheered and comforted her, and pro- 
 mised to write to her every day ; so that at 
 last she became quite reconciled to the separ- 
 ation which, at most, was not to exceed a fort- 
 night. 
 
 Mary could not sleep all the night previous
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 125 
 
 to her journey — her first journey — the very 
 first time she had ever been to London. It 
 was true she had often been to the sea, but, 
 then, that was only a dozen miles off, and not 
 a bit like travelling all the way from the next 
 town to the metropolis, a distance of some 
 seventy miles by rail — a mode of transit of 
 which she could form no idea. When she rose on 
 the eventful morning, she was in a state of the 
 utmost excitement and delight. It was very 
 early when she rambled forth through the 
 gardens and pleasure-grounds, especially to 
 regard her flowers. Then on to a neighbour- 
 ing paddock, where her pet Iamb was happily 
 grazing in company with Shetland ; thence 
 onward to the aviary, where a particular 
 corner held her own favourite canaries, taking 
 a tender leave of those dear pets, which she 
 had reared herself. Poor Tiny, too, he ran by 
 her side, looking wistfully up to her face, as if 
 aware she was about to leave him, he looked 
 so very unhappy, that she felt she must ask 
 leave to carry him with her. She had to reite- 
 rate all sorts of charges, and directions, for 
 the care of her various treasures, animate, and 
 inanimate, so, that by the time breakfast was
 
 126 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 over, she had but a very little while to re- 
 main with her aunt alone. 
 
 Mrs Penelope was very low and sad — she 
 had never before been separated for one night 
 from her Mary, who always shared her cham- 
 ber, and had done so from the very night of 
 her melancholy entrance into life. As the 
 darling of her heart ran into her room, pre- 
 pared for travelling, the old lady received her 
 with outstretched arms, and fond kisses. She 
 sighed often, and heavily, for unusual depres- 
 sion was upon her spirits. Mary sat upon her 
 knee, for though fourteen years old, she had 
 never resigned the seat on that dear lap, which 
 ever had been her happiest position. As the 
 little girl looked into aunty's careworn face, 
 she said nothing, but quietly kissed her again 
 and again; for the little heart, too, was heavy." 
 
 " You must not be sorry, aunt Pen ; I shall 
 not be two weeks away, so grandpapa pro- 
 mised, and then I shall have so much to tell 
 you of, and to describe, that you will be quite 
 glad I went away for a little while ; you must 
 take great care of yourself, for my sake, won't 
 you aunty ?" 
 
 " Yes, precious one, and you, too, must be
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 127 
 
 very careful of your dear little self; you have 
 never been away from me before, and I shall 
 be very anxious about you, you may be sure/' 
 
 ^^ You need not worry about me, auntj 
 because I shall be so steady, and good, and 
 quiet, I can't possibly run into danger, or take 
 any cold/' 
 
 ''1 hope you will be very good, Mary, 
 grandpapa will be entirely dependant on you, 
 for society, and for comfort, when your cousin 
 departs. But, the dentist may alarm you, 
 and, I know my little girl is not lion-hearted, 
 but very apt to be nervous, and easily fright- 
 ened." 
 
 " Oh ! not frightened about one tooth, 
 aunt, I don't think I am such a coward as 
 that, I don't think I shall mind him, a bit ; I 
 am only alarmed at the thought of leaving you, 
 darling aunty Pen, all lonely, and dull, and 
 miserable. Oh ! if grandpapa wanted to 
 make me really happy, he would not have 
 left you behind ; but I should have been too 
 happy if I had you always." 
 
 '^ Oh ! dearest, you will be very happy, I 
 trust, and not want me ; you must not teaze 
 my brother, with your wishes about me, he
 
 128 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 does not like to be wearied and annoyed. I 
 am very glad you are going to London, and 
 that you will have such a delightful excursion. 
 You can write me long accounts of every 
 thing you see, that appears strange, and 
 wonderful, to you. Grandpapa will take 
 great delight in showing you every place 
 worth seeing, and, besides, it will be a novelty 
 to him, to have you all to himself. Nurse Car- 
 roll will do every thing for you, and sleep in 
 your room, so, that when you awake, during 
 the night, you will not find yourself alone, or 
 lonely ; you will see your cousin Harold, too, 
 before he leaves Europe, and part good friends 
 with him. Let nothing, I implore you, tempt 
 you, to take offence at anything he now may 
 say, or do ; poor fellow, he goes to a distant 
 land, to a dangerous climate, and on a doubt- 
 ful mission ; you may never see him more, a 
 thousand things may prevent it ; so, let no bit- 
 ter, unkind feelings, mingle in your manner 
 now, towards him. When he does return, it 
 will not be for many years." 
 
 " How long will he remain in India, 
 aunty ? " 
 
 " Perhaps, six years — so he said to me, the
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 129 
 
 other day, unless, lie added, that your grand- 
 papa should write, to urge his return sooner ; 
 then, of course, he would come home/* 
 
 " Six years ! — six beautiful long years ! — 
 oh ! aunty, how delightful — how charming ! 
 — I am so very, very glad, I can't tell you ! 
 I did not think he would be long away — 
 maybe only months, or a year or two — but 
 six years ! — why, we shall be just like the 
 mice, that play when the cat's away — we 
 shan't know ourselves — we shall grow so self- 
 confident, and happy, and saucy. He will 
 come home like a grand ^ bashaw,' with three 
 tails, at the very least — fond of pepper and 
 curry, and all fiery things, like himself; but I 
 shan't mind him then one bit ; I shall be — let 
 me see, how old shall I be then ? — six years 
 to fourteen — just twenty years old, I declare 
 and protest — a grown-up woman — quite a full- 
 grown young lady. Then he can't vex me 
 much— he can't have everything just as he 
 pleases — ^he can't make me marry him — or 
 dare not look thunder-clouds at me or Tiny. 
 He shall reverence and respect you too, 
 aunty. I shall be Miss Bulstrode to him 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 then; just as grand, and haughty, and careless, 
 as himself." 
 
 At this moment the sonorous voice of Sir 
 Aldrich was heard at the stair-foot, loudly 
 calling for Mary, who had already kept him 
 waiting some time — a circumstance which his 
 temper never could stand — so that he was 
 fuming with passion when the little girl joined 
 him. She ran down, jumped into the car- 
 riage, and seated herself silently by the 
 baronet's side, not daring to say one word, or 
 shed one tear. Gradually he became soothed 
 and softened, and ere they lost sight of the 
 hills and woods in which Bulstrode lay environed, 
 the old man was listening, with pleasure, to 
 the merry chat of the dear child. 
 
 " Good-bye, dear old Bulstrode," she said, 
 as she kissed her pretty little hand, playfully, 
 and with arch grace towards the prospect, 
 which the windings of the road, on which they 
 travelled, were quickly shutting out from her 
 sight. " Good-bye, dear old place ; we shan't 
 be very long away from you — ' no place like 
 home, be it ever so humble ;' and you know, 
 grandpapa, it does not look very humble, does 
 it, that dear old house of ours ? Now just
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 131 
 
 turn your head a little more, please ; there, 
 now you see a last peep ; does it not look 
 beautiful — so noble as it smiles a farewell to 
 us ? — oh ! that horrid turn has shut it all 
 out of view, there is only a bit of the wood 
 seen now — and there, that is gone too — heigho! 
 it is all gone. Oh ! dear old grandfather, 
 when shall we see it again ? — say soon — very 
 soon — pray do ! I feel so sorry we have left 
 it, that dear, old Bulstrode !" 
 
 And as she spoke thus, the tears came 
 unwittingly and rained into her lap, and upon 
 lihe old man's hand, which lay affectionately 
 upon it holding hers. 
 
 The drive to the distant station being ac- 
 complished in proper time, the travellers 
 started by train. The journey was full of 
 delightful variety and novelty to Mary. And, 
 on their arrival in London, they proceeded 
 directly to the convenient and pleasant lodg- 
 ings, provided for their reception by Harold, 
 in Eegent Street, where he himself met them. 
 
 Sir Aldrich was in high spirits, and much 
 pleased with all the arrangements that had 
 been made for his comfort by his nephew. 
 The locality was delightful for Mary, who, 
 
 k2
 
 132 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 from the windows of the drawing-room, had an 
 uninterrupted view of great part of the street. 
 Everything delighted her, and she promised 
 herself unhourided liberty and happiness in 
 walking through the noble streets and squares, 
 along which she had passed in her drive from 
 Paddington ; and anticipated the greatest 
 treat in viewing the countless treasures of the 
 unnumbered shops which she had passed. Her 
 wonder was extreme at the effect caused by the 
 lighting up of the gas, seen by her for the 
 first time. Then in the morning she was up 
 at an unusual hour, enticing Carroll to accom- 
 pany her in a little stolen ramble, before 
 breakfast time, and the rising of grandpapa. 
 
 Oh ! what undreamt-of pleasures — countless 
 — boundless ! — what a new world opened to 
 Mary's mind ! Sight-seeing — long drives — 
 beautiful presents — all and each made London 
 appear a place of enchantment. Sometimes, 
 with only nurse Carroll for a companion and 
 Walters for attendant, she would have such 
 happy walks in the parks, amongst the mar- 
 vellous world of London — seeing, wondering, 
 and admiring all and everything. Like all 
 children, she beheld, in this first visit to
 
 THE YOL'NG BRIDE. 133 
 
 London, the wonders of earth, gathered to- 
 gether. 
 
 Sir Aldrich's generosity was unbounded. 
 She found herself the possessor of treasures, 
 such as a gem of a watch, only the size of a 
 shilling, with 'Mary' in brilliants on the 
 back ; aunt Pen's hair worked into such an 
 exquisite chain for it ; grandpapa's miniature, 
 set in pearls, for a bracelet, and Harold's (but 
 she did not care for that^ to match it. It was 
 well, she said, in confidence to Carroll, that 
 single bracelets were so fashionable, because 
 she need never see any but poor old gran's ; 
 she would lock up the other with her useless 
 things. 
 
 ''How can I ever thank you sufficiently, 
 my dear grandpapa, for all these beautiful 
 things ? — how can I ever show you my 
 gratitude ?" 
 
 " Easily enough, my darling ! I shall soon 
 ask you to show me some little proof of both 
 your love and gratitude." 
 
 " Oh ! thank you, grandpapa, I am so glad 
 to hear it. Do try me, this very moment, if 
 you please, pray do. You don't, can't know 
 how much I love you, if you think gratitude
 
 134 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 could make me do more for you than love — 
 love — such true love, grandpapa, dear gran ! " 
 
 And she took up his withered old hand, and 
 fondly kissed it, and pressed it to her little 
 hreast. 
 
 " My own darling does love me, I know it 
 well — I never doubted it. Love is very 
 precious to me from you, Mary. I know you 
 do love me, and ever will do so ; and you 
 will love others for my sake, too, won't 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes, grandpapa." 
 
 But Mary looked down on the carpet, and 
 felt sorry that he had asked her to love any 
 one, because she thought he meant Harold. 
 Sir Aldrich did not seem to notice any change 
 in her manner or tone, but said, smiling — 
 
 " Mary, I cannot be happy, or pleased, or 
 satisfied with you, till you, like a good, 
 obedient girl, tell me that you love your 
 cousin Harold." 
 
 " I am trying, grandpapa.'' 
 
 " Pho ! nonsense about trying. Come, tell 
 me you do love him ; you know you can if 
 you choose." 
 
 " Please, grandpapa, I would choose it if
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 135 
 
 I could; but, indeed, I can't quite say it 
 
 yet;^ 
 
 *^ Oh ! but you must. I won't be happy 
 till you do. Besides, I can't be trifled with 
 and made a fool of. What is the use of your 
 telling me always that you are trying, when 
 you never succeed? or, what is the use of 
 pretending that you love me when you do not 
 prove it by acting as I wish you to do ? I am 
 afraid, after all, you are a very cold-hearted, 
 selfish, ungrateful girl, and that I shall have 
 to be very severe and harsh with you to make 
 you do as you should. If you want me to 
 believe that you love me, you must make up 
 your mind to please me, and do as I wish. 
 Yes, Mary, I came up to London and brought 
 you with me that you might show me by 
 your conduct that you were inclined to please 
 me. 
 
 " And how can I, grandpapa ?'' 
 
 ^i Why, I thought it right to bring you up 
 here, to ensure your right to possessing your 
 own dear Bulstrode. You know if I died you 
 would have no claim to remain in it, you 
 would have to give it up to others." 
 
 ^^I know all that," — spoken very low indeed.
 
 136 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 "And surely you would be sorry to lose the 
 dear old place, your happy home. Now you 
 can have it for ever, if you choose to do what 
 is right, and please me." 
 
 " How so, grandpapa ?" 
 
 " By being a dutiful, obedient child, you 
 can possess everything I have. I want to 
 see you, my darling grandchild, securely es- 
 tablished as my successor/' 
 
 " But that can't be, sir." 
 
 " Yes, but it can. While I am spared on 
 earth to love and take care of you it can be 
 done ; when I am gone you will be very help- 
 less, with no one to care for you, or protect 
 you, or advise you." 
 
 " Surely I would have my Aunt Pen. to do 
 all that." 
 
 " Aunt Pen., indeed ! She is a humbug, a 
 nothing, an old fool; she could not protect you. 
 You must have your brave, handsome cousin 
 Harold to love you, and care for you, and pro- 
 tect you, Mary — to make you happy, and to 
 do all for you that I would." 
 
 Mary burst into tears, she was struck dumb; 
 and Sir Aldrich lost his courage for a little 
 while, but, suddenly rousing himself, he con- 
 tinued —
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 137 
 
 ^^ You see, child, there is no use in arguing 
 with me about anything, when once my mind 
 is made up. The fact is, I have settled every- 
 thing. Your cousin will do all that I advise, 
 or ask him to do. He is obliged to go away 
 to India for many years ; before he returns I 
 shall be, in all probability, dead; and it would 
 make my death-bed a very miserable one if I 
 left you unprotected, without a claim on the 
 affection of any one. I could not bear to 
 think that you had no lot or part in my in- 
 heritance ; it would drive me distracted to 
 think that a partition of all my wealth should 
 of necessity take place, and that you had no 
 share of the noblest part, the patrimonial 
 domains which for so many centuries have 
 devolved from father to child in our ancient 
 line. Under all these circumstances, and not 
 without careful deliberation, I have arranged 
 with my noble nephew to have the form of 
 marriage gone through between you both. 
 Here, privately, before Harold departs, it 
 must be done. The ceremony will take but a 
 very few moments, and must be performed 
 immediately. It is only a form, my child, 
 nothing more. After it is over we shall return
 
 138 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 together to old Bulstrode, and enjoy ourselves 
 ten thousand times more than ever. Harold 
 will pursue his journey, remain years away 
 to win honour and renown, before he comes to 
 claim his little wife." 
 
 Mary had never moved all the time Sir 
 Aldrich was speaking. She heard but little 
 that he said — that little had been enough for 
 her; she trembled from head to foot, as if 
 stricken by an ague fit ; she became cold as 
 ice, rigid as marble. Her eyes dilated, and 
 became fixed upon the empty air. 
 
 Sir Aldrich rose, and, stooping fondly over 
 her, drew her to a sofa — where, tenderly plac- 
 ing her, he seated himself and took her into 
 his arms, with endearing words and fond em- 
 braces. '^ Mary,'' he said. No answer. " My 
 darling child." No notice was taken. '^ My 
 own precious darling, speak one word — one 
 little word to comfort grandpapa." But no 
 reply. She neither moved, nor stirred, nor 
 heard. She was insensible to everything. 
 
 " Come, come, rouse yourself, Mary ; I 
 command you — rouse yourself. This conduct 
 is unbearable. I am very angry. Do you 
 hear me say so ? Speak, speak, I desire, one
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 139 
 
 word. Do you hear me, Mary ? It is grand- 
 papa that calls you — speak ! " — and then he 
 gently shook her slender frame, and stirred 
 the immoveable arms. At last, he became 
 fearfully alarmed. A cold dew overspread her 
 face, neck, and hands ; she had all the appear- 
 ance of being under the influence of a cataleptic 
 fit — rigid, fixed, insensible. He rushed to the 
 bell, and rung it violently ; and meeting 
 Walters before he entered the room, called 
 impatiently for wine and water. When it was 
 brought, Sir Aldrich forced a large quantity 
 down her throat, copiously sprinkling the poor 
 girl with the water. Then he laid her down 
 upon the couch, and knelt by her side, chafing 
 her hands, and utterly at a loss what next 
 to do. 
 
 He had been fully prepared for a violent 
 refusal, and an outbreak of great excitement 
 and agitation; he had looked for denials, 
 reproaches, tears, but this was widely dif- 
 ferent. This dreadful state of things took him 
 completely by surprise. It was in vain that 
 he prayed, implored, and entreated her to hear 
 him, and speak ; he was unable even to sum- 
 mon the assistance that was needed.
 
 140 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 An hour passed thus, when Harold Bul- 
 strode, without any announcement, entered 
 the drawing-room. He had hardly entered, 
 and was inquiring, in an agitated voice, the 
 cause of what he saw, when, as if moved by 
 the effects of an electric shock, Mary suddenly 
 started up, pushed back her tangled hair from 
 her brow, as if to clear her mind no less than 
 her vision. She looked wildlv round her for 
 a moment, then, rapidly springing from the 
 sofa, she threw herself before her affrighted 
 cousin upon her knees. She clasped his with 
 her trembling arms ; she sobbed violently, but 
 without tears ; she shook with convulsive 
 workings ; and, at length, exclaimed vehe- 
 mently, and with an agonized voice — 
 
 '* Ohj cousin ! you will not be so cruel as 
 grandpapa ! — you will not kill me ! — you will 
 have some pity on me ! Oh, Harold, Harold ! 
 you cannot be so miserably unkind and selfish, 
 so savage to me as he is ! You won't marry 
 me — me, your little wretched orphan cousin — 
 a poor, helpless thing, such as I am ! Marry 
 me! no, no, you won't. In pity, cousin, say 
 so ! If you don't, I shall die. Oh, Harold ! 
 you are a man — a great, noble, honourable
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 141 
 
 man ; you can, you will, have a little mercy 
 on a worm, such as I now am, grovelling at 
 your feet. Do not he so cold and callous, so 
 very unkind to me — even me — oh, my cousin ! 
 Though 1 do not love you now, I will try to 
 do so before you return from India. I will 
 pray to be able to do so, and, perhaps, I may 
 love you yet. Take everything grandpapa 
 wants for me ; I require nothing, not the 
 least atom of Bulstrode wealth or grandeur. 
 I only want to be free from you — to be poor, 
 able to love, and be loved by those I care for. 
 I hate money, and wealth, and everything you 
 covet. Oh, cousin Harold 1 you cannot make 
 me marry you ; you do not love me — you 
 never did, never can. Indeed, I think you 
 ever hated me — at least, you seemed to do so 
 — and then I could not love you ! How could 
 I ? But now, if you wish, I shall try to be 
 able to do so. Harold, spare me, and I swear 
 to try and love you." 
 
 This great, strong man — thus addressed by 
 that poor weak girl whom he had ever de- 
 spised — quailed, and turned from the agonized 
 look of misery with which she regarded him. 
 Yes, he quailed and trembled. He was totally
 
 142 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 overpowered, unable to speak one word to her. 
 His cheek became deeply flushed into a bright 
 crimson, and he tried in vain to raise her off 
 the floor on which she knelt. Sir Aldrich 
 stood paralyzed ; he was completely irresolute 
 how to act. At last he exclaimed — 
 
 "Up, Mary; shame upon you, silly fool 
 that you are, making so much work of a 
 matter of no importance ! Shame, shame ! to 
 distress us all so needlessly. Now I find you 
 are really the ungrateful, selfish girl I feared ; 
 come, rouse yourself, I'll have no more of this 
 work, it is all useless. How dare you pre- 
 sume to address your cousin in such a strain ! 
 — you are too bold — too forward — too pre- 
 suming ! Young madam, you shall bitterly 
 rue such shameful conduct — conduct so un- 
 worthy and lowering in everybody's eyes. 
 You are my property — mine alone and en- 
 tirely — and I shall do with you whatever I 
 deem right. Up, up, girl, I say — rise, I de- 
 sire you — free your cousin from this annoy- 
 ance ! His, you are to be, whether it pleases 
 you or not; and, therefore, the sooner you 
 make up your mind to behave as you ought, 
 the better. You always knew you were to be
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 143 
 
 the wife of your cousin ; you were reared and 
 brought up with the knowledge of my decision, 
 and, therefore, it can matter nothing to you 
 whether you are united to him now, or in 
 half a dozen years hence. Come ! I say — I 
 command you, rise !" 
 
 Still she did not stir, or move, or answer 
 any thing to all his words, which, with their 
 angry tone and meaning, were only used at 
 the time to cover the old man's nervous agita- 
 tion. At last, Harold forcibly undid the cold, 
 icy fingers which grasped him, and succeeded 
 in placing her, in a fainting state, upon the 
 sofa, from which she had risen. Moved to 
 some show of feeling, and touch of remorse, 
 Harold nearly wept ; he dealt most gently- 
 most tenderly — with her ; bathed her throb- 
 bing brow — chafed her trembling hand — placed 
 coverings on her shivering limbs — and spoke 
 softly and soothingly as he did so. He con- 
 tinued to hold one of the little hands in his, as 
 he stood by her side steadily regarding her, as 
 she lay literally senseless before him. 
 
 *' Uncle, '^ he said, " this is sad work ; I had 
 no idea such an effect would have been caused 
 by a knowledge of what was to take place. '^
 
 144 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 " 'Tis very bad, Harold ; but the worst is 
 over now." 
 
 '^ Do you think so ? '^ 
 
 " Without a doubt. She is easily fright- 
 ened, and very nervous. The first shock has 
 been rather too much; bye-and-bye she will 
 be all right." 
 
 "I trust so, poor child; she certainly is 
 very wretched. How did you tell her? — 
 and why did you not do it in a more gentle 
 way ?" 
 
 '' It would have made no difference. She 
 is a very Bulstrode in positiveness. She will 
 come round to reason, when she sees there is 
 no use in rebelling. She is very like her poor 
 father in every way. Why, I remember I had 
 frightful difl&culties to undergo with poor 
 Egbert too, about his marriage ; and see what 
 a fond, devoted, good husband he was, after 
 all." 
 
 Harold sat down, and looked abstractedly 
 irresolute. He remained silent; so did his 
 uncle. Dinner time came ; and, as Walters 
 threw open the folding-doors of the dining- 
 room, he looked rather astonished at the sight 
 that met his view. Carroll was summoned to
 
 THE TOUNG BRIDE. 145 
 
 remain in charge of the invalid, while the gen- 
 tlemen dined ; but the doors were left un- 
 closed, that Sir Aldrich might command a view 
 of the sofa on which she lay. 
 
 When night came, Harold insisted upon the 
 necessity of having Mary carried to bed, and 
 resigned to the care of Carroll. The poor 
 nurse's astonishment was extreme at her 
 nursling's state, for which she could not 
 possibly account ; but, as the poor sufferer was 
 unable to speak, and, as Carroll dared not ask 
 any questions of the uncle and nephew, she 
 was obliged to quell her curiosity, and merely 
 try what she could do to restore the poor 
 girl. 
 
 Mary was carefully carried up to bed, by 
 Harold himself, Sir Aldrich following, in no 
 enviable frame of mind. By nurse's advice, a 
 physician was sent for. The case was repre- 
 sented to him as a nervous seizure ; and, on a 
 hurried inquiry, he pronounced a favourable 
 opinion, ordering the administration of an 
 opiate, to induce sleep, and quiet the over- 
 strained nerves of the patient. 
 
 The poor little girl derived great comfort 
 from being placed in a warmed bed, and re- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 lieved of her clothes. As she came gradually 
 to herself, she implored most bitterly to be 
 taken home to Bulstrode to aunt Pen, away 
 from London, its horrors and alarms. No- 
 thing could afford her any comfort or con- 
 solation, till the opiate began to take effect, 
 and diffuse a soothing lull over her whole 
 frame. Sir Aldrich administered it himself, 
 and, with Carroll, remained with her the 
 greater part of the night. The heavy, deep 
 sleep which overpowered the senses of the 
 sick girl, permitted the old man to leave her 
 to Carroll alone, and allow him to retire to 
 rest himself. 
 
 When Mary awoke next morning it was 
 very late. She found it impossible to keep 
 her eyes open, and experienced a feeling of 
 intense fatigue, and complained of nausea. 
 There was a strange, unconscious appearance 
 about her that quite alarmed Carroll; but 
 Sir Aldrich made light of it, and expressed a 
 wish that she should be taken up and dressed. 
 Another dose of the anodyne mixture was 
 administered ; and Carroll, with much diffi- 
 culty, coaxed the child from her bed. She 
 was unable to give any assistance in dressing
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 147 
 
 herself, but remained helplessly inactive all 
 the time the operation was performing, not 
 speaking or opening her eyes. She put her 
 hand up to her head continually, as if suffering 
 from headache, and on drink being offered to 
 her, swallowed it as if consumed by a dreadful 
 thirst. Carroll was miserable ; she could not 
 understand why or wherefore such a violent 
 and alarming illness had thus rapidly come on, 
 and why Sir Aldrich was so little alarmed. 
 This worthy woman had nursed Mary, and 
 had taken her into her loving arms before the 
 earth closed upon the mortal remains of her 
 poor mother. She idolized her nursling, and 
 this sudden attack, so mysterious and un- 
 accountable, nearly drove her distracted. 
 
 When fully dressed, Mary was obliged to 
 lay her aching head and tottering limbs again 
 upon her bed, from which she did not rise 
 until Sir Aldrich himself came to assist her 
 down stau-s. It was in vain that Carroll 
 entreated and implored her master to leave 
 the sick child to her necessary quiet repose ; 
 he would not listen to her, and so she had to 
 help Mary down stairs, grievously against her 
 own will. 
 
 l2
 
 148 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 There, in a large arm-chair, they placed 
 her, as it were, in a deep sleep. She had no 
 remembrance of getting up, being dressed, or 
 coming down to the drawing-room. She had 
 a faint idea that her cousin Harold was there ; 
 she thought she heard him ask her how she 
 was, as he took her hand, and she fancied she 
 heard Sir Aldrich reply that she was much 
 better, nearly as well as ever. 
 
 Then there was a confused knowledge of 
 being led by Sir Aldrich and Harold into the 
 dining-room, the doors of which stood open. 
 Several gentlemen were there, seated round a 
 table, who, she thought, all stood up and 
 bowed as she entered — but she was not sure. 
 There were huge sheets of parchment spread 
 out on that table ; — she did not know what 
 they were — ^but her grandfather put a pen 
 into her hand, and said, in a gentle tone of 
 affection — 
 
 "Here, darling, just write your name, 
 Mary Bulstrode, there, in that spot ; — don't 
 you see mine here ? — well, dearest, write yours 
 just there." 
 
 And he directed the trembling hand to the 
 spot, and almost held it, while she traced, 
 in an illegible scrawl, her own simple name.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 149 
 
 There was a pause, and she thought after- 
 wards that she fell asleep, for she found 
 Harold's arm round her waist, supporting her, 
 while an old gentleman was reading from a 
 large book like a bible — every one was stand- 
 up — she thought, she herself was kneeling. 
 Her cousin was holding her hand a long time , 
 suddenly, there was a little bustle, and she 
 found herself sitting on a couch, everyone was 
 shaking hands with her, which she thought 
 very odd — so many strange gentlemen, all 
 crowding up, and smiling, and talking, while 
 one man, the old gentleman, who had been 
 reading, said something about ^ Mrs. Bulstrode.' 
 Mary was more puzzled than ever — where was 
 there any Mrs. Bulstrode ? — who was she? 
 But, all at once, her head reeled, and she felt 
 dying — she fell back fainting ; all the gentle- 
 men left the room, at once, entering the 
 drawing room, and, leaving her with only her 
 grandfather and cousin. A deadly sickness 
 overwhelmed her, Carroll was summoned, and 
 the little creature, just wedded, just bound in 
 iron chains to her bitter fate, was carried up 
 stairs, and immediately placed in her bed. 
 
 And thus she was married, aye, married,
 
 150 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 a child in years — an innocent victim to the 
 covetous, grovelling wishes, and demoniac 
 pride of Sir Aldrich, and his nephew ; thus, 
 she was married, in her very childhood, to 
 that proud, stern man, whom, above the whole 
 world, she hated and feared. The ceremony 
 had been gone through, with the aid of an 
 obliging bishop, and a special license; the 
 settlements had been unwittingly, unresistingly 
 signed — the ring had been placed upon her 
 finger — the blessing upon that union had 
 been spoken, and, still, all was a mystery to 
 the poor victim ; she was wholly uncon- 
 cious of all and everything connected with 
 the disgraceful occurrence. 
 
 Yes, there she was, securely bound by ties 
 that could only be broken by death itself. 
 Little, gentle Mary, crushed, enslaved, almost 
 annihilated, by what had occurred ; as yet, 
 happily, she was ignorant, of the extent of her 
 troubles, for the sickening effects of the 
 powerful opiate had completely obscured her 
 faculties. 
 
 Very hard it was to recal animation and 
 recollection; the physician was again sum- 
 moned, but, this time, he looked and felt
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 151 
 
 really alarmed. There had been some mistake, 
 either with him, or the chemist, relative to 
 the strength of the medicine administered on 
 the previous night, and, fears were entertain- 
 ed by the medical man, for his own reputation, 
 no less, than for the life of the patient. 
 
 Long, and deep sleeps, followed one another, 
 in unvarying order ; extreme nausea, and sick- 
 ness, violent headache, and other extreme, and 
 dangerous symptoms, came on in rapid suc- 
 cession, and, to a most alarming extent ; at 
 first, all feared she must die, in one of those 
 long fits of stupor; but no, that release was 
 not to be, she was spared, to life, and reason, 
 and remembrance. Sii' Aldrich was totally 
 overcome, he was nearly frantic. Harold was 
 greatly agitated and very anxious, but, his 
 stay was only for a day or two ; immediately 
 on the hope being expressed, by the doctors, 
 that she would come through the illness, he 
 left town. He had remained until the last 
 moment with Sir Aldrich in Eegent street. 
 But the " Trafalgar," Indiaman, had been an- 
 nounced for sailing, in a day or two, so that 
 he was obliged to hurry off, to reach Ports-
 
 152 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 mouth, in time to join his friends, already 
 waiting there. Severe pangs of outraged con- 
 science tormented his hreast, and, he felt 
 utterly repugnant to the thought of leaving 
 the very wretched Sir Aldrich so very miser- 
 ably situated ; however, he was obliged to say 
 farewell, and hasten away. He, for the first 
 time in his life, felt extreme interest, nay, 
 almost afiection, for his helpless wife-cousin, 
 so savagely treated as she had been. He 
 emphatically recommended her to the care 
 of Carroll, entreating her, to watch unceasingly 
 over his ' little wife,' till he should come back to 
 claim her at Bulstrode. To his uncle, he could 
 not say much, for even^ his stubborn heart was 
 softened. Besides, he felt rather ashamed of the 
 part he had acted in the transaction, and, per- 
 haps had it to be re-done, he would have acted 
 differently. Even, the cordial greeting given 
 to him, as he ascended the side of the huge 
 Indiaman, by the beautiful Lady Marley, and, 
 all the assembled companions of his voyage, 
 could not dispel the gloom which hung upon 
 him. The "Trafalgar,'^ with her precious 
 freight, was many weeks on her course, before
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 153 
 
 Harold Bulstrode was again himself, or able to 
 share in, and enjoy, the pleasures which sur- 
 rounded him, on the world of waters, over 
 which the gallant ship in safety passed.
 
 154 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 -Hating life, 
 
 Speechless, and fixed in all the death of woe !" 
 
 Thompson. 
 
 How happy Mrs. Penelope was, and how 
 cheerfully she and Madame de Bohn got on at 
 Bulstrode, after the departure of Sir Aldrich 
 for London, with his little granddaughter ! 
 The only drawback to their comfort being the 
 absence of Mary. They were seated at the 
 breakfast table, so cosily, one morning, enjoy- 
 ing their refreshing ' mocha,' unscared by any 
 dread of the presence of Sir Aldrich ; without 
 any fear of passionate outbreaks or angry sar- 
 casms ; very comfortable, indeed, they both 
 looked. The hissing urn pouring forth wreaths 
 of steam, the sun cheerily shining through the
 
 YOtJNG BRIDE. 155 
 
 coloured panes of a large bay window, upon 
 the table, closely drawn to the smoking fire, 
 which at all times formed a principal item in 
 Mrs. Penelope's comfort and enjoyment. No 
 fear had the ladies of any sudden start, or 
 harsh command, or fretful grumble ; no sus- 
 picion of a hidden foe, ready to rush upon 
 them and at them. No, they had not any 
 feeling but that of contentment ; so they sat 
 on and on, lingering over the unwonted com- 
 fort of a quiet, undisturbed meal, chatting and 
 talking on many things, but at last turning on 
 their usual theme, Mary. 
 
 ^' I am very glad that Harold is going 
 abroad, and for such a long period, too. The 
 dear child will have so much more freedom, 
 and she will have a better chance of getting 
 over her repugnance. She will have time to 
 forget him as he now is, and by the time she 
 again sees him, things will be altered, I trust 
 and hope. When he returns to England, it 
 will be with the knowledge that he must make 
 himself agreeable to her; and he will be 
 obliged to treat her affectionately and kindly. 
 The little creature is as much afraid of him 
 now, I think, as of my brother."
 
 156 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 " More so, my dear lady, a great deal more 
 so, I can assure you. Sometimes she seems 
 to lose all dread and fear of Sir Aldrich ; she 
 quite surprises me, for she will often do things 
 in her childish happiness, that others dare not 
 venture upon. Sir Aldrich is so devoted to 
 her, that he quite forgets to be angry with 
 her, and she can fondle and coax him out of 
 some of his most violent tempers. On the 
 contrary, Harold never permits her to have 
 any freedom of action ; he is cross and very 
 morose to her, laughs at her, and ill-treats her 
 pets, just for the sole pleasure of making the 
 Bulstrode blood boil. He is so extremely 
 proud and haughty, that the child looks upon 
 him as something peculiarly annoying, and 
 never seems to enjoy anything while he is near 
 her. She likewise complains that Sir Aldrich 
 is never so kind when her cousin is with him, 
 as when she has the old gentleman all to 
 herself.'' 
 
 " Just so, madame. He is and ever was 
 cold, and stern, and unbending towards her, 
 as he is, indeed, to every body else. I never 
 met a being so careless of making friends, or 
 giving favourable impressions of himself to
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 157 
 
 strangers, as my nephew is and ever was. 
 Pride is a sad failing in human nature, and I 
 regret to say Harold has an overpowering 
 amount of it concentrated in himself ; and it is 
 a pity, too, for he is blessed with many great 
 and noble qualities — noble minded, brave, 
 honourable, and generous. Strange it is, that 
 with all his arrogance and self-sufficiency, he 
 never disagrees with my brother ; they always 
 get on well "and happily together — they enjoy 
 a mutual affection very pleasing to behold." 
 
 *' Truly, they do ; I have often remarked it, 
 and wondered at it, for both are so passionate, 
 obstinate, and positive, that one would imagine 
 they never could cordially agree or coincide 
 with each other. Sir Aldrich will feel his 
 absence deeply, I fear, especially when it is to 
 be of such duration. I did not think they 
 could ever part. Six years ! it is a long, 
 very long, time to look forward to ; and Sir 
 Aldrich so far advanced in years. But it is 
 all the better for Mary, that the time will be 
 so long; those years will bring womanhood, 
 with all its charms, its cares, and trials. It 
 will give time to obliterate unpleasant remem- 
 brances, and soften her feelings towards him.
 
 158 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 She will know the amazing importance and 
 benefit her marriage with him will be of; and 
 with her unselfish disposition, and obedient 
 feelings, she will be induced, I hope, to make 
 her grandfather happy ; if not, she may have 
 acquired sufficient influence over him, and may 
 be able to work upon his affection, so as to 
 forego the dismal union.'' 
 
 ''Never, madame, never! Do not form 
 such an erroneous idea, I beg of you. I 
 thought you knew my brother too well, after 
 such close observation as you have had an 
 opportunity of making, in four years, of and 
 about him. Surely you cannot for a moment 
 entertain the thought that a man of such a 
 decided stamp as Sir Aid rich, would give up 
 his plans and designs for any one, or for 
 any thing. My opinion is, that much as he 
 loves Mary, he would rather she died as she 
 now is, a little helpless child, than see her 
 grow up to oppose him, and reject a union 
 with the heir of his family, honours, and title, 
 and so much property belonging to that heir. 
 When once formed, his plans are decided — 
 nothing can ever change them. No one knows 
 better than I do that fact. I sometimes regret
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 159 
 
 that dear Mary's disposition is so very gentle 
 and yielding on many points ; where she truly 
 loves, she completely resigns her own will and 
 pleasure. If she were more of the Bulstrode 
 stamp — more firm, more worldly-minded, more 
 decided, with a little touch of obstinacy — it 
 would be, perhaps, better for her future hap- 
 piness; now she is as perfect in mind, tem- 
 per, and disposition, as fallible, earthly being 
 can be. The unfortunate compulsory mar- 
 riages in our family are enough to make us 
 recoil from unions, formed, as they are, merely 
 on interested views, and with a desire for 
 family aggrandizement." 
 
 " Alas ! yes ; and surely, dear Mrs. Pene- 
 lope, it is a very dreadful state of things, 
 when all considerations are merged into self 
 and selfish considerations. For surely all 
 these arrangements are prompted by selfish 
 wishes and worldly hopes. But I still have 
 great hopes for our darling child — something 
 may yet turn up to absolve her from her an- 
 ticipated union. Colonel Bulstrode may lose 
 his heart to some one during his long exile ; 
 he may then give up to love his ambitious and 
 covetous designs on our Mary ; he may not
 
 160 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 care whether he displeases his uncle or not, 
 because under any circumstances he must 
 have a noble property, and be Sir Harold. 
 Then, on the other hand, Sir Aldrich may 
 depart this life before the completion of the 
 treaty, and so Mary can easily escape. Or 
 perhaps she may remain single for all her life, 
 for I hardly think he would be mean enough 
 to force her into a marriage that was utterly 
 obnoxious to her. Surely, then, his pride 
 would rebel against his interest, and he him- 
 self gladly assist to throw off the yoke of 
 engagement." 
 
 " There may be some truth in some of your 
 arguments, madame, that I cannot deny ; and, 
 though I should feel very sorry to think that 
 the darling was to pass through life uncared 
 for, unloved, and unmarried, I would much 
 rather that she lived and died single and soli- 
 tary, like myself, than that she was tied to one 
 she could not love. It would be a very 
 awful thing if she were forced into a marriage 
 utterly against her own consent. Indeed, I 
 fear, my nephew could never make any wo- 
 man happy. He may be, and is, I believe, 
 capable of strong affection ; nay — if report
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 161 
 
 speaks truly — he was once madly in love with 
 his cousin Edith ; but that is past and gone, 
 long ago ; she is married now/' 
 
 A servant, at this moment, brought in the 
 post-bag to the breakfast-room. There was a 
 goodly display of letters and newspapers. 
 Mrs. Penelope turned anxiously over the 
 letters, and exclaimed — 
 
 " How strange it is that there is no letter 
 from Mary ; she has not written these two 
 days. I trust she did not get one of her bad 
 headaches from the noise and excitement of 
 town. She must either be ill, or very much 
 taken up with other matters, if she has no 
 time to devote to ' old aunty.' '' 
 
 Madame made no reply ; she had taken up 
 one of the papers for perusal, while Mrs. Pene- 
 lope continued to look over her letters, some 
 of which seemed too long, and too closely- 
 written to be read at once ; these she depo- 
 sited in her capacious pocket, to be looked at 
 some other time. A silence of some moments 
 ensued ; and madame turned her attention to 
 that ominous corner in the Times, dedicated 
 to the announcement of ' births, marriages, 
 and deaths.' These were scanned over care- 
 
 YOL. I. M
 
 162 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 lessly, at first, when suddenly something 
 arrested her attention ; she started, uttered an 
 exclamation of alarm and surprise ; her hand 
 shook so, that the paper trembled in her grasp, 
 like an aspen leaf. Mrs. Penelope looked 
 astonished from her half-read letter, and, 
 alarmed at the idea that madame had received 
 bad news, exclaimed — 
 
 " Nothing unpleasant, I hope, has occured, 
 my dear madame." But, receiving no reply, 
 she rose, and approached the governess, and 
 taking the paper from her unresisting hand, 
 where it lay unnoted, the old lady's eye ran 
 over the list of deaths first ; but, in that there 
 was nothing that seemed to be the cause of 
 such a powerful efiect, as had been produced ; 
 there was no known name there recorded, that 
 Mrs. Penelope could imagine, to have so over- 
 powered the feelings of Madame. Her glance 
 then wandered up the preceding columns, and 
 at once it was arrested. She too, wildly stared, 
 and gasped, with sudden, and deep emotion 
 for breath ; she looked again, re-read the ter- 
 rible, and astounding fact, there undeniably 
 detailed. She knew it all, the iron had entered 
 into her soul. The words, and names there
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 163 
 
 printed, seemed like a flash of lightning, to 
 have scorched her heart and brain. There 
 stood fully recorded, that, by special license 
 on the previous day. Colonel Harold Bulstrode 
 had been united in marriage, to the youthful 
 heiress of Sir Aldrich Bulstrode. The cere- 
 mony had been performed, by the Right re- 
 verend Father in God, the Lord Bishop of , 
 
 assisted by the very reverend, the Dean of- 
 
 in Regent Street. There it was, there could 
 be no hope, or possibility of mistake, no chance 
 of uncertainty. Mary, little gentle Mary, 
 the child in years, the object of care, and love, 
 and hope — she was married — really, literally 
 married — sacrificed, wholly and entirely, to the 
 skilful machinations, and covetous designs of 
 crafty heartless men. That little, helpless, 
 delicate being, was a victim to the pomps and 
 vanities of this wicked world. Only fourteen 
 years old — and married — legally, lawfully mar- 
 ried — the wife of haughty, hated Harold. That 
 little sensitive creature, who, only existed in 
 the sunshine of gentle affection, and devoted 
 love — was sacrificed, entrapped, smuggled in- 
 to wedlock, by one, who so craftily, and ruth- 
 lessly had hurried her to the fatal step, the 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 better to ensure, and the more securely to 
 grasp the base wealth which she possessed, 
 and which had lured him to dishonour and de- 
 base his hitherto, proud and unsullied name. 
 Oh, it was dreadful — too dreadful — it was 
 absolutely agonising to think upon, and, the 
 old aunt felt as if her brain were turning round, 
 and, that she herself, was becoming deranged. 
 What a deep, fiendish plot had been laid ! 
 how easily she had been deceived, and how easily 
 the child had fallen into the snare so treach- 
 erously laid for her ! How securely the plot 
 had been hatched ! with what secrecy had it 
 been concocted ! It was all over, and the 
 darling of her heart — the pride of her life — 
 was lost to her, stolen away from her careful 
 watchfulness and tender guardings. All the 
 train of artifice and falsehood was now laid 
 bare — alas ! when it was too late. The whole 
 of Sir Aldrich's deep-laid project was now 
 evident, clear as the noonday. Secure in the 
 possession of the girl, .all to himself, he had 
 achieved a full and complete victory over his 
 helpless grandchild, whom he had seemed to 
 love so deeply, and had promised to protect so 
 faithfully ; no less than over the watchfulness
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 165 
 
 of his pure-minded, unsuspicious sister ! Oh, 
 what keen agony that dear old woman felt, 
 and proved, and suffered ! — how she wept, 
 lamented, and bewailed over her blind security 
 and unprofitable exertions ! But it was all of 
 no avail, the deed was done, and Mary was 
 the victim ; henceforth Mrs. Penelope would 
 be a miserable woman, for she could not 
 tamely regard the certain misery which now 
 lay in the future path of her idolized child. 
 
 For hours the two ladies were unable to do 
 anything, or think of anything but the intelli- 
 gence conveyed in the paper. Every idea was 
 merged into the one great event ; it was an 
 absorbing subject of thought, but they could 
 not speak upon it. Mrs. Penelope's delicate 
 constitution was always easily acted and 
 influenced upon by the feelings of her mind, 
 and she at once became really ill. The more 
 she pondered over the horrible occurrence, the 
 more disordered she became. Mary's silence 
 was now fully accounted for ; but what could 
 Carroll be about ? A woman so steady and 
 highly principled, so upright, as she had ever 
 been, to remain passive while such a flagrant 
 deed of injustice was carrying on, was quite
 
 168 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 SO intimately associated with the Bulstrode 
 family, that he had been long aware of the 
 determination of Sir Aldrich to unite her and 
 her fortunes to her cousin ; but this scanda- 
 lous method of bringing his plans to maturity, 
 and accomplishing them, was utterly abhorrent 
 and disgusting to the good doctor. By night 
 every servant in the house, and every retainer 
 about the place, was in possession of the fact. 
 All and each were electrified! — for though 
 Sir Aldrich was well known to be a positive 
 and obstinate man, not a human being thought 
 he could have been so cruelly disposed to the 
 child whom he so idolized ; no one imagined he 
 could have yielded to his selfish considerations 
 in such a way. However, let all say, and 
 think, and wonder as they chose ; the deed 
 was done, and there could be no chance of 
 escape for the innocent sufferer. 
 
 A whole long, weary week passed miserably 
 over, every day seeming like two ; still there 
 was no communication from London with 
 Bulstrode, no letter, no token. The daily 
 letters of Mrs. Penelope to her brother, re- 
 mained unanswered and unnoticed; the poor 
 old woman could not make up her mind how
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 169 
 
 best to act, and she continued worried and 
 wretched in mind, and severely ill in body ; 
 so that Dr. Leslie's soothing medicines had no 
 effect upon her. 
 
 At last a short letter came, written by the hand 
 of the agitated baronet himself, and almost illegi- 
 ble to his sister. It communicated the fact of 
 Mary's being very ill — indeed, most danger- 
 ously so. Nervous fever had attacked, and 
 completely prostrated her. Sir Aldrich did 
 not say one word of the marriage, or allude to 
 any extraordinary circumstances having taken 
 place while m London. He did not express a 
 wish for Mrs. Penelope to come to him ; he 
 wrote in his usual haughty strain, but through- 
 out the letter there ran a strain of the deepest 
 anxiety and uneasiness about Mary. A delay 
 of some days then took place, without any 
 more information been vouchsafed, which 
 made all at Bulstrode additionally unhappy 
 and uneasy. A long consultation with madame 
 ended in a determination on the part of Mrs. 
 Penelope, to set off at once to London, and, if 
 obliged to do so, force herself into the sick 
 room of the dear child. 
 
 The only fear on the mind of the ladies, was
 
 168 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 SO intimately associated with the Bulstrode 
 family, that he had been long aware of the 
 determination of Sir Aldrich to unite her and 
 her fortunes to her cousin ; but this scanda- 
 lous method of bringing his plans to maturity, 
 and accomplishing them, was utterly abhorrent 
 and disgusting to the good doctor. By night 
 every servant in the house, and every retainer 
 about the place, was in possession of the fact. 
 All and each were electrified! — for though 
 Sir Aldrich was well known to be a positive 
 and obstinate man, not a human being thought 
 he could have been so cruelly disposed to the 
 child whom he so idolized ; no one imagined he 
 could have yielded to his selfish considerations 
 in such a way. However, let all say, and 
 think, and wonder as they chose ; the deed 
 was done, and there could be no chance of 
 escape for the innocent suiFerer. 
 
 A whole long, weary week passed miserably 
 over, every day seeming like two ; still there 
 was no communication from London with 
 Bulstrode, no letter, no token. The daily 
 letters of Mrs. Penelope to her brother, re- 
 mained unanswered and unnoticed; the poor 
 old woman could not make up her mind how
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 169 
 
 best to act, and she continued worried and 
 wretched in mind, and severely ill in body ; 
 so that Dr. Leslie's soothing medicines had no 
 effect upon her. 
 
 At last a short letter came, written by the hand 
 of the agitated baronet himself, and almost illegi- 
 ble to his sister. It communicated the fact of 
 Mary's being very ill — indeed, most danger- 
 ously so. Nervous fever had attacked, and 
 completely prostrated her. Sir Aldrich did 
 not say one word of the marriage, or allude to 
 any extraordinary circumstances having taken 
 place while m London. He did not express a 
 wish for Mrs. Penelope to come to him ; he 
 wrote in his usual haughty strain, but through- 
 out the letter there ran a strain of the deepest 
 anxiety and uneasiness about Mary. A delay 
 of some days then took place, without any 
 more information been vouchsafed, which 
 made all at Bulstrode additionally unhappy 
 and uneasy. A long consultation with madame 
 ended in a determination on the part of Mrs. 
 Penelope, to set off at once to London, and, if 
 obliged to do so, force herself into the sick 
 room of the dear child. 
 
 The only fear on the mind of the ladies, was
 
 170 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 that Sir Aldrich would not permit his sister to 
 remain near the invalid, and would, in all 
 probability, compel her to return home at 
 once. * With all these fears and alarms, the 
 old aunt set off, and reached London at an 
 early hour in the evening. Putting herself 
 into a cab, she started quickly for Regent 
 Street. On her arrival there, she alighted 
 from the vehicle at some distance from the 
 house she knew her family were occupying, 
 and cautiously walking up to it, timidly rang 
 the bell. Her heart beat violently, as she 
 remarked the tan and straw thickly spread 
 before the house, and the muffled knocker 
 which all told her how very ill her darling 
 must be. 
 
 Her first ring was so gentle, that it was 
 unnoted; her second brought poor "Walters, 
 haggard and miserable, to the door. He 
 started, and uttered an exclamation of delight 
 when he recognized his mistress ; and hastily 
 admitting her, and re-closing the door, he 
 respectfully hurried her down a long passage, 
 leading to the back of the house, where there 
 was a small sitting-room, devoted to his and 
 Carroll's use. There the old lady heard from
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 171 
 
 her faithful servitor all the details of every- 
 thing that had occurred, and of the alarming 
 weakness of * Mrs. Bulstrode.' How horridly 
 that name struck upon her over- strained feel- 
 ings! 
 
 Sir Aldrich was at home; he had just 
 dined — or rather, as Walters said, gone 
 through the form. He never stirred out, 
 except when violent attacks made him so 
 fearful of Mary's life, that he would hurry off 
 in a cab to fetch the physician in whom he 
 had most confidence ; or when he started off 
 to the apothecary ^s for some medicine urgently 
 needed. He was worn to a very shadow, for 
 want of rest, food, sleep, and peace of mind. 
 Walters said nothing could equal his master's 
 perfect misery and despondency, and that 
 since Colonel Bulstrode left him, he had 
 moped all alone in solitary wretchedness. The 
 faithful servant dreaded his master suddenly 
 seeing Mrs. Penelope, and had many doubts 
 upon his mind about her being permitted to 
 see and attend her niece. No one was allowed 
 to cross the threshhold of the sick room, 
 except Carroll and the sick-nurse, sent by the 
 physician. Sir Aldrich strictly guarded the
 
 172 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 approach to the invalid^s chamher, and scarcely 
 himself ever left its door, so that it would he 
 a work of diflGicultj to get Mrs. Penelope 
 into it. 
 
 After a weary time of waiting, during which 
 "Walters induced his mistress to have some tea, 
 a hell rung suddenly, and Sir Aldrich ordered 
 him to get a cab at once, that he, Sir Aldrich, 
 might hasten to the doctor's, on an urgent er- 
 rand. His order being immediately obeyed, 
 he left the house, and Mrs. Penelope felt her- 
 self in comparative security. 
 
 Walters preceded her up stairs, and though 
 her knees knocked together, and her limbs 
 seemed scarcely able to bear up her weight, 
 the poor lady crept noislessly after him, all the 
 way up stairs, till she reached the bed room, 
 where her heart's treasure lay, struggling 
 between life and death. 
 
 Not a sound was heard — deep, silent, pro- 
 found quiet reigned within that apartment. 
 At a slight noise made by Walters, Carroll 
 turned round and seeing who accompanied him, 
 she motioned with her hand for quiet, and crept 
 towards them ; weepingly, she caught hold of 
 the old lady's hand, and kissed it reverently,
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 173 
 
 then drawing her into the room, and towards 
 the bed, she placed her by its side ; the cur- 
 tains were closely drawn next to her, and from 
 the near approach of night, she was unable to 
 see anything distinctly. 
 
 The room was dark, sombre and still, but by 
 degrees the grief-stricken aunt moved almost 
 breathlessly round to the other side of the sick, 
 couch, and then she could hear faintly the 
 weak, rapid respiration of the little darling. 
 Mrs. Penelope's heart beat violently, almost 
 to suffocation. She caught by the bed-post to 
 prevent her from falling, and felt dying ; Car- 
 roll had only time to snatch at a chair, and 
 place her mistress in it, so as to catch her 
 almost fainting form whispering — take courage 
 ma'am, you will be a blessing to her. She was 
 at once cheered, yes, cheered — hopeful at these 
 words — the hope of being useful, and a com- 
 fort to the child, supported her, and she strug- 
 gled hard, very hard, to subdue her great 
 emotion ; she succeded, so as in a little time 
 to be comparatively calm, and equal for any 
 exertion she would be called upon to make. 
 
 Carroll shortly lit a night lamp, which 
 stood in a distant part of the room, moving it
 
 174 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 carefully, and shading it cautiously with her 
 hand ; then she came near, and permitted the 
 little, faint light to fall gradually on the slum- 
 bering girl. Mrs. Penelope at first, felt that 
 she could hardly trust herself to look up, but, 
 when she did, she beheld a change, a wonder- 
 ful marvellous change that she had not antici- 
 pated. So great was the shock produced by 
 the sight, that she nearly screamed forth her 
 fright and horror. When she looked again, she 
 doubted whether Mary was really there, 
 whether that pale corpse-like thing could be 
 her precious niece ; she quickly withdrew her 
 gaze, and pressing her hands before her eyes, 
 wept long and very bitterly, in vain endeavour- 
 ing to restrain herself. 
 
 At last, a faint, very faint sound was heard 
 throughout the room, low and tremulous — it was 
 Mary's voice — the first intelligible connected 
 sentence she had spoken ever since she was 
 laid upon that bed of suffering. 
 
 " My own darling aunty." A long pause, 
 and then again — 
 
 " Dearest aunt^ my loved friend, you have 
 come to save me." 
 
 The form of the girl was motionless, the
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 175 
 
 eyes which had for a moment opened and 
 fixed upon her aunt, re-closed, but tears 
 gathered thickly on the long black lashes, and 
 one by one rolled down the pallid cheeks. A 
 slight movement came into the white emaciated 
 hand laid on the coverlid, as if it were an 
 attempt to give it to Mrs. Penelope. In a 
 moment she was up and upon her knees, that 
 little dear hand clasped with unspeakable fond- 
 ness to her heart, then to her lips, where it 
 was covered with kisses, and deluged with 
 scalding tears. 
 
 *^ Oh ! aunt, do not cry, I am better." 
 . "Thank God! my own precious darling." 
 
 There was then a long, very long silence, and 
 Mary seemed to be again sleeping, but she 
 was not. She looked so exhausted, so wholly 
 unable even again to open her eyelids, that 
 her aunt feared the sudden exertion of seeing 
 and speaking to her had been too much. Car- 
 roll slowly and gently raised her head with 
 one arm, while she carefully poured into her 
 mouth a teaspoonful of some nourishing pre- 
 paration. It seemed to revive her a little, 
 and then she remained again motionless. 
 
 Ere long Sir Aldrich returned with the phy-
 
 176 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 sician, for whom he had been obliged to wait 
 some time; the baronet went into the drawing- 
 room, and the doctor ascended by himself to 
 Mary's room. The quick eye of the kind and 
 skilful man immediately discerned the form 
 of a stranger in the apartment. From her 
 appearance, he at once surmised that she must 
 be the loved old aunt so clamorously called 
 for in Mary's hours of delirium. 
 
 The venerable old lady was kneeling at the 
 bed-side, nursing and caressing the feeble hand, 
 when he entered. He kindly raised her from 
 her uncomfortable position, and seaited her in 
 the easy-chair which stood at the bed's head. 
 Then he took out his watch, and, placing 
 himself upon the side of the bed, carefully 
 examined the pulse, and anxiously scanned 
 the sick girl's face. Then he gently placed 
 his hand upon the broad, expansive forehead, 
 from which all the hair had been cut off, and 
 pressed it. Mary looked up as he did so, 
 and smiled faintly in token of recognition. 
 "With the utmost care he dropped some power- 
 ful stimulant from a phial into a spoon, and 
 administered it ; it was swallowed with much 
 difficulty. Then she closed her eyes, and
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 177 
 
 looked so death-like, that the physician signed 
 to Carroll to bring him a looking-glass, which 
 he held from time to time to the child's lips. 
 Each time that he repeated the action a faint 
 breath dimmed the surface of the mirror. He 
 looked up to Mrs. Penelope, nodded signifi- 
 cantly, and smiled continually on poor nurse, 
 who stood almost breathlessly regarding the 
 group at the other side of the bed. Art had 
 vigorously aided nature, and triumphed over 
 disease and death ; the struggling life was 
 strengthening in her veins, and rallying at her 
 heart. 
 
 So stayed all and each of the watchers, 
 through many hours of the long night. The doc- 
 tor never resigned his post, or even altered his 
 position ; for he was abound by his own wishes, 
 and that of his medical brethren, to watch 
 carefully over the efiects of the new and most 
 powerful remedy which had been administered. 
 Sir Aldrich occasionally crept to the door, and 
 by signs was made acquainted with the hope- 
 ful results of the new medicine. 
 
 By early morning, the doctor's mind was 
 very happily satisfied with the pleasing appear- 
 ance and improved symptoms of his patient. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 He left the room to apprize Sir Aldrich of all 
 matters, not forgetting to state his pleasure 
 at the presence of the old ladj, and Mary's 
 apparent contentment. 
 
 He induced the baronet to have a cup of 
 coflfee, and contrived to put into it some 
 soothing anodyne. Walters being acquainted 
 with the fact, arranged his master's bed upon 
 a sofa in the drawing-room ; so that, without 
 difficulty, he was made to lie down comfort- 
 ably and undressed — a circumstance which no 
 entreaties had been able to induce before. 
 
 On the doctor's return to Mary, he found 
 her still progressing favourably. In a whisper 
 he communicated to Mrs. Penelope the neces- 
 sity he had of leaving his patient for some 
 hours in her charge. He gave into her care 
 some medicines, which were to be from time 
 to time given with caution, and emphatically 
 directed that no exertion of body or anxiety 
 of mind was to be permitted. Mrs. Penelope 
 had narrowly watched each action of his, and 
 all his proceedings, respecting the medicines, 
 so that she was able to promise a faithful dis- 
 charge of the duties intrusted to her. 
 
 Carroll, too, was quite worn out, so that
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 179 
 
 she was easily prevailed upon to go to bed for 
 some time. She withdrew into Mary's dressing- 
 room, where she threw herself upon a couch ; 
 and was almost, at once, fast asleep. The sick- 
 nurse, seeing herself unheeded, had retired in 
 the early part of the night, so that Mrs. Pene- 
 lope found herself left in full possession of the 
 sick-room and its precious occupant. Light, 
 refreshing slumbers continued all through the 
 morning, as they had done through the night ; 
 now and then she awoke sufficiently to take a 
 spoonful of warmed jelly, or a few drops of her 
 restorative ; each time showing, by her loving 
 glance, that she knew whose was the hand that 
 gave them. 
 
 For the whole day, Mrs. Penelope sat by 
 her recovered treasure, steadily regarding her, 
 and only occasionally removing her glance to 
 look at her watch. Walters very often stole 
 in on tiptoe with some dainty offering, respect- 
 fully insisting on something being taken by his 
 mistress, who, to gratify him, would put a 
 wine-glass to his lips, or break off a morsel of 
 biscuit. 
 
 Three doctors appeared at mid-day. Their 
 verdict was most comforting, all and each agreed, 
 
 n2
 
 180 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 that some powerful reaction had taken place, 
 which, aided by the powerful restoratives, au- 
 gured a favourable result. Then — and for 
 the first time — Mrs. Penelope began to cherish 
 hopes, and she was able, in some degree, to 
 compose her mind, and thankfully enjoy the 
 coveted privilege, which she so much valued, of 
 nursing and tending her darling. 
 
 It is wonderful what an amazing amount of 
 bodily sufiering and fatigue can be borne and 
 endured by the most feeble and delicate beings, 
 when the mind goes with the exertion. Here 
 was this dear old lady, weakly delicate, and 
 easily overcome, enduring an amount of fatigue, 
 and an utter forgetfulness of self, which a 
 younger person could not encounter without 
 difficulty and injury. 
 
 Till the next morning did she hold her soli- 
 tary watch. Carroll slept long and soundly. 
 Sir Aldrich, too, enjoyed refreshing rest ; both 
 master and servant had been utterly deprived 
 of all sleep by their incessant fears and deep 
 anxiety. When Mary awoke, on the second 
 morning of her aunt's watching, she said, in a 
 weak voice — 
 
 ** Oh ! I am so much better."
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 181 
 
 What a balm and blessing those little words 
 were to Mrs. Penelope's heart; she at once 
 stood up and gave, as directed, a little brandy 
 and water to the invalid, whose lips were dry 
 and parched. Then, and not till then, the 
 poor lady allowed herself to be prevailed upon 
 to retire to bed, and seek for rest ; but, before 
 she did so, she wrote to her faithful friend, 
 Madame de Bohn, narrating the sad state of 
 aflfairs. 
 
 For days and weeks did Mary linger, hardly 
 alive. Skill and care, fanning the feeble flame 
 of existence, and keeping it still in the weak, 
 helpless frame ; but youth and God's blessing, 
 aided by all that medical art and tender 
 nursing could effect, turned the scale in favour 
 of life. At first her recovery was very slow ; 
 and her friends and physicians feared for the 
 ultimate result. At length she was pro- 
 nounced wholly out of danger. 
 
 Then followed the most careful watchings — 
 the most munificent treatment — the most 
 luxurious comforts and attendance. Sir Al- 
 drich spared nothing that could tend to facili- 
 tate her recovery, or promote her pleasure. 
 Who can bear to steadily regard the secret
 
 182 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 workings of their own imagination ? — who can 
 look into the hnman heart and bear to note 
 the varied emotions which pass through it ? — 
 none, no, not one ; and well it is for us that 
 it is so ; for who, or which of us, could stand 
 up proof against the discovery of our selfish 
 passions and anxieties ? — who could bear the 
 reward due to such passions and anxieties ? 
 
 Poor Sir Aldrich ! he dared not take cog- 
 nizance of himself or of his thoughts. He 
 quailed before the bare idea of self-scrutiny, 
 and tried to smother the appalling cries of 
 conscience with a hope that all might yet turn 
 out well. Between him and his sister there 
 arose, from this fearful time of dread and 
 suffering, a more cordial feeling of mutual 
 trust, than had ever before existed, though 
 there was an avoidance of the one terrible 
 subject of the marriage, as if by tacit agree- 
 ment. Though both their thoughts were ever 
 and always fixed on the one subject, the 
 thought never shaped itself into words. 
 
 The brother and the sister, now constantly 
 associated in their attendance in the sick- 
 room, found themselves more together, and 
 more intimately connected, than they ever had
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 183 
 
 been before. They would both, in the still- 
 ness and quiet of that apartment, fall naturally 
 into the same train of thought — as if they had 
 unreservedly declared their feelings aloud; 
 but on the subject of Harold they maintained 
 a profound, unbroken silence. 
 
 When Mary began decidedly to improve, so 
 that she could be moved from her bed to the 
 couch in her dressing-room, Madame de Bohn 
 was summoned up to town, at her pupil's re- 
 quest, and was only too happy in being per- 
 mitted to assist Mrs. Penelope in the task of 
 amusing and nursing the convalescent. 
 
 Then, after some time, Mary was permitted 
 to go down stairs, and join the little family 
 circle transplanted from BuLstrode to London ; 
 and so by degrees, till a gentle drive was 
 ordered. But all these changes were very 
 slow, and no exertion was permitted, excepting 
 under strict regulations. 
 
 Mary had grown amazingly tall during her 
 long illness and confinement to bed and a 
 recumbent posture ; indeed, it was feared she 
 had outgrown her strength. A cough still 
 worried her, and London air was considered 
 too enervating for her enfeebled frame. The
 
 184 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 return to Bulstrode was deemed inadvisable, 
 as all tendency to excitement should be 
 strictly guarded against ; so that Sir Aldrich 
 was advised by the medical gentlemen to give 
 up all idea of returning there with Mary for 
 the present, and remove her to some cheerful, 
 healthy locality outside London. So a house 
 was taken at Eichmond, and to it Mary and 
 the family moved, as soon as she was able to 
 make the change. 
 
 Not one word had ever escaped Mary's lips 
 on the subject of Harold or the cause of her 
 illness; but, it was very evident, she felt 
 agitated and nervous, when, in conversation, 
 anything relative to Bulstrode was said, or 
 any allusion made to her cousin. It seemed 
 as if she tried not to think or wish to re- 
 member anything. To her grandfather she 
 was as devotedly attentive, and as affection- 
 ately disposed as ever. She spoke lovingly 
 and tenderly to him, and delighted to have 
 him near and about her, accepting all his acts 
 of love and affection as gratefully and natu- 
 rally as ever. 
 
 But she had not forgotten, neither was she 
 ignorant of, all she had gone through, and the
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 185 
 
 cause of it. No sooner had reason returned 
 to its seat, and recollection come back, than 
 all and everything was apparent to her mind's 
 eye. A new and strange sensation came upon 
 her: she felt that she had been suddenly 
 transformed from a perfect child into a 
 woman, a suffering, careworn woman ; the 
 joys and hopes of her happy childhood, were 
 past, lost to her for ever ; she had suddenly 
 been plunged into the sorrows and trials and 
 troubles of womanhood. And yet she was 
 Mary still, the same as ever — unaltered in 
 heart, feeling, and disposition, but still 
 changed, fearfully changed — how strange ! 
 Once she said to her aunt, as they were 
 leisurely sauntering through the pretty 
 pleasure-grounds that surrounded their Eich- 
 mond villa — 
 
 "Aunt, I want to say something to you 
 very much ; I have longed to say something 
 to you, but I cannot. Do not expect me to 
 talk on things and matters which have made 
 me so very miserable, and which have nearly 
 killed me ; but I wish you to tell grandpapa 
 from me, that I fear he thinks me very un- 
 grateful in remaining here, away from Bui-
 
 186 TEE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 strode, when he dislikes staying anywhere 
 else ; but I cannot return there, at least, not 
 now. In time I may get over the dreadful 
 feelings I have about going back to that place, 
 where all my happy life was spent ; but I 
 could not bear to see it now. Oh, I am so 
 changed, so miserable, since I came away from 
 it. Every room in the house, every tree in 
 the woods, every bird in the air, would re- 
 mind me of all I suffered for that place. Oh, 
 that I had never been born to share its splen- 
 dour, or own its name ! Dearest aunt, let us 
 never talk of this again, but tell grandpapa 
 what I say, and ask him to forgive my way- 
 wardness. You know. Aunt Pen, what I have 
 been made to suffer for the pride and whims 
 of others, do not let me be worried quite to 
 death by any more inflictions. I am but a 
 little creature yet, and unable to help myself, 
 but you must, for my sake, do everything to 
 help me." 
 
 All this was told to Sir Aldrich. He looked 
 angry and grieved, but that. was of no avail. 
 Mary could not be excited or annoyed, so he 
 must even bear the annoyance as best he 
 could, and content himself with solitary jour-
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 187 
 
 neyings backward 'and forward. The fact was, 
 he had been so thoroughly and completely 
 frightened at the consequences of his ill-advised 
 scheme, that he dreaded to offer any annoy- 
 ance or opposition to the wishes of the being 
 he had nearly annihilated. His temper had 
 become mollified to an incredible degree, his 
 habits and disposition wonderfully softened, 
 and the Bulstrode pride less powerful than 
 before. 
 
 Harold had constantly written home. He 
 made anxious inquiries for the health of Mary, 
 and expressed many kindly dispositions to- 
 wards her; but his uncle judged wisely that 
 silence about him was the best policy, and, 
 therefore, he never alluded to Harold before 
 Mary. 
 
 So things went on, until a whole year had 
 passed away from Bulstrode, and Mary had 
 grown tall and stronger; but still she was 
 troubled with a wearying cough, and much 
 pain in her side. This made Sir Aldrich very 
 miserable, and he very anxiously consulted 
 Mary's physicians. They ordered change of 
 air as the best remedy. Sir Aldrich hoped, 
 then, that she would be satisfied to return
 
 188 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 home, where his heart yearned to be ; but no, 
 she became ill in consequence of the very idea 
 — so, of course, the hope had to be resigned. 
 A residence in Italy, or the south of France, 
 was recommended by the faculty for a year 
 or two. 
 
 It was just at this time that Madame de 
 Bohn signified her intention of going to reside 
 with a married daughter, who had resided for 
 som6 years in Genoa. As soon as the doctor's 
 decision about Mary was made known, a pro- 
 posal was made by madame to Sir Aldrich, 
 that he^should permit Mary to accompany her, 
 with Mrs. Penelope and Carroll, and that all the 
 party should reside for a year or two with her 
 daughter. Afraid to refuse, and unable from 
 his age and infirmities to encounter long 
 voyagings and travellings, he long argued the 
 point with his sister and the doctors ; but at 
 last they conquered his prejudices and disin- 
 clinations, and the plan for a two years' resi- 
 dence in Genoa, if it agreed with Mary, was 
 sanctioned and arranged. He stipulated that 
 at the end of the two years, Mary should con- 
 sent to return to Bulstrode, and take up her 
 final residence there.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 189 
 
 It was a very great trial to the old man to 
 permit this arrangement to take place. Only 
 for his intense love, and regret for all that had 
 occurred, nothing would have induced him to 
 allow the separation from his idol. But he 
 was unable to refuse. It was likemse a great 
 test of Mrs. Penelope's love and affection, too, 
 for her to agree to brave all the dangers of 
 sea and land, and, at her time of life, leave the 
 comforts of home, and her native land, for a 
 sojourn in a foreign clime ; but she did so 
 willingly when it was to be for her Mary's 
 benefit.
 
 190 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Plato, thou reasonest well." 
 
 The good ship Trafalgar ran her course over 
 the trackless deep well and prosperously ; and 
 bore her living freight of precious souls in 
 health and safety through the perils and dan- 
 gers of her long voyage from England, to the 
 burning shores of India. 
 
 On arriving at Calcutta the passengers 
 were landed, and proceeded on their different 
 routes and destinations. His excellency the 
 Governor General and his lady taking posses- 
 sion of Government House, with Harold Bul- 
 strode as a sharer of their hospitality. 
 
 Long before his arrival at his journey's end,
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 191 
 
 Harold's disturbed feelings and troubled con- 
 science had been calmed into peace, and lulled 
 into forgetfulness of his late distressing adven- 
 ture. Mary was but little thought of, and he 
 had gradually weaned his mind from all dis- 
 agreeable thoughts and distressing reminiscen- 
 ces. It would be hard for him to have re- 
 mained in any way regretful or discomfitted 
 during his progress over the mighty deep ; on 
 him, and for him all and every thing seemed 
 to smile — his days rolled over in a delicious 
 monotony, as in the enjoyment of every luxury, 
 and in the society of the most charming of her 
 sex his four months voyage passed. There in 
 that vessel, far away from home and kindred, 
 his days and nights succeeded each other in 
 unchanging happiness ; there he was loving 
 and beloved, revelling in all the blissfulness of 
 his platonic affections. 
 
 The happiness was unchanged, and remain- 
 ed as vividly unclouded on his arrival in India. 
 Month after month passed by, mingling with 
 the past, and finding him and her the same, 
 — they read, sketched, sang, rode and drove 
 together — a unityf of tastes and feeling pre- 
 vaded every thing they did or said ; separated
 
 192 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 from the world in which they so lately dwelt, 
 thrown together in a foreign land, dependant 
 on each other for happiness, they were all and 
 everything to each other. 
 
 Sometimes, _^but not often. Lady Marley 
 would touch upon the subject of the little 
 cousin at home ; but when she did it was but 
 to bewail and lament the sacrifice that he had 
 been compelled to make to family interests. 
 There, with her witching voice and gentle man- 
 ner she would sit with Harold, looking 
 supremely lovely, and evidencing in each tone 
 and word her devotion to his every word and 
 wish ; then with tears gathering in her eyes 
 she would again deplore his fate, no less than 
 her own ; he was every thing, all regrets were 
 for bim, and him alone, for not a kindly 
 thought, or a pitying word was vouchsafed to 
 the unfortunate cause of his sad sacrifice. 
 
 Oft times enveloped in a whirl of gaiety, 
 Lady Marley would shine transcendantly, the 
 ^queen of beauty, wit and fashion ; the observed 
 of all observers, so very fascinating, so entirely 
 graceful, and so perfectly enchanting to all 
 that came within the orbit of her animating 
 presence — yet still more winning and more
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 193 
 
 charming when in the quiet of the family circle, 
 she moved so gently, and with such engaging 
 simplicity of air and manner, dispensing her 
 hospitable duties, and domestic attentions 
 round, and about her, with so much kindliness 
 and affection ; still more triumphantly lovely 
 and absorbing, when in the fresh welcome cool- 
 ness of the evening hours she rambled forth 
 under the moon -lit canopy of heaven, and 
 poured forth the thrilling notes of her magni- 
 ficent voice upon the night breeze, stirring 
 the quiet scenes around her into melody ; or as 
 she silently sat inside some sheltering verandah 
 musing to herself, heedless of those around her, 
 and unconscious of the presence of any being 
 but the one. 
 
 Lord Marley (as was before said,) was no 
 longer young — he had nothing in or about him 
 calculated to excite the love and affection of such 
 a wife as he possessed, save and except his 
 unfeigned kindlmess of disposition, and trust- 
 ing generosity. But he was, and ever had 
 been, a kind, indulgent, fond husband, very 
 proud of all the attributes belonging to Lady 
 Marley. He had no talent, no genius, nothing 
 whatsoever that ought to have induced the 
 
 VOL I.
 
 194 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 British government to place the governorship 
 of India in his keeping. Nevertheless, without 
 doubt, there have been worse men sent out to 
 fill the appointment, though they might have 
 been better governors. He was blessed with a 
 very good temper and great patience, both of 
 which helped him well on his way. His chief 
 delight and pleasure was to have his wife 
 admired; he spared nothing that could tend 
 to her happiness and pleasure, and lavished 
 wealth and unbounded confidence upon her. 
 
 Fond — very fond — he was of convivial 
 society, and too much given to the pleasures 
 of eating and drinking. Indeed, he was a pro- 
 found votary to the wine cup, which he ever 
 and always drained so deeply, that his brain 
 became affected. Night after night found him 
 devoted to the debasing pleasure, which had 
 increased under the influence of the debilitating 
 climate in which he was located. Each re- 
 turning evening saw him surrounded with 
 some choice companions, who, like himself, 
 adored the juice of the grape, and worshipped 
 it unceasingly. These companions had few 
 claims to merit in any way Lord Marley's 
 friendship, excepting the similarity of their 
 tastes with his.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 195 
 
 He was attached to Harold Bulstrode on 
 many accounts. First, he had been a friend, 
 nay, a cousin, of his dear Edith's — as such, 
 his claims on his affection were unlimited. 
 Secondly, he was proud to possess the friend- 
 ship of a man so looked up to, and so highly 
 thought of — a man so talented, gifted, and so 
 honourable in every action of his life. Then 
 it was a great matter for him to have a wise 
 head, and a deep understanding, to call upon 
 for aid and advice in all cases of emergency. 
 Harold was so very temperate at all times, 
 and so cool headed, that the Governor was 
 always sure and safe when relying on his 
 assistance and counsel. The younger man 
 made it a rule always to absent himself fi'om 
 the wine parties, which constituted the prin- 
 cipal enjoyment of Lord Marley's nightly 
 routine. 
 
 Perhaps there might have been another 
 cause for Harold's absence, besides a love of 
 temperance, little dreamt of in Lord Mai'ley's 
 philosophy. It might be that Harold was hap- 
 pier than the assembled party of convivials round 
 the dining table imagined. Ay ! indeed, not 
 only was it, that he might be happier, but in 
 
 o2
 
 196 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 reality he was so. Leaving the noisy group, 
 he would hurry off to the drawing-room, 
 where, in the presence of the lady of the 
 mansion, he would feel as if 
 
 " Into the heaven of heavens he had presumed, an earthly 
 guest, 
 And drawn imperial air." 
 
 there to hold ' converse sweet,' and lap his 
 soul in the Elysium of welcoming smiles ; pass- 
 ing a long delightful night in music, accom- 
 panying her with his deep rich voice ; or 
 reading some amusing work to her, as she 
 plied her needle, or sat looking upon the 
 graceful reader. 
 
 Perhaps some exquisite eve would induce 
 her to accompany him in a ride or drive, 
 which the noonday heat would not permit her 
 to enjoy — a ride or drive far away into some 
 secluded, distant spot. 
 
 One lovely night had tempted a long ro- 
 mantic drive to some far-off place hitherto 
 unvisited. It had been a glorious evening, 
 and had merged into an enchanting heavenly 
 night. Harold and the lady were alone. The 
 illness of his servant had caused them to ven- 
 ture in an open phaeton, unattended. The
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 197 
 
 drive had been prolonged beyond its usual 
 limits, and the carriage was retracing its 
 homeward way. The night was rapidly closing 
 round them ; the deep violet hues of twilight 
 rested on the hills ; whilst on the plains, the 
 lofty trees waved their topmost boughs, which 
 stood out clear and distinctly against the 
 evening sky. On the varied shrubs a flicker- 
 ing light yet rested, and the gigantic, flowering 
 aloe mingled its golden leaves with the dark, 
 gloomy cypress. 
 
 The whole scene, far as the eye could reach 
 or penetrate, was still and peaceful, as if the 
 tracing of some landscape painting. A faint, 
 pale streak of light illumined the horizon, and 
 no sound fell upon the ear to tell of man's 
 existence. 
 
 The pace at which they had been journey- 
 mg was very slow. Both the driver and his 
 companion had long been silent, wrapt in 
 utter abstraction. Suddenly Harold reined 
 up his magnificent and spirited horses, and at 
 once the carriage rested from its motion. Not 
 a word was spoken — all was silent as the grave. 
 The hour, the calmness of all around them, 
 entered into their hearts with a profound depth 
 of deep, unspeakable enjoyment.
 
 198 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 What cared they then for the world and 
 its inhabitants — its troubles, cares, or joys? 
 They were to each other all and all — the 
 Alpha and Omega of existence. The .world 
 forgetting, they would wish to be by that 
 world forgotten. What did they care for 
 aught that w^orld could yield them ? They 
 recked not, in that deep, still hour, that a 
 fond, confiding, loving husband waited her re- 
 turn, to cheer him with her presence — that a 
 pure, tender child-bride tarried in his home 
 for him. No matter, all and everything — the 
 past, the present, the future — were all blended 
 into one, and merged into the beautiful, ab- 
 sorbing, actual present. 
 
 Grown-up people think and wish, and hope 
 and fear, but they no longer actually enjoy — 
 at least, but seldom. Children — innocent, 
 confiding, trusting children — are the only pure 
 representatives of the harmless, life-enjoying 
 present. In manhood the strivings, wishes, and 
 passions impel us onward so swiftly from that 
 past, which has but too often ill fulfilled the 
 promise of our early hopes, towards that future 
 in which we yet look for their accomplish- 
 ment, that we have neither time, nor strength,
 
 THE TOUXG BRIDE. 199 
 
 nor spirit left to hold fast, and to use arigbt 
 those little moments which speed so rapidly 
 away from us, and which we name the present. 
 So it was with Harold and La^ly Marley. 
 Wrapped up in the exquisite enjoyment of the 
 time and hour, the past and fixture were for- 
 gotten, though they were too abstracted tc> 
 heed the entrancing present, which gave them 
 to each other, and which was so rapidly escap- 
 ing them. The hearts of both had pined 
 throughout that very day for peaceful solitude, 
 in which and wherewith to commune with each 
 other, apart from the worldlings that ever 
 surrounded them. They had longed for seclu- 
 sion, away from observation, where they could 
 speak unreservedly, and breathe forth the sen- 
 timents only to be known and heard by each 
 other. It seemed to each as if they had worlds 
 of converse ready to be shared, and still they 
 did not utter a syllable — did not speak a word: 
 nay, they even moved not — ^scarcely breathed. 
 They took no note of the longed-for hour of 
 mutual communing ; they dreamed not of 
 arresting and using the too perfect present 
 which now united them. The noble and com- 
 manding Harold, a picture of manly beauty
 
 200 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 and courtly grace, was dumb, and lost in 
 thought and contemplation, by the side of 
 that fair and graceful daughter of Eve — both 
 such fitting and worthy types of those first 
 parents of mankind, ere sin had clouded the 
 moral beauty in which they were originally 
 formed. 
 
 The accurately pencilled profile of Lady 
 Marley's classic face, could be distinctly noted 
 in the darkness which was gathering thickly 
 round them each moment ; and as Harold 
 turned his head at length towards her, a sigh, 
 deep and profound, escaped his lips, and he 
 seemed to breathe with difficulty; for thoughts 
 of the past and future, at that moment, had 
 penetrated his breast, and, with stern prompt- 
 ings, had come unwished for to damp his 
 remembrance of the blissful present. He 
 said — 
 
 ^' Edith, do not men and women build up 
 between each other towering partition walls 
 of form and convenance, behind which they 
 entrench themselves in severe propriety. Is 
 it not so with us ? At this very moment, as I 
 speak, a cold barrier seems to exist between 
 us, and deprives us of the power of speech,
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 201 
 
 which our real feelings would prompt, and 
 which our long attachment to each other 
 would warrant. The world, cold, selfish as it 
 is, requires us to wear a mask when mixing 
 with it, and with its votaries ; yet even then we 
 can find words and converse suited to our 
 thoughts, of which others can understand no- 
 thing. In the world, and in associating with 
 it we can be gay, unreserved and joyous ; we 
 make the most of the fleeting hours as they 
 pass, and endeavour to enjoy each others 
 society, even when hampered by the cere- 
 monies and puerile associates that surround us. 
 How difierent, how widely different it is with 
 us, when alone — alone, we are as it were 
 strangers to each other, we are reserved, 
 silent, and oppressed ; we have no enjoyment 
 of unreserved converse, no interchange of con- 
 fidence, we are only stifily cold and wholly ab- 
 stracted. We are too cowardly to annihilate 
 that partition wall of propriety, and we make 
 ourselves wretched, because we dread to own 
 to each other the feelings that oppress us, we 
 dread to own that we love." 
 
 No answer was returned, though Harold 
 paused as if he expected one, then he con- 
 tinued —
 
 202 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 '^ Everybody must know, that here on 
 earth, the beings constantly associated with 
 each other, (as we are,) must gradually 
 become endeared to one another, even were 
 they before perfect strangers, their feelings, 
 ideas, thoughts and hearts must be assimilated 
 to one another, they become all and every 
 thing to each other ; they are together ever and 
 always without weariness ; a southern land 
 transports the minds of persons thus endeared 
 into a hitherto undreamt of world of delight ; 
 the hopes of the heart render them each to 
 each the sole enjoyment of life ; the idle talk 
 and senseless criticisms of their fellow mortals 
 totally untune their minds, and jar upon their 
 feelings ; still in the very centre of all the jar- 
 ring elements of society, we are nearer to each 
 other than when only with ourselves ; my 
 sentiments and my devotion are the same here 
 as elsewhere, I possess for you the same 
 perfect love, the same full unchanging affection, 
 but in the world I can show you, tell you that 
 I love you, alone with you, I can neither show 
 it nor speak it." 
 
 He extended his hand, and took within it 
 the trembling one of the lady, she permitted 
 it to remain a captive, but did not speak.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 203 
 
 '^ Do you not note all I say as truth Edith ?" 
 " Yes." but the word was so lowly uttered, 
 that it would have been unheard, but that the 
 anxious listening ear of Harold caught it, as it 
 blended with the struggling breath that bore 
 it ; more like unto a sigh it was, than to' a 
 word. 
 
 " Oh ! Edith, light of my life, treasure of 
 my heart and soul, the love I so fondly cher- 
 ished for you, is beyond and above every love 
 that man can bear for woman. How long and 
 many have been the years that have elapsed 
 since first we met, and felt we loved, aye, with 
 the first un doubting perfect love of boy and 
 girlhood, the only unselfish and continuing 
 love this earth can; boast of, first love. Pride 
 and worldliness have been our bane and ruin ; 
 the barrier to a union of souls which would 
 have been but too perfect. You are a wife, a 
 sacrifice to the love of rank, and fame and 
 wealth ; I, an isolated being, a nominal husband, 
 a degraded hostage to support a fabric of 
 pompous wealth and vaunted lineage. Pah ! 
 it makes me sick to think to what vile uses we 
 debase our minds and powers, and the souls 
 given us by heaven for better and more noble
 
 204 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 uses. Pride, vain-glorious pride has possessed 
 my heart and brain with the power and in- 
 fluence of a demon, and behold the consequence 
 of it, the end of it.'* 
 
 Lady Marley tenderly pressed the hand 
 which he held, and he could feel and see that 
 she was weeping. 
 
 "Tears, my Edith! and for me! — how un- 
 speakably precious are they. Oh ! dearest, 
 you can but faintly picture to yourself how 
 precious to my heart is every token of your 
 affection. Like a miser, I hoard each symptom 
 and sign of it, and grudge you to show to 
 others a particle of that feeling which should 
 have been mine alone." 
 
 " You need not grudge it, Harold — you 
 need not fear that affection for any one can 
 exist, but for yourself ; surely by this time you 
 should know that ?" 
 
 " No, Edith, I do not know it. The affec- 
 tion of your heart is but faithless. Is it not 
 claimed by others ?" 
 
 " Alas ! it is ; though the claim is not al- 
 lowed. You cannot deem me faithless ; when 
 in pride and groundless jealousy you left me, 
 conscious of being the sole possessor of my
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 205 
 
 heart. Ah ! Harold, had you left me with 
 but a gleam of hope, no husband should ever 
 have had me for a wife — no man should have 
 had power to claim affection from me ; 
 years would but have strengthened my con- 
 stancy, and you would have found me as you 
 left me — true, faithful, and unchanged." 
 
 *' Edith, this is dreadful — perhaps, it is so 
 — perhaps, it is true, as you say — and I have 
 been the cause of my own misery ; but, if we 
 are to be blessed, my beloved, with the heart's 
 best treasure, * peace of mind ' — if we are to 
 continue to each other the same pure, devoted 
 love — if I am to prove to you the unselfish 
 devotion of what I profess to be — your friend 
 — we must part. Nay, start not, dearest idol- 
 ized Edith, we must, though it may be as if 
 we tore our hearts in pieces ; there is no help 
 for us, but in our separation. I have feared 
 it — dreaded it — and thought unceasingly ot 
 the necessity of it — but, to-night, I feel and 
 know that it must be so. To the uttermost 
 ends of the world I must hasten, to shut out 
 every gleam of happiness — every ray of com- 
 fort. I must give up hope — nay, maybe, life 
 itself — but still, stern conscience dictates what 
 I must do."
 
 206 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 Edith started — gasped — almost fainted ; 
 such an unimagined blow had almost caused 
 her to spring from the carriage-seat to the 
 ground. She had never dreamt of such an 
 agonizing affliction — such a wonderful source 
 of grief and anguish. Part ! and why ?— 
 wherefore should they part, now or ever? — 
 why need he dream or whisper such a cala- 
 mity? — what need was there that they ever 
 should separate through life ? — were they not 
 the world to each other — all — everything ? 
 Part, oh ! no, she could not, would not ; he 
 was all she possessed, or loved, in the wide 
 world — her first, her only love — her friend — 
 her comfort, — part with him, no, never ! 
 
 For a moment, as these thoughts rushed 
 through her mind, a feeling of pride — wounded, 
 injured pride — gained the ascendancy ; and 
 she put the dreadful question to herself — 
 " Was he anxious to part from her on his own ac- 
 count, did he wish to renounce her love — her 
 devotion? — would he now wish to resign her, 
 and turn towards that hitherto-despised cousin, 
 to whom interest and wealth had bound him ? 
 No, no, it was impossible — utterly impossible 
 — he could not for this cause leave her — he
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 207 
 
 had not ceased to love her — he never could." 
 Hope whispered happier thoughts ; she sud- 
 denly brightened, and, turning to him, said, in 
 mournful accents — 
 
 " Part ! no, Harold, that cannot be — part 
 in this foreign land, where we doubly need 
 each other's love, and care, and companion- 
 ship ? — why do you dream of such a dreadful 
 thing ? — what change has come over you, my 
 best — my only — friend ? — are you not bound 
 to me by the bonds of kindred ties, early love, 
 unchanged affection? — are you not my own 
 noble, kind Harold, whose will and way is 
 my sole delight and pleasure? Secure in 
 the affection of each other, never did any being 
 so completely depend upon another as I 
 have done on you. You first consoled me 
 with the promise, that unaltering friendship 
 should hallow our devotion, and I will hold 
 you to your promise and agreement. We can- 
 not part — indeed, we cannot; if we do, I shall 
 not live to mourn your absence. If you could 
 but look into my heart, Harold, you would 
 see how wholly your image occupied it, how 
 alone you possessed it. I have no one else to 
 love me — you are my all. Oh ! do you not
 
 208 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 remember how, in years long past, you won 
 that love, which never was another's? A 
 motherless, neglected child, dependent on the 
 will of a harsh, unpitying, cold step-mother, 
 who weaned from me the love of my father, 
 for her own offspring, I was happy only when 
 I saw you, and felt you loved me. Oh! I 
 had pined and longed for some pitying soul, 
 some returning affection, and I found it alone 
 in you. My never -forgotten cousin, when you 
 left me in haughty pride and unbending stern- 
 ness, for a groundless cause, did my love 
 separate itself from you ? — did I bestow it on 
 aught else ? No, never ! as I Uve, I swear it. 
 The heart once yours has never swerved from 
 its fealty — never altered a hair's- breadth. 
 When stern fate compelled me to marry, I 
 frankly told my intended husband that I did 
 not love him; but that, in obedience to my 
 parents' wishes, I would consent to be his 
 wife. I went still still further, for I owned I 
 loved another with my heart's first and ten- 
 derest affection. I hoped then that he would 
 reject the hand so offered, when the possession 
 of the heart was hopeless; but, no, he per- 
 sisted he could and would win my love, and
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 209 
 
 induce me to regard him with sentiments of 
 respect and esteem, with which he would be 
 satisfied. Oh ! I was absolutely mad with 
 wretchedness and misery; there was no escape — '■ 
 I was married. How desolate my heart was 
 no one can tell ! I knew no happiness or 
 peace. I plunged headlong into the pleasures 
 and amusements which were unceasingly offered 
 to my acceptance — tried to find in the world 
 some diminution of my corroding care and 
 trouble. You returned, dear Harold, to bless 
 and comfort me — to be again the source of all 
 my joys and pleasures, the restored treasure 
 of my whole existence. And would you, tl^en, 
 again leave me to added misery and desolation, 
 worse off than ever? Would you break Edith's 
 heart, forsake her, and forget her ?" 
 
 ^' Though I leave her, never shall I forget 
 her, my first, best, richest possession. No, 
 dearest, your fond, confiding heart shall ever 
 be my own — mine shall never swerve from 
 you. Edith, to leave you will kill me — break 
 my heart, proud, hard, and stubborn as it 
 may seem ; I feel I cannot live without you. 
 No, cold, icy as may seem that heart of mine, 
 it contains within it a consuming fire — a pas- 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 THE TOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 sionate, devouring love for you, which never 
 can be quenched, and which must ultimately 
 prey upon existence itself. But you do love 
 me, Edith, best beloved, I know you do ; I 
 feel assui^ed you ever will. My precious one, 
 often as those dear lips have uttered the 
 declaration, I long and crave to hear it over 
 and over. My own, my beautiful, do you not 
 love me ?" 
 
 Harold, overpowered with intense emotion, 
 felt a fond pressure of his hand to the lips of 
 Edith, in reply to his vehement, passionate 
 address. A sudden joy at the loving action 
 thrilled throughout his whole frame like an 
 electric shock, and, catching her to his heart, 
 he pressed his first kiss of overwhelming love 
 upon her fair and beautiful brow. At that 
 very moment, the heavens were illumined by 
 an intense and vivid glare of light, a huge 
 blaze of fire, ascending to the skies imme- 
 diately before them. The phaeton, which had 
 remained motionless for some length of time, 
 was violently moved by the affrighted horses 
 which drew it. The sky was like a deep blue 
 boundless ocean, and the fire balloon — for such 
 it was, floated upwards, and seemed to plunge
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 211 
 
 into the cool, limpid atmosphere, as if into the 
 sea itself, above the heads of Harold and 
 Edith. The balloon, made of paper or cloth, 
 in which the internal air had been rarified by 
 fire, soared restlessly upwards, until it caught 
 fire, and fell to the earth, attended with a 
 loud explosion. The fiery and restless horses 
 reared suddenly and violently, plunging most 
 furiously and wildly, upsetting the carriage 
 down a steep bank. The lady was thrown far 
 into a swamp, but the head of Harold was 
 pitched with extreme violence upon a piece of 
 rock, so that he received a fearful contusion, 
 and became at once insensible. 
 
 The horses continued their fierce plungings 
 and exertions to disengage themselves from 
 the carriage, but without effect. One of the 
 splendid creatures was kicked to death by its 
 outrageous companion. It was very fortunate 
 for the occupants of the phaeton, that they had 
 both been thrown far out of the range of the 
 desperate animals. 
 
 All through the long, miserable night, 
 Harold remained insensible. Not a human 
 being came in the direction where the accident 
 had taken place. Lady Marley had raised 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 Harold's injured head upon the carriage 
 cushions, and covered him with a shawl. She 
 kept wandering up and down, round and 
 about his inanimate body, wild with fear and 
 deep anxiety. She walked in every direction, 
 but without any favourable result ; till, at 
 length, a party of Lascar seamen passed at 
 some distance. As soon as she heard the 
 sound of their voices, she rushed after them, 
 and succeeded in inducing them to come to the 
 assistance of the sufferer. A litter was speedily 
 made, and Harold was carefully moved on it 
 by the sailors, who then proceeded in the 
 direction of Lord Marley's residence ; one of 
 them being sent off with the melancholy intel- 
 ligence. 
 
 The surprise and alarm of Lord Marley was 
 very great when he became acquainted with 
 the sad event. He had, during the night, 
 been too much inebriated to notice the absence 
 of Lady Marley and Colonel Bulstrode, but the 
 whole household had been on the alert, and were 
 seriously alarmed at their non-appearance ; 
 more especially, as the illness of the colon eFs 
 groom had been remarked, and it was known 
 that the horses were fiery and impatient, so
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 213 
 
 much so, that no one would venture to drive 
 them but the master himself. 
 
 A carriage was immediately sent off to meet 
 the melancholy party, Lord Marley himself 
 and a medical man occupying it. On meeting 
 the calvacade, the physician thought it best to 
 leave Harold on the litter till he should reach 
 Government House. So the bier proceeded, 
 and Lady Marley was placed, perfectly ex- 
 hausted, in the carriage, and brought in a sad 
 state of suffering to her house, where for days 
 she was confined to bed, unable to give any 
 account of the cause of the disaster. 
 
 Harold was tenderly cared for, and moved 
 with the greatest caution to his apartment, quite 
 insensible. The surgeons considered his case 
 as one of the utmost danger, and announced 
 that he was labouring under a severe concus- 
 sion of the brain ; he had received a deep, 
 jagged cut across his temple, the bleeding of 
 which had reduced him to the very brink of 
 the grave. 
 
 For weeks his state was seriously alarming, 
 but youth, strength, and a good constitution 
 overcame the violence of the injury, and hopes
 
 214 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 were entertained that by care and freedom 
 from fever, the heir of Bulstrode would be 
 restored to reason, and ultimately to life and 
 health.
 
 215 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ' Hast thou never heard of the dark and sunny eyes 
 In that land of love and flowers, where fascination 
 Hes." 
 
 Sir Aldrich, himself, superintended all the 
 arrangements for the journey of Mary and her 
 aunt, with liberal and unsparing munificence. 
 Walters had orders to attend upon the party ; 
 and a foreign courier, of tried integrity, "was 
 selected and engaged. The baronet, himself, 
 drew out the map of their projected route, 
 which was one he had himself, in his early 
 d^ys, travelled. 
 
 The party were to go through France very 
 leisurely, taking time to visit all places of
 
 216 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 interest on their way ; entering Italy by the 
 passage of the Simplon. Thus they were to 
 approach the beautiful land of poetry and 
 music, towards which the hearts and wishes of 
 almost every Englishman turns with ardent 
 and undefined longings, panting for a know- 
 ledge of that clime which takes its rank first 
 among the most delicious portions of the earth. 
 
 Young as Mary was, she had a richly-culti- 
 vated mind ; and her soul longed and yearned 
 for travel, and a personal knowledge of those 
 lands of which she had read and thought so 
 long, and with which she had an intense desire 
 to be acquainted. Her anticipated pleasure 
 in her change of life was great ; and the idea 
 of leaving England was a source of much hope 
 and happiness. 
 
 Sir Aldrich looked very dull and melancholy 
 as he said ' adieu,' and seemed to have a 
 strong inclination, even at the eleventh hour, to 
 retract his permission for their departure, and 
 put an end entirely to the projected tour ; com- 
 pelling the group of females to return with 
 him, to Bulstrode. 
 
 However, he mastered the strong tempta- 
 tion of using his power and authority which
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 217 
 
 hard beset him ; and, by dint of much 
 internal struggling and moral courage, won- 
 derfully suppressed his agitated feelings, and 
 brought them into a state of subjection. 
 
 As Mary looked after her, when the steamer 
 glided off from the English shores, she felt how 
 very miserable and lonely the old man would 
 be, till their return to him ; and was full of 
 grief and trouble at the idea, that she herself 
 would be the cause of all his solitariness. She 
 felt, at the moment, as if to comfort him, she 
 could give up Italy and all its charms, and 
 return, even to Bulstrode, to aid his happiness, 
 and minister to his comfort. 
 
 Each day brought renovated health, and 
 increasing strength to Mary's delicate frame. 
 The party travelled very leisurely, for neither 
 Mrs. Penelope nor Mary, were able to bear 
 much fatigue. The old lady was not well; 
 her great exertion, during her niece's illness 
 and protracted recovery, had materially in- 
 jured her ; and the least agitation, or over- 
 excitement, brought on violent palpitations of 
 the heart, and distressing faintings. 
 
 Madame, who had travelled over half the 
 world, was able for everything, and was a most
 
 218 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 excellent cicerone, never permitting her com- 
 panions to pass over any place unnoticed. She 
 knew exactly what was worth seeing, and 
 what was not ; and the others were perfectly 
 satisfied with all her plans and arrangements. 
 Thus they wandered, surrounded with all pos- 
 sible comforts, which were punctually pro- 
 cured for them ; and they allowed the kind- 
 hearted, active-minded woman to have her own 
 way in everything — a proceeding much in ac- 
 cordance with her own wishes. 
 
 After leaving France, they made a short 
 stay of three months at Vevay, and from thence 
 they steamed across the Lake of Geneva, land- 
 ing at Villeneuve, from whence they reached the 
 foot of the Simplon. The whole journey to 
 this point had been one of uninterrupted enjoy- 
 ment to all the travellers. The mind of Mary 
 was deeply impressed with all she saw, and she 
 gathered up treasures of remembrances, to be 
 recalled for the enjoyment of future years. 
 
 The road, ascending as it does over such an 
 amazing height, was not ventured upon for 
 some time after the party arrived at the foot 
 of the pass; for here Mrs. Penelope was seized 
 with a severe attack of her alarming faintings.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 219 
 
 which obliged hem to tarry for nearly a month 
 in the beautiful little town of Brieg. Care and 
 quiet overcame the attack, and the travellers 
 proceeded over the Simplon, and behold 1 they 
 were in Italy. 
 
 In her own quiet way, Mary felt with feelings 
 of delight which could not be expressed, her 
 entrance into that clime she had so constantly 
 dreamt of and longed to behold. Her 
 precocious and poetic mind had pictured to itself 
 so constantly the beauties that land contained, 
 that her utmost longings had been to reach it. 
 Now she had gained her anxious hope, and all 
 and every idea was about to be realized to the 
 utmost, in that delicious country of the south, 
 '^where the golden orange glows from among its 
 rich dark leaves ; where the blue heavens ever 
 unclouded, breathe forth their softest and 
 balmiest breezes ; the land of the myrtle and 
 the vine ; where all is fair and bright, the land 
 of Italy.'' 
 
 By easy and beautiful routes, their courier, 
 who was an excellent and intelligent person, 
 brought them across the plains, and down the 
 Maritime Alps, which slope towards the sea ; 
 revealing to their enraptured gaze the wonder-
 
 220 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 ful beauty of the Mediterranean, which lay at 
 their feet, surrounded by a fantastic hill world. 
 Their Vetturino, who, like most Italians, often 
 made use of signs instead of words, to save 
 himself the trouble of speaking, pointed with 
 his whip towards the sparkling sea, and 
 towards Genoa, which lay before them radiant 
 and glittering in a flood of golden sunshine. 
 
 Mrs. Penelope bore the journey altogether 
 better than her companions could have ex- 
 pected ; nevertheless, she was very glad and 
 thankful when she found herself once more 
 stationary, and at rest in the house of the 
 Signora Luigi, where everything smiled an 
 almost English welcome. Mary too, and 
 Madame were very anxious to reach their des- 
 tination, as from various signs of failing 
 strength they feared Mrs. Penelope's exertions 
 were too much for her. 
 
 Again and again did Mary regret the step she 
 had taken in leaving England. She imagined 
 herself highly culpable in having induced her 
 dear old relative to venture so far away from 
 home, at her advanced age; and also her mind 
 was visited with compunctious feelings at the 
 idea of her grandfather's loneliness, and the
 
 THE TOUVG BBIDS. 221 
 
 solitary life that he wonld have to endure, till 
 their return to him. 
 
 They had heard so much of the discom- 
 forts and inconveniences of Italian life, that 
 ^Irs. Penelope and Mary had looked for- 
 ward with considerable dread, to a personal 
 experience of its miseries ; but in the habita- 
 tion of the Signora Luigi, none of these annoy- 
 ances reached them. The signora herself 
 young and amiable, and very like her 
 mother, was at once regarded with feelings 
 of sincere regard, and looked upon as a friend ; 
 all her exertions to please them were folly ap- 
 preciated and gratefully received. Mary at 
 once made her way to the signora's heart, and 
 that of her husband. The story of her life and 
 trials made a deep impression on both ; the 
 whole recital had been given to them by 
 madame, with all the pathos of a feeling and 
 kind heart. 
 
 The society of Signora Luigi, and the at- 
 tractions of her beautifol, engaging child, 
 about three years old, added greatly to the 
 enjoyment of Mary. Each day made her 
 better, her mind became braced, and at ease, 
 ind she felt thankful for the complete change.
 
 222 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 She endeavoured to forget Bulstrode, and to 
 drive its attendant troubles from her recol. 
 lection ; and sometimes she would be success- 
 ful, and only remember that she was little, 
 simple Mary, well, at peace, and happy. 
 
 Now it was that her education hurried most 
 rapidly to completion. Here she enjoyed to 
 the full the pure delights of poetic literature, 
 the enchantments of music, and the quiet 
 charms of the divine art of painting. Now 
 it was that she revelled in the delights of 
 harmony ; blessed with a most correct taste 
 and fine ear, with a sweet powerful voice, 
 she laboured hard and triumphantly to con- 
 quer the difiiculties of the science. An ex- 
 cellent groundwork had been laid early by 
 madame, who was an accomplished musician, 
 so that the work now was comparatively easy. 
 The best masters were procured, and all were 
 loud in their encomiums on the beautiful and 
 rarely-gifted English girl. 
 
 In the Strada Nuova, where they resided, 
 another English family had also established 
 themselves. The Bouveries were people of good 
 family, but of very moderate means, who had 
 come abroad, from one of the midland counties
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 223 
 
 of England, with a numerous family of very 
 promising cKildren, for the benefit of masters. 
 They had settled in Genoa some years before 
 the arrival of the Bulstrodes. They became 
 acquainted through the medium of the daugh- 
 ters, who met Mary and her aunt at a minia- 
 ture painters, where the former was sitting 
 for a likeness, which was to be sent to comfort 
 her grandfather during her absence from him. 
 
 An intimacy sprung up which was a source 
 of great happiness to Mary. Time increased 
 and cemented the affection, and by degrees the 
 friendship of Miss Bouverie was Mary's chief 
 happiness. This girl shared in many of Mary's 
 studies, and attended the same studios with 
 her, a circumstance which greatly pleased 
 Madame de Bohn, who had often wished that 
 her pupil had the comfort of possessing a 
 female friend of her own age. 
 
 It was quite a new era in Mary's life, 
 knowing and being associated with young 
 people ; she had never been permitted to have 
 any intimacy with the families in her own 
 neighbourhood. As a child, she was never 
 blessed with a playfellow ; all her pleasures 
 and amusements were solitary, all her com-
 
 224 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 panions old persons. Sir Aldrich was very 
 anxious that the child should be reared away 
 from all and every one, but the members of 
 her own family. He seemed to wish her to 
 live always, as he did himself, in lonely state 
 and pomp. At Bulstrode, all was state and 
 ceremony, and Mary, in consequence, hated 
 company when they did chance to come. 
 Whenever her grandfather left home to return 
 those visits, of course Mary never accom- 
 panied him, so her intercourse with people of 
 any age was very limited ; of youthful asso- 
 ciates she knew nothing. 
 
 At first, Mrs. Penelope was rather against 
 permitting any intimacy with the Bouveries, 
 fearing her brother might be annoyed at it ; 
 but when she came to know the members of 
 the family well, and saw how very much they 
 all and each conduced to delight Mary, she 
 withdrew her resistance, and permitted her 
 darling to enjoy all the pleasures of her new 
 enjoyment. 
 
 Month after month passed, and Mary went 
 on without a check to her improvement or 
 friendship ; each day feeling more confidence 
 in herself and in Frances Bouverie. She
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 225 
 
 herself was a peculiar favourite with Mr. and 
 Mrs. Bouverie, and was even looked upon as 
 quite one of their own family. Naturally 
 very shy and retiring, Mary was a long time 
 intimately associated with Frances before she 
 could bring herself to open her heart to her 
 upon her own early trials. They knew each 
 other well, for more than a year, before the 
 painful subject was ever touched upon ; but, 
 by degrees, the delights of unreserved con- 
 fidence were experienced by the sufferer, and 
 she told all and everything. The recital was 
 given and received with bitter floods of tears, 
 and Mary, for the first time, pronounced her 
 cousin's name, as she went on with her 
 melancholy tale. It seemed as if the un- 
 burthening of her mind was a great relief; 
 for, often after, she would revert to the 
 painful theme, and derive comfort and con- 
 solation from the same sympathising listener. 
 
 The story was told simply, as it was, to 
 Frances, one damp, cheerless afternoon, when, 
 after a long attendance on her aunt, she felt 
 weary, desponding, and wretched. It was 
 told upon the second anniversary of the mar- 
 riage ; and Frances had come, with her work, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE TOUJ^'G BRIDE. 
 
 to cheer the over-fatigued girl, who madame 
 thought looking extremely ill. By degrees, 
 Mary went through the whole detail, leaving 
 her young friend overwhelmed with amaze- 
 ment and surprise. She felt with all a sister's 
 interest and affection for the dear vouno^ 
 creature who so pathetically and eloquently 
 told her tale of misery. 
 
 Frances was twenty years old — four years 
 older than the weeping girl who had been 
 already two years married, and who had so 
 thoroughly drained the cup of bitterness. 
 Oh ! what a depth of tenderness there and 
 then sprang up in her heart for Mary ! — what 
 a true, faithful, unchanging affection ever after 
 was nourished between them. 
 
 Frances felt as if she could devote every 
 sentiment of her existence to the task of com- 
 forting the unfortunate girl. Before she 
 closed her eyes that night in sleep, she had 
 told the tale to her own dear mother. With 
 tears, and with many sighs, she narrated all 
 Mary's wretchedness, and great was Mrs. 
 Bouverie's surprise ; indeed, she could hardly 
 believe in the possibility of such a monstrous 
 story. But, shortly after, she and her
 
 THE TOUSG BRIBE. 227 
 
 hnsbaad receired a fdH confirmation of the 
 facts from Madame de Bohn, who at once 
 candidly replied to the cautions queries ol 
 Mrs. BouTerie. 
 
 Then those worthy and excellent people 
 yied with each other in the most strenuous 
 efforts to add to, and increase, the happiness 
 and peace of mind of the young martyr. 
 The father, mother, Asters, brothers, all 
 entered into a pious league to befriend Mary, 
 and share with her the blessings, so amply 
 enjoyed by themselves, of a happy true 
 and all its attendant comforts and delights. 
 
 Mary's spirits soon responded to this out- 
 pouring of affection, and her sofr, low laughs 
 and beaming countenance, always announced 
 her heartfelt enjoyment when forming one of 
 their &mily party. 
 
 Louisa BouTerie, though exactly the same 
 age as Mary, did not hold as high a place in 
 her regard as did her elder sister. She was 
 very merry, quite a romp, and the deli^^t of 
 an the household ; most especially of her 
 brothers, who were aU younger than herself 
 and whose constant playfellow she erer had 
 been. Frances, on the contrary, was graTe, 
 
 q2
 
 228 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 thoughtful, and retiring ; very watchful of 
 the comfort and happiness of her parents, 
 she was their idol, and repaid their deep at- 
 tachment warmly. 
 
 Mary soon found that Frances was a 
 kindred spirit, and that henceforth she would 
 be sure of possessing the blessings of a sister's 
 love ; still she loved Louisa, too, — for .no one 
 could help doing so — and the boys claimed a 
 share in her heart, and called her cousin 
 Mary. 
 
 Mrs, Bouverie would constantly bring her 
 work to Mrs. Penelope's dressing-room, and, 
 with her cheerful piety and entertaining con- 
 versation, amuse her during the absence of 
 Mary, who, under madam e's care, would ac- 
 company the Bouverie juniors to their dancing 
 lessons, or, perhaps, in some delicious ramble, 
 through ^ old gorgeous Genoa,' under the pro- 
 tection of their father. He — kind man — was 
 ever glad and ready to escort them to view 
 sights and wonders ; at times, to magnificent 
 churches, where the fervour of holy mother 
 church lived to deck her temples with all the 
 splendour that could dazzle and enchain the 
 imagination of her faithful votaries ; thence to
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 229 
 
 noble palaces, -or gloomy convents. He loved 
 to accompany them to the museum and gal- 
 leries of art, where unheard-of treasures were 
 deposited, and in which this favoured daughter 
 of classic Italy abounds. No one could more 
 gracefully or energetically narrate the tales 
 and stories connected with those varied 
 palaces than he could ; and he never failed to 
 interest his hearers and rivet their attention. 
 
 Then again in the evenings there was a re- 
 assembing round Mrs. Penelope's sofa ; and 
 music and poetry would refresh and recruit the 
 wasting energies of her failing life. Often, in 
 the cool evenings, long drives to fresh and 
 ever- varying scenes were projected ; and some 
 huge old lumbering vettura was chartered to 
 convey the party from place to place ; per- 
 haps, towards the harbour, through the gates 
 of the bazaar, even at the risk of being searched 
 and examined by the hosts of custom-house 
 officials, who swarmed at the entrance ; and, 
 though the group were known to be but 
 strangers dwelling in the city, and only en- 
 joying the cool and invigorating sea breezes in 
 their delightful promenades — so many of which 
 Genoa can boast on an inviting afternoon. A
 
 230 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 sail would be proposed along the coast, passing 
 from the Molo Nuovo to the military hospital, 
 which slopes downwards to the sea. It is 
 from the sea, itself, that Genoa is seen to the 
 fullest advantage. Her stately palaces, rising 
 apparently from the bosom of the water, spread, 
 row above row, like the ranges of an amphi- 
 theatre. Then this band of happy children 
 would ofttimes leave their gondola, and land 
 at the foot of the Doria palazzo gardens, which 
 can be entered upward from the sea, along the 
 face of the rock ; exploring the truly royal 
 halls and saloons of the magnificent structure, 
 which testified to the wealth as well as the 
 taste and luxury of the noble house of Doria. 
 
 Returning homeward, most generally by 
 water, floating from place to place, deliciously 
 rocked upon the yielding waters of the moving 
 element, until the silvery crescent stood high 
 above them in the heavens, or the glittering 
 stars warned them of the coming night, whose 
 shades would gather closely round them ere 
 they sought their homes, enshrouding fair 
 Genoa herself in her dark and sombre mantle. 
 
 How beautiful thus to meditate, in all the 
 freshness of youth, upon the mingled beauties
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 231 
 
 of earth, air, and water, which environed 
 them — to ponder, and take deep note of the 
 loveliness of the matchless Mediterranean, 
 whose waters wash the varied shores of so 
 many different nations, whose nearer connexion 
 would involve them in eternal wars, while 
 she still graciously forms the link that binds 
 them, and circulates their arts, sciences, and 
 commerce, each to the other ; bringing peace 
 and plenty to their inhabitants. 
 
 Thus the course of things went on from 
 day to day, till the commencement of the 
 third year of Mrs. Penelope's residence in 
 Italy. The gradually sinking health of the 
 dear lady, was but too evident. Disease, with 
 sure and certain steps, was gnawing at her 
 heart ; and she, herself, was well aware that the 
 end of all things to her, must soon come. 
 Though Sir Aldrich had from time to time 
 written to remind the travellers, that the 
 promised time of their absence was come to a 
 conclusion, no change could possibly be ven- 
 tured upon. Mary wrote repeatedly to say 
 how seriously alarmed she, and every body, 
 was, for the probable result of her aunt's ill- 
 ness ; but he took no notice of the announce-
 
 232 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 ment, — that for his sister there could be no 
 hope of a removal from Genoa. 
 
 She knew, with her practical good sense, 
 that to struggle against the insuperable will 
 of God is impossible, and would only make 
 bad worse. A wise and holy submission to 
 the decrees of Heaven was inherent in her 
 mind, and was the leading attribute of her 
 character. She set herself diligently to attune 
 her mind and that of Mary to the inevitable 
 separation, which must ere long take place. 
 Though the orphan girl was deeply afflicted at 
 the prospect of the coming trial which awaited 
 her, and which would deprive her of more 
 than a mother's care, she was not forgetful 
 of the peace and spiritual consolation due to 
 that dear relative. Mary knew well that, 
 though to herself the prospect of futurity would 
 be hopeless and miserably solitary, for her 
 aunt all would be peace and holy rejoicing. 
 She was convinced that the source of her own 
 anguish would be the cause of Mrs. Penelope's 
 everlasting gain and eternal bliss. 
 
 Mary, thus feeling, was not desponding or 
 cheerless ; she summoned resignation and duty 
 to her aid, and was ever ready with pious
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 233 
 
 cheerfulness to soothe the suffering body, con- 
 sole the agitated mind, and comfort the some- 
 times drooping spirits of the unselfish, loving 
 aunt. Ay, indeed, the dear and venerable 
 woman needed comfort and support ; for she 
 was about soon — very soon — ^to resign earth, 
 and all its tears and trials, for a certain in- 
 heritance in a glorious eternity. 
 
 One evening, a long, deep sleep had lain 
 for hours upon the sick lady, and Mary, who 
 would not leave her, had been seated by her 
 side, reading, till the hues of twilight began 
 to impede the progress of her book. She had 
 a long time of solitude and silence, devoted to 
 thought and meditation. Her seventeen years 
 of life had been passing in review of memory 
 and recollection. A long period it was to look 
 back upon, and still it seemed as if she could' 
 recal almost every action of the time. She 
 felt, poor girl, how utterly lonely she soon 
 would be, even when again under the protect- 
 ing care of her grandfather. It seemed to 
 her as if henceforth she would be completely 
 alone, without that dear, best friend — without 
 her counsel and advice, and comforting ; no 
 one left to fill her place. Oh ! what a sad
 
 234 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 return would hers be to her home, to Bul- 
 strode, where she must turn her footsteps, 
 now that she would be deprived of her pro- 
 tectress. Bulstrode — the home it was, and 
 must be — how could she ever dwell there? 
 Ah ! bitter, very bitter, was the answer her 
 heart gave to the enquiry. Her book fell 
 from her lap upon the floor, and awoke her 
 from her fit of deep musing, to hear her aunt 
 turn herself upon her couch, and, by a severe 
 fit of coughing, give evidence of being roused 
 from her sleep. 
 
 Mary was not slow in rising to prepare a 
 nutritive drink, and to give it with gentle care 
 and tenderness to the poor invalid, at the same 
 time anxiously trying to catch a glimpse of her 
 aunt's face, which was impossible in the dark- 
 ness of the night. The poor weak old hand 
 shook so much, that it could not hold the 
 glass of liquid jelly she was going to take ; 
 so Mary had to support it, and administer it 
 herself by teaspoonfuls. 
 
 " Thanks, darling ; I feel too weak to help 
 myself now; you have everything to do for 
 
 me." 
 
 " It is but little, aunty, that I can do, when
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 235 
 
 it is placed in comparison with what you did 
 for me." 
 
 " Oh ! my precious Mary, you are and 
 have ever been all and everything to me in 
 this world ; always fond, and kind, and loving, 
 never so much so as since I have become un- 
 profitable and useless to you, to myself, and 
 everybody. How wretched would have been 
 my existence for seventeen years but for you, 
 darling ! How lonely and sad my existence 
 must have been, bat for your sympathy and 
 devotion ! Seventeen years you have been my 
 all, ever since that dreadful night of woe and 
 sorrow when I took you, an almost dying 
 babe, from an expiring mother, and vowed, 
 with God's assistance, to take that mother's 
 place — love you, cherish you, and bring you 
 up in the way of his commandments. I never 
 had a moment's cause to regret that vow, or 
 to mourn the charge I promised to fulfil. Oh ! 
 that I could have shielded you from your sad 
 trial and bitter fate. Oh ! that I could, by 
 bearing them myself, have warded them from 
 falling on that dear head, and harming that 
 heart. How gladly would I have laid down 
 my life for your sake — for your sake, my dear,
 
 236 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 dear child ! God Almighty guard, protect, 
 and lead you by His own wise dealings, through 
 this world of sin and sorrow, that hereafter 
 you may appear spotless before His throne, 
 where He shall wipe away all tears from your 
 eyes — ^ where there shall be no more death, 
 neither sorrow, neither shall there be any 
 more pain or suffering, for the former things 
 are passed away ' — where you shall inherit all 
 things, and God will be your God, and you 
 shall be his child." 
 
 Poor Mary sobbed, and tenderly embraced 
 her aunt, who, after a few moments, con- 
 tinued — 
 
 ^' My child, you have gone through your 
 first trials and struggles with great fortitude. 
 Your moral courage has been beyond your 
 years ; I trust my brother will not forget it 
 all, but reward you for it by his future love 
 and tenderness." 
 
 Mary shook her head mournfully, as if she 
 doubted such a thing, and continued to sob, 
 only, from time to time, murmuring a few 
 tender words of grateful consideration to her 
 aunt, who, after some while, said — 
 
 " You have had great patience, my child,
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 237 
 
 for many years, but you cannot hope for a 
 continuance of the calm and peace which has 
 been permitted to you. You will have much 
 to contend with yet; I trust you may get 
 safely through your difficulties. All the dis- 
 pensations of this world, if they are looked at 
 truly and honestly, must be considered in 
 regard of their ultimate good, not to the past 
 alone. The dull, and stupid, and phlegmatic 
 require no culture of their fortitude ; they 
 are open to no passionate impulses, and they 
 need no training in self-control ; but the 
 bright and talented, who, like you, my Mary, 
 are of brilliant and energetic temperaments, 
 in various degrees, find their whole lives an 
 alternation of vicissitudes. Such persons need 
 much teaching and trial, even through such 
 trials as you have and will have to bear. By 
 unwearied patience and much experience, and, 
 above all, by the grace of God, you can only 
 attain to the blessing of ' an even mind,' with- 
 out which passion becomes madness, and 
 power degenerates into violence, as in my poor 
 dear brother's case." 
 
 " I feel it to be as you say, my dear aunt ; 
 I am sure that all my trials have been sent for
 
 238 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 a good or wise purpose, and for the end of 
 schooling my heart, and bringing it humbly 
 under the sanctifying influence of the Holy 
 Spirit. My constant prayer is, and ever will 
 be, ' that all things may work well for me/ 
 and that I may never forget by the prompt- 
 ings of prosperity, my teaching in adversity. 
 Your teachings shall never be forgotten ; they 
 have kept me patiently, and brought me to be 
 resigned under every trouble that has befallen 
 me ; they will never, I hope and trust, be for- 
 gotten or disregarded. 1 only look upon my 
 existence here on earth, as one that, for some 
 good end, has been one of trial. Perhaps, had 
 it not been for such a bitter training as I have 
 had, I would have been led to forget that 
 * man is born to sorrow ; ' that I was of the 
 earth, earthy, poor and wretched. I might 
 have been puffed up with the amount of my 
 worldly goods ; I might have gained all things 
 here, and still have lost my own soul. Now 
 I have been brought by pain, sickness and sor- 
 row to know what I am — poor, vile and help- 
 less, unable to do anything to help myself. 
 As such, I have, I hope, been brought to know 
 the one thing needful. Oh ! dearest aunt, I
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 239 
 
 cannot tell you how I long for that cleansing 
 of the heart, that holiness of the mind, and 
 that training of the understanding which has 
 guided you through so many years of grief and 
 trial ; above all, I crave especially for that 
 peculiar gift of God, * contentment of mind with 
 godliness, which is great gain/ I know how 
 the noblest woman in the world may and can 
 degrade herself into hideousness, by forgetting 
 for an instant the will of God, and how the 
 lowest, meanest of the sex may hide her ugli- 
 ness, by possessing the grace which can main- 
 tain her against the allurements of sin. There- 
 fore, my unceasing prayer is to be guided 
 alone by the dictates of conscience, and the 
 power of God." 
 
 ** In hearing you speak so my earthly hap- 
 piness is perfected, dear child — I can content- 
 edly resign you into the keeping of Him whom 
 you seek to serve faithfully, and in truth — 
 who is able to keep you in Time and Eternity, 
 and more abundantly to prosper you than I 
 either can desire, or you deserve. He is the 
 father of the fatherless, and does not willingly 
 afflict the children of men. In this world we 
 can have but few to care for us in any way,
 
 240 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 but, alas ! none can be truly, wholly faithful 
 to us but God. If my nephew return to 
 claim his wife, stay darling, I must speak of 
 him, nay do not weep so bitterly, my precious 
 Mary ; pardon me for opening afresh that 
 deadly wound, but duty urges me this once to 
 name Harold ; I only say if lie return to claim 
 you, you must be prepared how to act with re- 
 ference to him. Years may pass before he 
 thinks of coming home ; and when you are 
 really one, united before God and man, (for I 
 do not consider your union with him binding 
 in the eyes of heaven,) you must all through 
 your future life endeavour to forget what has 
 past ; obliterate all remembrances of his un- 
 kindness, blot out the painful reminiscences of 
 London ere he left it. You must regard him 
 with all dutiful affection and diligent attention. 
 Let nothing ever induce you for a single instant 
 to forget him or his wishes. Though I may not 
 regard his forced marriage with you, as one 
 that ought to be recognized, still, others better 
 able to form an opinion, and more disinterested, 
 may deem it one perfectly legal, which could 
 authorize Harold to enforce his claim to you, 
 wherever, and what time, he chose to do so.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 241 
 
 The law of your country may regard you as 
 his wife, and no other may ever be able to take 
 you from him ; under these circumstances you 
 must be guided by the strictest reserve of 
 word and manner ; you must never permit 
 yourself to receive attentions, or demon- 
 strations of affection from any one — your 
 own feelings must be disregarded utterly. If 
 Harold absolves you from the bond of union, 
 and allows the ceremony that took place to be 
 considered null and void, I strongly advise 
 you, my child, not to use your liberty in giving 
 it to another, as long as your cousin lives ; the 
 marriage though in my eyes a mockery, may 
 not be so legally. The world would hasten 
 with bitter contumely and scandalous words to 
 blast your reputation and denounce you as 
 unworthy. You must be entirely guided by 
 conscience, which is the ear of the mind, and 
 whenever we listen with it, ^we may believe we 
 hear the voice of God himself;' only we must 
 be sure and not mistake the clamour of our 
 own hearts for that holy voice, for our hearts 
 ' are deceitful above every thing, and des- 
 perately wicked.'" 
 
 " Aunt, I have formed a determination, from 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 which I believe I shall never alter or change. 
 To my cousin Harold I never can, or never 
 will be a wife ; no earthly power shall ever in- 
 duce me to place myself in his power, or in 
 any way near him. I do and ever did dislike 
 him — abhor him. From the first hours of my 
 fully awaking to the consciousness of the odious 
 and selfish transaction, in which he took so 
 prominent a part ; I swore, yes, little miserable 
 dying child as I then was, I swore it, never to 
 see him willingly again — never to speak to 
 him, write to him, receive his letters, or ac- 
 knowledge him as a husband. That vow so 
 formed in my hour of sickness and weakness, 
 has been strengthened each day and hour 
 since, and shall be religiously kept to my last 
 hour. Grandpapa must know this, but ther6 
 is yet time enough ; he, dear old man, has 
 been forgiven from the first — I owe him no- 
 thing but love and reverence and affection ; 
 such he shall prove to the utmost of my power. 
 But Harold, my cold, selfish, inhuman, covet- 
 ous cousin I reject, renounce — I owe him no- 
 thing but aversion. Oh ! aunt, forgive your 
 child, your own poor Mary, if you blame me, 
 still pity and forgive me. As soon as he re-
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 243 
 
 turns to England, Bulstrode ceases to be my 
 home ; I give it up once and for ever ; every 
 thing and anything I will resign so that I 
 escape him. As long as grandpapa lives un- 
 visited by Harold, I will be his child, his nurse, 
 his faithful attendant, but if he brings him 
 near me, I shall forget every thing, name, 
 home, friends — I will resign all. I may be a 
 beggar, houseless, homeless, obliged to crave or 
 earn my daily bread, and that by the sweat of my 
 brow ; but I shall be free, wholly entirely free. 
 Harold's wife I never will be — I swear it to 
 you, my only mother ; even if my grandfather 
 in a fit of insane wrath, were to strike me dead 
 at his feet for opposing him, I would like that 
 death, and welcome it, sooner than join my- 
 self to one I so dread as my cousin.'' 
 
 •* I cannot soy that I am surprised at your 
 feelings, Mary. But your grandfather, resting 
 securely, as he does, upon the validity of the 
 marriage already solemnized in his presence, 
 will seek nothing more than the return of 
 Harold, when he will resign you to him, to his 
 keeping and jurisdiction. In such a case, you 
 can but give yourself to the will of fate, un- 
 happy as you may deem yourself" 
 
 R 2
 
 244 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 " I shall never run the risk of that, aunt ; 
 I shall never venture into any situation where 
 such an occurrence is possible." 
 
 " Mary, how could you prevent it, how 
 could you avoid it ? " 
 
 " By flight, aunt." 
 
 " How and where, my darling?" 
 
 " For the how, aunt, that must be by the 
 the help of God ; as for the where I know 
 not." 
 
 '* Oh, my child, what a miserable thought 
 for me that is; imagine yourself a helpless 
 wanderer through the mazes of this vile world, 
 unprotected, unknown. You may now think 
 the plan easy of accomplishment, but I do not. 
 Young, beautiful, gifted, as you are, how can 
 you escape ? Oh, it is most dreadful to 
 ponder upon the bare idea ! — it is too bad to 
 be thought of." 
 
 " And yet. Aunt Pen, how many are there 
 in the world, as comely and as good as I am 
 — indeed, a thousand times better — that are 
 obliged to start through life unaided and unas- 
 sisted, and support themselves as best they 
 can by their own exertions ; perhaps with others 
 dependent on them for food and raiment — some
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 245 
 
 aged parent, or helpless brother or sister. Oh, 
 my aunt ! there are sad trials to be borne in 
 this world ; shall we not meekly and humbly 
 bow to the chastening hand of God, when by 
 those chastisements he proves he loves us T' 
 
 '^True enough, Mary. But you are not 
 formed to struggle with life. You were never 
 brought up to know anything of hardship ; 
 you could not encounter the want and fatigue ; 
 you could never struggle with the hardships 
 that would surround you." 
 
 " No hardships — no struggling — Aunt Pene- 
 lope, I don't fear them — I dread nothing ex- 
 cept falling into the hands of Harold. As 
 long as I am suffered to remain at Bulstrode, 
 peacefully, untroubled by him, of course I 
 shall ; I shall be happy with grandpapa — I 
 shall not need anything to content me ; but the 
 very moment Harold is named to me, as my 
 husband, I will open my mind to grandpapa 
 fully and candidly. If he is displeased, I can- 
 not help it, though I may be grieved to be 
 obliged to offend him. If he persists, and 
 allows my cousin to return to Bulstrode, on 
 any pretence, I shall leave him for ever, in 
 secresy and alone. I will exert the talents
 
 246 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 and accomplishments which have been so freely 
 besto^ved on me ; and I shall learn to labour 
 truly to get my own living, and do my duty 
 in whatever line of life I may be called upon to 
 labour in." 
 
 ^* But you will have no means — no money 
 — to assist you — nothing to help you, if your 
 strength gives way under the unwonted ex- 
 ertion of mind and body/' 
 
 " * Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof,' 
 aunt ; I shall want no good thing, if I trust 
 in God, and if He vouchsafes his help and 
 care." 
 
 " Well, so be it, Mary ; but, nevertheless, 
 it is a very sad prospect. But I am very poor 
 myself, that you know, dearest. I have never 
 claimed anything from my brother, and have 
 been contented to take as he gave. In justice, 
 I must say he is both generous and liberal, 
 and would give me much more tlian I required, 
 if he thought I wished for it. My property 
 reverts to my brother at my death, so, darling, 
 I can give no help." 
 
 *' Aunt Pen, when I start off upon my 
 lonely exile, I shall need nothing but the 
 blessing of God. I shall take nothing, claim
 
 THE YOUXG BRIDE. 247 
 
 nothing, need nothing. I shall thus avoid all 
 chance of detection ; there shall be no clue to 
 my escape. Am I not of more value than 
 many sparrows ? and yet one of them could 
 not fall to the ground unnoticed. Courage, 
 aunt, I have a brave heart." 
 
 The sudden entrance of a servant with 
 lights, followed by Madame de Bohn, broke in 
 upon the tete-a-tete, which so deeply absorbed 
 Mrs. Penelope and her niece. Shortly after 
 Mrs. Bouverie came iu with her daughter, 
 Frances, to ask after the state of the invalid. 
 Aid Mrs. Penelope was glad to insist upon 
 Mary's accompanying Mr. Bouverie and his 
 children in a moonlight ramble. 
 
 Poor Mary was dreadfuUy cut up ; so much 
 so, that she would have gladly declined the 
 proposition, but seeing that her aunt was 
 anxious for her to breathe the fresh air, after 
 the day's confinement to a close room, she 
 agreed, and accompanied the party. The 
 young Bouveries saw and felt that something 
 had occurred to damp and depress the spirits 
 of their dear companion ; and little Edwin, 
 the youngest of the party, declared that each 
 time Mary passed a light, he saw her cheek 
 was very pale, and wet with tears.
 
 248 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 " There is no death ! what seems so is transition ; 
 This life of mortal breath 
 Is but the suburb of the life Elysian, 
 Whose portal we call death." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Sir Aldrich Bulstrode had a very long, dreary 
 time to himself during the three years and 
 upwards that his sister and niece spent away 
 from him in Italy. He had time to think 
 over his successful and unsuccessful plans 
 and projects during all that time of solitude. 
 His sole consideration was, that he had 
 definitively arranged the marriage so dear to 
 his heart, and that Mary — let what would 
 happen — was, without a doubt, Harold's law- 
 ful wife.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 249 
 
 He trusted that time would eventually 
 make all things right and smooth, and that 
 his darling grand-daughter would return to 
 Bulstrode well and happy, forgetting all her 
 annoyances and old animosities, rejoicing in 
 the possession of her own ancestral place and 
 prerogatives, quite satisfied that her fine, 
 handsome husband should share her happi- 
 ness. 
 
 He was perfectly convinced that a being, so 
 gentle, and so very amiable, as Mary always 
 had been, would soon be induced to appreciate 
 her own position, and cease to ofier any oppo- 
 sition to his darling projects, when she knew 
 and saw how intently his mind was fixed upon 
 them. Indeed, he felt assured within himself 
 that she would never dare to ofier an opinion 
 contrary to his, but would henceforth yield 
 herself obedient to his authority. 
 
 His anxiety about her health had long 
 ceased, and he began to feel very anxious for 
 her re-establishment at home. He had been 
 sent a very beautiful and truthful miniature of 
 her from Genoa, which evinced that her 
 beauty had lost nothing of its original lustre ; 
 and he knew, from his sister's letters and
 
 250 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 Madame de Bohn's reports, that her education 
 was rapidly progressing, and that, ere he 
 again saw her, it would be completed, so 
 that he would be sure to have her all to 
 himself, unfettered by lessons and business 
 hours. 
 
 If he would allow the truth to himself, he 
 would find that he did not much regret the 
 increasing illness of his sister. He had 
 always been very jealous of her power over 
 Mary, and he felt that he could most gladly 
 dispense with her presence in consequence. 
 Still he did not think that Mrs. Penelope 
 would dare to quit the world while away from 
 Bulstrode, and while she knew her services 
 and protection were necessary for Mary while 
 away from him in a foreign land ; therefore, 
 he did not deign to make any allusion to her 
 in his letters. His letters to Mary were 
 always enclosed with her aunt's in an envelope 
 addressed to Mrs. Penelope, with only ' Mary' 
 upon them ; strange to say, that some 
 intuitive feeling prevented his ever address- 
 ing her as ' Mrs. Bulstrode^ while she remained 
 away. 
 
 Very severe was the baronet's affliction at
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 251 
 
 the news of Harold's accident; indeed, the 
 old man was nearly frantic, but constant and 
 particular accounts came by each mail from 
 Lord Marley, which tended to comfort and 
 console him. The greatest quietness, Lord 
 Marley'said, had been ordered for his suffering 
 friend. The recovery was long and tedious, 
 and was a source of deep anxiety to his 
 friends abroad, as also to the old man. Sir 
 Aldrich never alluded to Harold's danger, or, 
 indeed, to anything about him, in his letters 
 to Genoa, so that the alarming accident, so 
 nearly fatal, was unknown there. 
 
 Very severe and dangerous had been the 
 injuries received by Harold Bulstrode in his 
 fall. For a length of time his medical at- 
 tendants were hopeless ; then they were weeks 
 before they could form any opinion as to the 
 probable result, even after the first danger was 
 over, and that fever and delirium had sub- 
 sided. The constant and untiring care of 
 Lord and Lady Marley did much for him — 
 more than medicines. There could not possi- 
 bly be more affectionate attention shown to 
 any human being, than he received from those 
 very anxious friends. From the first func-
 
 252 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 tionary in their establishment to the lowest 
 hireling in it, the invalid's recovery was con- 
 sidered a point of the first importance. 
 
 A fine, robust, uninjured constitution aided 
 all the exertions for his re-establishment, and 
 the patient by degrees found himself recover- 
 ing. Soon he became aware of the deep debt 
 of gratitude he owed to the Marleys. He 
 soon knew and found out all they had done 
 and were doing to benefit and restore him ; 
 and he felt deeply impressed with a fervent 
 gratitude, which was quickly added to his pro- 
 found affection. It seemed, to him, as if he 
 never could do half enough to requite the 
 love and friendship which had been so lavishly 
 shown to him in his great extremity, in the 
 land of strangers. 
 
 And to her especially, the object of his love> 
 whose image occupied his whole heart and 
 brain, how did he now feel ? Words are in- 
 adequate to speak the millionth part of his 
 feelings of and about her. She was the first 
 and last of everything — his last idea ere sooth- 
 ing sleep sealed his eyelids — the first aspiration 
 as the mind awakened to the knowledge of 
 another day. The most exquisite sentiments
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 253 
 
 of gratitude, love, devotion, and admiration, 
 were all blended to create the absorbing feel- 
 ing with which he regarded her, worshipped, 
 and adored her. Oh ! woman, the last, best 
 most perfect work of God, the precious balm 
 of man's existence, the soother of his woes and 
 griefs — what blessings, what rapturous enjoy- 
 ments, does thy gentle presence shower down 
 upon the objects of thy bountiful nurturing 
 and compassion, the being requiring thine aid, 
 the creatures by whom thy bounty is needed ! 
 But when added to all, and above all, the 
 master-spirit of the human heart, the mighty 
 power of unconquerable love, overrules the 
 heart and affections of both the giver and the 
 receiver of these blessings, how perfect is the 
 union of sentiment between them ! — how un- 
 utterably, unspeakably blessed is the one on 
 whom the blessings, loves, carings, and affec- 
 tion is bestowed ! 
 
 Nothing was forgotten or overlooked in the 
 ceaseless tending and nursing which Harold 
 required. For him, and to him, all things 
 gave way ; and each day more firmly and 
 irrevocably secured the links which bound 
 heart to heart.
 
 254 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 No inducements of a more rapid recovery 
 in the climate of his native land, could induce 
 Harold, at first, to consent to leave India on 
 sick leave. He was inexorable to all entrea- 
 ties and representations of the necesjsity of 
 change ; he was ready, it would seem, to face 
 every risk, and remain where he was. Never 
 had Plato won into his doctrines votaries more 
 worthy of his theory and teaching than Harold 
 and Lady Marley, who gloried in his tenets, 
 and exulted in the doctrines of his lauded 
 (though rather doubtful) philosophy. 
 
 Harold had not been kept in ignorance of 
 Mary's long illness and prolonged sufferings. 
 Sir Aldrich had, from the very first mail after 
 his nephew left Europe, informed him of her 
 precarious state. His letters were no sooner 
 received than they became the property of 
 Lady Marley, to whom every incident of Bul- 
 strode affairs was known. Harold did not at 
 all like the idea of Mary's being separated 
 from his uncle, and remaining for such a 
 length of time away from him ; indeed, he 
 wrote to say as much, but the baronet was 
 unable to alter his plans, to which he had 
 been obliged to concede.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 255 
 
 The friendship of his niece with the Bou- 
 veries had been fully established before Sir 
 Aldrich knew anything of it, and he had no 
 power afterwards to interfere to put a stop to 
 it. However, after particular inquiries, he 
 found that they were people of birth and 
 station, in every way suitable companions for 
 Mary. Their genealogical tree was very 
 nearly as long and as extended as his own ; 
 and Mr. Bouverie, he heard from undoubted 
 authority, was a man of extreme worth, and 
 very high character. 
 
 Sir Aldrich had gone so far out of his usual 
 course, as to recognize Mr. Bouverie's kindness 
 to Mary and his sister, by writing to thank 
 him. The letter was written in the most 
 patronizing style, and brought back a most 
 cordial reply, promising to continue all atten- 
 tions, and do all that lay in his power to com- 
 fort and console the evidently fast-sinking 
 Mrs. Penelope. All this was very gratifying 
 to the old baronet, who, for the first time, 
 began to have some glimmering idea of his 
 sister's state. 
 
 Ill, indeed, she was, and worse than any 
 one believed her to be. Added sufferings and
 
 "•256 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 increasing weakness did but make her piety 
 and gentle resignation more apparent. She 
 longed to be at rest, to be in those blessed 
 realms, ^ where the wicked cease from trou- 
 bling, and the weary are at rest.' 
 
 One evening she retired to bed tolerably 
 well, more comfortable than usual. The 
 delicious sense of ease and quiet, which her 
 bed gave her, made her look quite renovated ; 
 her spirits seemed quite cheerful, so much so, 
 that when Mary gave her the accustomed kiss, 
 she felt that her beloved aunt was so much 
 better, that time and care might hold her to 
 earth sometime longer. 
 
 Mary was accustomed to make and ad- 
 minister some light, nourishing diet to her 
 dear invalid, two or three times during the 
 night. It was ever and always only a few 
 spoonfuls at a time, but it was prepared by 
 the hands of the fond girl herself On this 
 night, just at midnight, the young nurse 
 stood by the bedside with a little sago, ready 
 to be taken. The old lady raised herself easily, 
 without any assistance, :to a sitting posture, 
 and fed herself with the food presented to her. 
 As Mary sat on her bedside, and held the cup,
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 257 
 
 they had a few happy words of cheerful dis- 
 course, and Mrs. Penelope appeared so col- 
 lected and calm, that her niece could not 
 repress her happiness and hope. Oh, how 
 very, very tenderly she kissed and embraced 
 her darling, as she bade her good-night, and 
 prayed to God to bless her ! As Mary laid her 
 head on her pillow, in her little cot by her 
 aunt's bed, she heard the dear voice still 
 energetically invoking the aid of the Holy 
 Spirit for her faithful, tender child. 
 
 But alas ! and alas ! it was the last time 
 that loving voice was ever heard on earth. In 
 the calm, silent hours of approaching day, the 
 spirit flew to to the presence of its creator, for 
 ere the sun was risen, its earthly tenement 
 was cold and stiff! In that last sleep thd* 
 angel of death had come lovingly and gently, 
 without a trace of bitterness, and touched the 
 warm, benignant heart with his icy and unre- 
 lenting hand. There she lay, calm, peaceful, 
 and unconscious ; no struggle, no spasm had 
 marred or changed a feature, or defaced the 
 countenance so beautiful in life, so holy and 
 serene in death. Her own sweet smile had 
 
 VOL, I. s
 
 258 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 never flown, but lay stamped firmly, unchange- 
 ably, by the rigid finger of death. 
 
 It was very early next morning, when, in 
 accordance with her usual custom, Carroll 
 stole noiselessly into the room to call Mary. 
 At once she caught sight of the direful truth. 
 For some few moments she was stunned. Poor 
 woman ! she, too, loved that dear, kind, noble 
 being, now numbered with the blessed. She 
 remained motionless, paralyzed by the sudden- 
 ness of the unexpected event. The tears stole 
 down her cheeks, but she rapidly wiped them 
 off. With affectionate thoughtfulness she gently 
 approached the bed, and, reverentially cover- 
 ing the dear old face, closely drew the curtains. 
 She then turned to Mary, and, gently whisper- 
 itig her to rise noiselessly, not to disturb her 
 aunt, assisted her to rise, without speaking. 
 At once the young girl obeyed the summons, 
 and, hastily putting on her dressing-gown and 
 slippers, crept gently out of the room, followed 
 by Carroll, into her dressing-room. Carroll 
 returned, and, locking the door of Mrs. Pene- 
 lope's room, hurried up stairs to Madame de 
 Bohn, to tell her what had occurred. 
 
 A summons up stairs was quickly answered
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 259 
 
 by Mary herself, who, only half dressed, came 
 running up, smiling and beautiful, to claim 
 her morning kiss from madame. At once she 
 became aware that something very dreadful 
 had taken place, but never for a moment 
 thought it had reference to her aunt. 
 
 By degrees the sad truth was disclosed, and 
 the full force of her bereavement burst upon 
 the desolate girl. At times it was impossible 
 to make her believe that her aunt was really 
 gone, and not till she had been brought to 
 her, was the fact clearly understood. Poor 
 Mary ! it was her first acquaintance with the 
 King of Terrors, and the effect was very dread- 
 ful. It seemed as if she could not bear up 
 against this heavy trial, and, as before, the 
 great mental excitement brought on a serious 
 attack of nervous fever, very alarming, and 
 very dangerous. Mr. Bouverie and the Signor 
 Luigi paid the last tribute of respect to the 
 deceased lady, long before her poor niece was 
 aware that the ceremony had taken place. 
 Poor girl ! on the face of this earth, there did 
 not exist a more persecuted, unhappy being 
 than the unfortunate Mary Bulstrode. 
 
 s2
 
 260 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Here she comes ; 
 Look at her with impartial eyes, and then let envy, 
 
 if she can, 
 Name one graceful feature in which she is defective. 
 Welcome, girl ! 
 
 My joy, my comfort, my delight, my all ; 
 Why dost thou thus return to greet me 
 In such a sable, sombre habit ?" 
 
 Massinger. 
 
 Under the persuasion that no disaster can 
 reach us without the permission of Him who 
 watches over us, with an eye that never slum- 
 bers, and a tenderness that nothing can with- 
 draw from us, Mary Bulstrode left the shores 
 of Italy, and reached the British coast, without 
 any let or hindrance, attended by Carroll and 
 Walters, and accompanied by Madame de Bohn
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 261 
 
 as far as Marseilles. She would not leave her 
 dear pupil at once, in such extreme distress 
 and misery as she was plunged in at her aunt's 
 decease. 
 
 The fond and affectionate farewell of the 
 dear, kind Bouveries, so loved and valued, 
 and the impressive and^ graceful a reverderld 
 of the Signora and her husband, dwelt long 
 and tenderly on Mary's heart. Three years 
 had passed since she came to the land of 
 strangers, and found in it so many fond friends. 
 The separation was sad, and Mary's heart was 
 full — so full that her adieux were tearful and 
 silent. 
 
 All and everything that had occurred in 
 that happy home she was leaving, rose to her 
 imagination; she had come to Italy a sick, 
 pining, world-weary girl — she was leaving it 
 a care-worn woman, over whom more stern 
 affliction rested even than before ! 
 
 The hour of her departure had been deferred 
 as long as it possibly could, and until the patience 
 of the anxious Sir Aldrich was well nigh gone. 
 She was leaving her friends, companions, and 
 associates, perhaps, never again to meet them; 
 she was hastening to a home, with a heavy
 
 262 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 dread of it upon her heart ; a very different 
 mode of life was awaiting her, an endless horde 
 of alarms and dangers. Going back to Bul- 
 strode ! — yes, with what altered feelings and 
 changed mind ! — changed in every way. 
 
 Her friends accompanied her to the vessel 
 which was destined to convey her back to 
 England, and they remained with her on board 
 till the signal for departure was given. Slowly 
 the paddles of the Tamar began to revolve, 
 and very leisurely the steamer threaded her 
 cautious way through the crowded harbour. 
 How gracefully she seemed to increase her 
 speed, till at length she joyously bounded for- 
 ward — as if with the impetus of freedom — 
 from the land. Poor Mary stood in her deep 
 mourning dress, looking so pale and lovely, 
 gazing sadly back, with a tearful eye and a 
 swelling heart, on the beauty of that fair land 
 to which she was bidding a long and tender 
 good bye — intensely regarding the little band 
 of friends, who, with much emotion and gentle 
 hands, waved their last adieux. 
 
 The quiet of her cabin was quickly sought, 
 and accorded better with her depressed and 
 melancholy reflections than did the noisy and
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 263 
 
 cheerful saloon of the steamer, which was 
 thronged with company — noisy, gay, and happy 
 travellers. Almost every individual in the 
 group was English, so that they appeared to 
 each other as friends. Music, singing, and 
 talking commenced; and all but Mary seemed 
 to enjoy the prosperous and delightful voyage 
 home. 
 
 Before night closed in, the vessel had steered 
 so far toward the open sea, that the extreme 
 points of the chain of lovely hills which form 
 the Bay of Genoa, had sunk far below the 
 horizon. The setting sun had bathed them in 
 his warmest, richest hues, and rosiest, most 
 golden glow as they gradually disappeared 
 from view, as though with loving tenderness 
 they would gild their parting adieux with 
 smiles of beauty. The pilot soon after left the 
 ship ; and in the still quiet of the silent night, 
 his voice was heard by Mary, to murmur in the 
 eloquence of his native tongue, the soft touch- 
 ing farewell — " A riverderla ! A riverderla." 
 
 The ship stopped for part of a day at Mar- 
 seilles, where many of the passengers got out 
 for a few hours. The affecting parting from 
 Madame De Bohn took place; the worthy
 
 264 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 woman had arranged that on the completion of 
 her pupil's education, she would reside 
 amongst her children ; and as Sir Aldrich did 
 not press her to break through the arrange- 
 ment ; she had settled to accompany Mary so 
 far on herVay, and she herself remain with a 
 son who was an inhabitant of Marseilles. The 
 last link to old happy days and friends, was 
 thus severed, and the faithful, excellent and 
 gifted governess resigned the charge and care 
 of one she loved as her own child. 
 
 A rapid voyage home followed — Mary was 
 once more on British ground. How well she 
 knew each turn and winding on her homeward 
 round towards Bulstrode ; her journey was a 
 lonely one, as Sir Aldrich had been unable to 
 meet her, as he was only recovering from a 
 severe fit of gout ; so, without stopping, she 
 hastened to him, as fast as she possibly could. 
 
 Behold, the last winding of the road places 
 Bulstrode immediately before her. She re- 
 calls to mind her journey, five years before, 
 from it ; and the crush of attendant memories 
 totally overpowers her. There is her home, 
 old venerable Bulstrode. 
 
 She roused herself as she drew near to the
 
 ♦ THE YOUNG BRIDE. 265 
 
 avenue, and was able to call up a faint smile ; 
 a word of recognition to the well remembered 
 old gate-keepers, who flung wide and open the 
 ponderous doors through which she drove, 
 under the archway into the park. And so she 
 entered that noble hereditary home, the home 
 of her ancestors for centuries upon centuries — 
 with a saddened heart and weeping eye, and a 
 desponding mind — and the velvet cheek and 
 silken lashes were wet, very wet ; as the trem- 
 bling arms of the agitated old grandfather en- 
 circled her, and pressed her with fervour to 
 his heart. 
 
 He started with wonder and surprise as he 
 beheld her ; that very tall, beautiful, melan- 
 choly woman that sprung into his embrace — 
 Mary was it ? could it be ? Yes it must be, 
 for there were the lovely mouth, the dark, deep 
 eyes, and the oval face so imprinted on his 
 heart's fondest memory. Her graceful mien 
 and polished address, evinced how amply she 
 had profited by the advantages of her foreign 
 culture, and how enhanced the exceeding 
 beauty of her childhood had become. 
 
 There was a deep, quiet sadness, neverthe- 
 less, in her manner, and a melancholy expres-
 
 266 THE YOUNG BKTDE. 
 
 sion of every feature, that showed mourning 
 feelings still unconquered ; and which struck 
 coldly on the old man's breast, warning him 
 that the young heart had already tasted, nay 
 drank deeply of the cup of sorrow ; the re- 
 membrance too, of her lost aunt, in the peculiar 
 charms and grace of that old house, was vividly 
 recalled, and that bitter recollection added ten- 
 fold to her depression. 
 
 " My own darling — thank God for your safe 
 return," — were the first words of Sir Aldrich, 
 as he kissed and blessed her over and over. 
 ^* You must be cold, Mary, my child, wearied 
 and tired ;" he said, as with tenderness he led 
 her up the steps into the hall. 
 
 " No dearest grandpapa," spoke that silvery 
 voice, so long unheard by those aged ears, 
 ^' No, grandpapa, not at all — not tired or 
 wearied, when I see you looking so well and 
 strong ; but very glad indeed to be with you," 
 was all she could say, but she sighed very 
 deeply. Every thing was so at once remem- 
 bered, so recalled to her recollection ; it was 
 impossible for her to support her feelings, or 
 be at ease — she could not restrain her sobs and 
 tears. A long, tender hour that was, that they
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 267 
 
 spent thus together ; the old man quite over- 
 come, no less than Mary. He soothed, petted, 
 kissed her as in old days, telling her how he 
 loved and idolised her ; how he was happy, 
 altogether happy, as he held her to him with 
 his trembling hand. 
 
 At the end of some time, Carroll appeared 
 to remind her young lady that it was time to 
 dress for dinner. Very gladly Mary obeyed 
 the summons, and hastened to avail herself of 
 half an hour's quiet and reflection. As she 
 left the drawing-room, to which she had been 
 conducted by Sir Aldrich, she met the nume- 
 rous old servitors and retainers of Bulstrode, 
 gathered at the stairs' foot, to welcome her 
 home. All and each were fond of her from 
 her birth. She had been born, reared, and 
 nurtured amongst them — the object of their 
 love and interest — the daughter of their 
 young master, fondly regarded and reverently 
 remembered. 
 
 She felt all their affection, as they crowded 
 round and about her, claiming her kindly 
 notice. She knew and remembered every 
 body, asked for those she missed, and tenderly 
 spoke a word of consolation, or a sentence of
 
 268 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 pleased meaning, as each one needed. All 
 felt that their little darling had returned as 
 loving, and true, and kind as ever ; only she 
 was now a woman, no more the little play- 
 thing of old times. 
 
 The darkness of evening had stolen upon 
 Bulstrode ere Mary was dressed for dinner, 
 and had recruited her strength and spirits by 
 a little rest and quiet. She was pale, but her 
 tears were dried, when she joined her grand- 
 father, and took her place at the head of the 
 dining-table. It seemed to her as if she had 
 dined there, at that table, in that very room, 
 only the day before ; that she had been with 
 Mrs. Penelope and madame there, with grand- 
 papa, as usual, and had never left, never 
 ceased to be little Mary, or had become a 
 woman. 
 
 She could not eat — she could but think, 
 and gave ample opportunity to old Devereux, 
 the butler, to look at her, and come to the 
 conclusion that ' she was a queen.' But by the 
 time dinner was over, and she found herself 
 alone with Sir Aldrich, she contrived to collect 
 her scattered thoughts, and made every exer- 
 tion to rally.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 269 
 
 The old love for grandpapa seemed to 
 revive as strongly as in other times ; she 
 could not be insensible to all the old man^s 
 exertions to please and gratify her, and her 
 fond heart conquered all her disincUnation 
 to be cheerful, making her banish every 
 symptom of unhappy feeling. 
 
 ^' Your health, Mary ! and many cordial 
 welcomes to your own home, darling." 
 
 " Thanks, my dear grandpapa. I feel, 
 indeed, that the welcome home is from your 
 heart, and warmer than I deserve. Every 
 body at Bulstrode seems to wish to make me 
 feel that I have never been forgotten in my 
 absence. I should be very ungrateful if I did 
 not appreciate the kindly and cordial welcome 
 I have met." 
 
 "Well, I trust, my darling child, you 
 know how welcome, very welcome, you are to 
 your own home." 
 
 " My dear grandpapa, I feel, indeed, that I 
 should be very ungrateful if I did not appre- 
 ciate the kindly feeling and affectionate greet- 
 ing I met to-day." 
 
 " Oh, Mary ! do not reiterate your grati- 
 tude in that way, I implore you. You are not
 
 270 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 come back to strange, uncareful persons ; you 
 are at home, my child — your own home ! Those 
 who do not care for birth or lineage, may live 
 where and how they please, but the proper 
 dwelling for a ^ Bulstrode ' is in the ancestral 
 home of * Bulstrode/" 
 
 Mary smiled, but very sadly. She felt drawn 
 very strongly to the venerable old man, whose 
 sins against herself she had nearly forgotten. 
 It was a comfort and delight to her, to hear 
 him speak and think thus of olden times, for 
 old affections and desires were warming at her 
 heart. Everything recalled the past to her 
 memory — that fine, noble old man, who so 
 tenderly regarded and watched over her — 
 those old servants living in, and belonging to her 
 patrimonial home — that noble old hall, those 
 paintings, and those decorations, so well re- 
 membered — the very tones of Sir Aldrich's 
 powerful voice — all brought together hosts 
 and hordes of recollections. She remained for 
 hours after dinner with Sir Aldrich, her hand 
 in his — his eyes intently looking into hers. 
 She did all she could to rouse herself; she 
 told the details of her journey home ; she 
 recited traits of travel, anecdotes of people, 
 foreign manners, and strange customs.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 269 
 
 He hearkened, and watched, and listened 
 to her with deep and heartfelt satisfaction and 
 delight — so much so that, but for the apparent 
 weariness of her own heart, Mary would have 
 been happy in thus proving her power over 
 the proud and haughty old man. 
 
 He listened with great interest to all she 
 detailed, and entered into all her sentiments 
 with an eagerness that showed how anxiously 
 he wished to gratify her, and how ardently he 
 longed for her affection. Unfortunate old 
 man ! he had fixed all his hopes of happiness 
 on this young girl, and all and everything 
 connected with her ; she was to be his prop, 
 his pride, his idol. Was he doomed to sorrow 
 or rejoice at the fate in store for her? We 
 shall see. 
 
 The very first glance had been enough to 
 show him, that Mary had returned to him all 
 that his most sanguine expectations could have 
 desired. A lady in every tone and movement 
 she was, and this would have sufficiently satis- 
 fied the fastidious old baronet, even had she 
 been less lovely, and less beautiful than she 
 really was. Had her eyes been less brilliant, 
 her complexion less delicate, or her manner
 
 272 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 less perfert. In the expression of every fea- 
 ture, as well as in every sentiment she uttered, 
 Sir Aldrich read the gentleness, meekness, and 
 purity of the spirit within. 
 
 Once, and only once, that first evening of 
 their reunion, did Mary forget herself, and her 
 own habitual sadness and depression, which had 
 so long gathered round her ; and then it was at 
 the remembrance of some old childish delight 
 that she laughed — a laugh so dear, and sweet, 
 and joyful, that it might almost have been an 
 echo of similar sounds, that used in merry old 
 times, long, long ago, to gladden those dear 
 old walls, and that old, ancient oaken roof 
 
 Her look of fatigue increasing as the night 
 waned on, Sir Aldrich, with affectionate com- 
 mand, ordered her early to bed. She was 
 very glad of it, and quickly availed herself of 
 the permission. After she dismissed Carroll 
 for the night, she turned towards the beautiful 
 old, east window, which was* at one end of her 
 dressing-room, to gaze out upon the well- 
 remembered scene which lay before it. 
 
 The pale, clear moon silvered every object 
 as she looked forth. There lay the broad, 
 beautiful lake, stretching far away into the
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 273 
 
 distance^ its waters rippling under the flood of 
 moonlight thrown across it. There were the 
 noble rows of magnificent trees, centuries old, 
 looking spectrally black and gloomy, half hid- 
 den by their own gigantic shadows. Far in 
 the distance rose the broad and extensive chain 
 of hills, and noble range of mountains, that 
 surrounded Bulstrode on all sides, with here 
 and there a gorgeous planet or a trembling 
 star. 
 
 Mary seated herself where the rich light 
 came streaming through the painted windows 
 of the oriel at which she was, and chequered 
 the old oaken floor, bright and glittering as 
 glass ; and shone on the old grotesque carv- 
 ings, bathing her own figure in its bright 
 radiance. 
 
 In that very room Mary was bom — in that 
 room now so dull, lone, and melancholy. It 
 was there that she was recalled to active life 
 and existence, when pronounced dead. It 
 was there, fond, anxious friends had fanned 
 the stniggling spark of existence into the 
 lamp of life. Here it was that the new-born^ 
 motherless babe was welcomed, loved, nur- 
 tured, cared for, and reared. Here it was that 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 her first footsteps toddled over the old floor. 
 Here she was taught, instructed, and made to 
 know herself. It was in this hallowed spot 
 Mary had learnt her own sinful nature, and 
 had been instructed to battle against it, against 
 sin, the flesh, and the devil. 
 
 Fond hearts and pious lips had taught her 
 there to pray, and make her wants known — 
 to hope, to fear, to love and serve the Father 
 of the fatherless. Perhaps, this mode of tui- 
 tion had made the girl to be more thoughtful 
 when a child, than children usually are, and 
 made her pleasures of a graver cast. But, in 
 reality, it ever added to her happiness far 
 more than it took away. It made her love 
 the blue sky, the trees, the flowers, not merely 
 for themselves and for their beauty, but be- 
 cause God had made and formed them to bless 
 not only herself, but the very lowest of his 
 creatures. She had, by precept and example, 
 learnt not only to listen, without reply, to 
 undeserved rebukes and harshness, but to ask 
 herself to forgive and to forget them at once 
 and for ever. 
 
 She had seen her model, Mrs. Penelope — 
 that revered old aunt — return the very greatest
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 275 
 
 unkindness and neglect with the most thought- 
 ful and forgiving affection, and hearken to the 
 most cutting speeches with unmoved and con- 
 siderate forgiveness. The self-command of the 
 dear old lady's mind became a sufficient re- 
 compence for all her trials and difficulties ; so 
 that Mary, her faithful pupil and darling niece, 
 had ever before her some one to copy and 
 admire. Thus it was that the being really 
 most blessed and happy, and most to be envied 
 at Bulstrode, was the woman who had already 
 sufficient deep and poignant trouble, and had 
 been sanctified therewith. 
 
 As Mary continued to look out upon the 
 sleeping landscape, so calm, so grave and 
 peaceful, she began to think what sad and 
 direful events had clouded her own young 
 life, since last she looked forth upon that very 
 scene. How distinctly memory pointed at each 
 bright and well-known object, as well as each 
 bitter recollection. The prospect from that 
 casement was wild and varied, extending over 
 miles of ground. Something lovely and par- 
 ticular marked each object, as Mary from time 
 to time viewed and reviewed it. Everything 
 looked so rich and so brilliant, that it seemed 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 to realize all she possibly could desire to pos- 
 sess. But, notwithstanding all the costly 
 treasures that were revealed, of the hereditary 
 wealth of Bulstrode and its dependencies, her 
 own miserable fate stared at her, and over- 
 threw all thoughts and ideas of happiness. 
 Perhaps, the very charm of the beautiful and 
 noble old place only increased her wretched- 
 ness, as she remembered how she was asso- 
 ciated and bound with it. How drearily and 
 wretchedly she was connected with it, and by 
 what galling and odious bonds ! 
 
 Night — long, still night — dragged wearily 
 away, before Mary had ceased to think and 
 ponder. And when, at length, the twittering 
 of birds, and the increasing light of dawn, 
 announced the coming morn, she sought for 
 rest and sleep. Morning came, full, bright, 
 and cheering, but full of the memories of sad 
 imaginings. The bright gleams of the cheering 
 sun, and the beauty of the early day helped 
 to enliven her downcast spirits, and give a 
 tone of hopefulness to the young mind so long 
 untuned. Nothing more fresh, or bright, or 
 lovely, ever gladdened the heart of man, or 
 eye of mortal, than the light form of the
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 277 
 
 daughter of Bulstrode, as she issued from a 
 window of the library opening upon the 
 broad and noble terrace at the back of the 
 house, on the morning aftqr her return to her 
 hereditary home. For many moments she 
 paused to look around her and note each ob- 
 ject. The fresh, pure morning breeze blew 
 softly on that exquisitely graceful form, 
 wafting with its balmy airs the luxuriant curls 
 that unrestrainedly hung round the noble 
 countenance so full of intellect and beauty. 
 Slowly she turned her steps to seek the haunts 
 of early years, where she had oft rambled in 
 her childhood's happy days. 
 
 Descending the marble steps which led 
 her to the lower grounds, beneath the 
 house, she found herself in the ancient 
 flower-gardens, long nurtured by the gene- 
 rations of the Bulstrode ladies, in those 
 olden times of floral culture now so little 
 valued. Straight, angular, and exact, the 
 design of some eminent Dutchman of the 
 time these gardens had been preserved un- 
 altered from their original formation, which 
 was before the epoch that gave to England 
 her tribes of carnations, legions of pinks, and
 
 278 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 millions of other flowerets, that now are al- 
 most indigenous to the land ; that time when 
 the good and wise dames devoted to the love 
 of flowers, no less than the learned floriculturists 
 of the age, would sneer and scoff at the idea 
 of posterity being able to witness the trans- 
 formation of the tiny, irregular ' two- faces- 
 under-a-hood' into the ^Ye shilling shaped and 
 sized ^ pansy' of this era. Honest, worthy 
 women, and simple, unexperimental men, who 
 always loved to form the unpresuming nose- 
 gays of cabbage-roses, sweet-brier, honey- 
 suckle, and lavender ; to whom were unknown 
 the brilliancy of pelargoniums or verbenas, the 
 fragrance of heliotropes, or tube roses, or the 
 full perfection of the dazzling, unequalled 
 camelia. 
 
 Though large additions had been, from 
 time to time, made to the pleasure grounds 
 and gardens of Bulstrode — though parterres, 
 roserys, grass gardens, and conservatories, 
 had sprung up round and about, and in every 
 direction, no change had ever been per- 
 mitted to take place in the old ^flower 
 knot/ Over this sacred and antique spot of 
 floricultural appropriation, Mary had, from
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 279 
 
 childhood, reigned undisputed mistress ; and, 
 even now, she felt that she preferred it, from 
 its old associations with her family, to its 
 more fashionable adjuncts. 
 
 How her heart beat as she entered the dear 
 old spot, silent and lonely though it was, yet 
 so full of old, happy remembrances That 
 sacred old place, with its primitive box-edging, 
 eighteen inches high ; its formal, stiff, broad 
 walks, covered with white foreign shells ; 
 its octagon, hexagon, and Detagon beds ; each 
 walk, bed, and shrub, accurately and dis- 
 tinctly remembered and recalled at the first 
 glance. It was bounded, towards the south, 
 by a smooth, velvet lawn, sloping gradually 
 down to the edge of a clear stream that 
 flowed over sparkling sand, through the 
 centre of the large gardens, from thence 
 rolling through the woods and forests 
 which surrounded Bulstrode Court for many 
 miles. 
 
 Mary would, as a child, and as a girl, 
 wander unrestrainedly from ^ the lady's flower 
 knot' over the mossy velvet banks, and, 
 through those gardens and pleasure grounds, 
 across the river, till she would reach the most
 
 280 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 dense portions of the woods ; there she was at 
 home — at peace — at rest — alone. Seated upon 
 the trunk of some old fallen tree, with a book, 
 her work, or, perchance, only her own thoughts, 
 alone she would linger till the falling dews, 
 and the gathering twilight, told her it was 
 time to return to that dear old happy home 
 and house — so noble, splendid — so meet for a 
 Bulstrode's dwelling — where loving, fond, and 
 cordial friends, and tender welcomings met 
 her, and where she laid her beautiful young 
 head upon its downy pillow to dream of the 
 happiness of the past day, and the hopes of the 
 future ones. 
 
 As Mary for the first time retrod the hal- 
 lowed ground of home, she seemed to forget 
 every cause of pain ; every thing but the 
 sense of pleasure and happiness was oblite- 
 ated from her recollection. This delicious 
 treat of wandering once more all alone, in the 
 beautiful early morn, unwatched, unnoted and 
 unattended in the ' cool, the fragrant, and the 
 silent hour ' was fully and deeply appreciated. 
 The woods never seemed so lovely, the light 
 danced through the forest glades, and sparkled 
 on the yellow primroses and the blue hare-bells
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 281 
 
 which peeped from amongst the thick under- 
 wood. The rare and luxuriant mosses which 
 covered the roots of old trees, and spread far 
 and wide over banks and knolls, were of bril- 
 liant and varied hues, some so bright that they 
 seemed to surpass in colouring, the vivid green 
 of the tender young leaves, and others almost 
 scarlet at their tips mingling with many of the 
 same tribe whose colour was softened into a 
 rich brown. 
 
 Oh ! what glorious ranks and rows of noble 
 trees were here ; such majestic, ancient oaks, 
 umbrageous spreading beeches, enormous ash 
 and elm trees, with pines, firs and deals of every 
 clime and species. Exquisite vistas were cut 
 throughout the forest, with artistic skill and 
 and taste, through which the eye encountered 
 rich and varied glimpses of sylvan scenery 
 beyond the range of woods. Here some beau- 
 tiful old church that * topped the neighbouring 
 hill ;' there a rural mill with its tributary 
 stream gleaming in the sunbeams; far away 
 the ruins of some crumbling old castle ; and 
 more distant still, the broad blue ocean, bearing 
 on its bosom specks of white canvas, wafting 
 innumerable vessels to and fro, from the state j
 
 282 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 Indiaman, or cruising war-steamer, to the tiny- 
 craft of the venturous fisherman. 
 
 At the early hour which had drawn Mary 
 from her rest, to visit her loved haunts, every- 
 thing round and about her was perfect. The 
 softness of the fresh breeze as it breathed its 
 balmy breath across her expansive brow, and 
 stirred the wavy masses of her bright hair, and 
 murmured softly through the fluttering leaves, 
 uplifting the filmy gossamer that floated from 
 tree to tree ; the twittering of the birds, the 
 incessant movement of the insect hosts, and 
 the glittering of the dew drops in the spreading 
 rays destined to exhale them, emblematic of 
 mankind, who, too often, blind and misguided, 
 exult in the very circumstance destined to be 
 their destruction. 
 
 Utterly engrossed and charmed, Mary sat 
 down upon a decaying root, covered with moss 
 and ivy, and was utterly lost in contemplation ; 
 she had placed herself where a long perspective 
 stretched itself before her, ending with a beau- 
 tiful and imposing view of the time honoured 
 walls of Bulstrode itself. Transported from 
 the present to the past, by the charms of the 
 recalled scenery and landscape, thoughts and
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 283 
 
 memories were awakened. She remained long 
 seated, retracing former years now numbered 
 with the past ; crowds of imaginations, ideas 
 and retrospections melancholy as well as pleas- 
 ing starting up each moment. 
 
 How involuntarily did she muse and moralize. 
 There lay her home, that almost princely home 
 which had in an unbroken line been transmit- 
 ted from parent to child, from her earliest 
 forefathers to her very self; generations upon 
 generations had been born and died there, in 
 that very home of hers, one after another till 
 they nearly merged into oblivion. Where were 
 the countless sons and daughters of the Bul- 
 strode line ? What recked they now of birth, 
 pride, wealth and honour? What value to 
 them now was their uncontaminated lineage — 
 their vaunted deeds — their boasted grace and 
 beauty — their countless wealth — their worldly 
 ways and projects — their pomp, and glory, and 
 renown ? Alas ! all was but " vanity and 
 vexation of spirit." Their ashes had been scat- 
 tered to the heaven, and had returned to 
 earth, even as the veriest pauper's that ever 
 toiled for his daily bread, and earned it by the 
 sweat of his brow, and the labour of his hands.
 
 284 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 Their souls had been as rigorously required 
 of them, as that of the very poorest menial 
 that tended to their wants, and served at 
 their costly meals, and bowed to their haughty 
 and imperious will. Aye, so it was, the Bul- 
 strodes were no more in the eyes of their 
 Creator, than other beings, into whom he had 
 vouchsafed to breathe the breath of life. And 
 Mary thought, as she looked out upon the 
 noble structure, with the humble heart and 
 spirit of the Teacher, that her daily prayer 
 would be " give me neither poverty nor riches." 
 For riches she had enough, too much ; en- 
 veloped in wealth she cared not for it — sur- 
 rounded by affluence and splendour, she evinced 
 the humblest spirit that the most simple cottage 
 maid could boast, and envied the poor girl who 
 at that moment, was winding her way up the 
 steep ascent of a rugged road opposite to where 
 she sat, who with difficulty was clambering 
 up a hill with her milk pail on her head. With 
 all the blessings which fate had heaped upon her, 
 with all the comforts God had vouchsafed to 
 her, she herself was but a slave, a hereditary 
 bondswoman without the power to help herself, 
 without a hope of deliverance.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 285 
 
 From her long reverie, and contemplative 
 attitude, Mary was suddenly roused by a noise 
 not far distant from her ; it seemed to be a 
 feigned cough, as if some person near her 
 wished to give notice of his proximity. Slightly 
 alarmed, she immediately turned round and 
 perceived a young gentlemanly man, apparently 
 a clergyman standing at a little distance. Sur- 
 prised and rather confused at the unexpected 
 intrusion in such a sequestered spot, Mary 
 made an involuntary motion to stand up, when 
 unfortunatly her foot turned under her, the 
 ground being uneven and encumbered with 
 long grasses and ferns, she fell to the earth, 
 severly spraining her ankle. 
 
 The stranger she had noticed straying in the 
 shade, sprang forward at once and snatched her 
 from the ground. Thanking the young gentle- 
 man she attempted to stand, but was utterly 
 unable to do so, and would have again fallen 
 down helplessly but for the ready and support- 
 ing arm of the stranger. Who, when he found 
 that she was so injured as to be utterly un- 
 able to walk or stir her foot, assisted her to 
 reach a piece of smooth rock, which lay at some 
 little distance; and then, with respectful address
 
 286 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 and gentlemanly manner, asked her where he 
 should go to for help for her. His look of surprise 
 was very great, when she told him who she 
 was and pointed to her home. However he 
 promised to summon assistance immediately and 
 begged her to remain perfectly quiet, till he re- 
 turned to her ; this she was compelled to do, 
 as the pain of her foot and ankle was very 
 severe, therefore, she gladly accepted his offer 
 of hurrying to her grandfather's and telling 
 him of the accident. 
 
 Sir Aldrich met the stranger at the entrance 
 hall, as he was hurrying to report the painful 
 occurence to the old gentleman. A pony chaise 
 was at once prepared, and some of the servants 
 were directed to follow their master and the 
 stranger to the place where Mary had been 
 left. 
 
 She struggled to smile and laugh at the 
 matter, and succeeded in making her grand- 
 father's mind more easy. She was quickly and 
 gently placed in a little garden chaise, and 
 driven by Sir Aldrich himself. They returned 
 slowly home, as she could not bear the pain 
 caused by a more rapid motion, her sufferings 
 increasing each moment more and more severely.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 287 
 
 Their new friend accompanied them, intro- 
 ducing himself to the baronet, as the Rev. 
 Henry Mortimer, the curate in a neighbouring 
 parish. 
 
 Poor, gentle Mary was nearly in a fever 
 with pain by the time they reached the house 
 However, she was aware that Mr. Mortimer 
 was a quiet, kind, gentlemanly looking man, 
 and she heard him say he was lately appointed 
 to his curacy, which was not more than two 
 miles from Bulstrode. He went on to say that 
 being passionately fond of solitary ramblings 
 through the woods, he often enjoyed the luxury 
 of a stroll through Bulstrode, of the scenery of 
 which he declared himself to be a very great 
 admirer. 
 
 This new friend soon won the cordial regard 
 and esteem of the old baronet, and as for Mary 
 she did not know much about him for a long 
 time, as she was confined for weeks to her bed, 
 and for months to her rooms and private apart- 
 ments. So the stranger was soon a peculiar 
 favourite of Sir Aldrich, and became a wno- 
 derful acquisition to him. Mary did not see 
 anything of Mr. Mortimer until she was able 
 to get into the drawing-room, but when she
 
 288 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 did so, she liked him extremely ; she found 
 him to be a man of deep information and much 
 literary attainment. Sir Aldrich, whose heart 
 was completely won, soon discovered that the 
 young clergyman was the second son of an old 
 college friend of his own, a man of property 
 and standing in another county. 
 
 Accustomed to long rides, and exceedingly 
 attached to country pursuits and amuse- 
 ments, Henry Mortimer found himself con- 
 stantly wandering about Bulstrode, without 
 knowing much about its owner. He had, once 
 or twice heard a great deal of his violent tem- 
 per and haughty disposition, but of his grand- 
 daughter and her peculiar position he knew 
 nothing whatsoever. 
 
 By the time Mary was able to get to the 
 drawing-room, she found Mr. Mortimer was 
 regarded quite as a friend. His services to 
 her had been most gratefully appreciated by 
 Sir Aldrich, which, added to his own attentive 
 manner, induced the baronet to honour the 
 young clergyman with the right hand of friend- 
 ship. 
 
 An enthusiastic admirer of the beauties of 
 nature, and early taught ^ to look from nature
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 289 
 
 up to nature's God,' Henry Mortimer was ever 
 and always wandering away to some lonely 
 isolated spot, or picturesque nook, sometimes 
 reading and sometimes indulging in the bright 
 day dreams of trusting, hopeful youth. Distin- 
 guished by a gravity of manner and steadiness 
 of disposition far beyond his years, he had early 
 won the regard and respect of all who knew 
 him, and he gave the brightest promise of 
 fixture excellence. 
 
 He had been, at first, intended for the mili- 
 tary profession ; and his early training and 
 education had even been directed to this ob. 
 ject ; but a great delicacy of constitution 
 marked his youth and childhood ; and, at last, 
 he had been obliged to give up his plan, and 
 devote himself to some other course. For 
 years he was obliged to give up all study, and 
 remain perfectly inactive. He had been or- 
 dered to a warm chmate, where he quickly 
 became re-established in health, and where his 
 mind became awakened to the uncertainty of 
 all sublunary concerns, and to the vanity and 
 uselessness of all worldly pursuits. His love 
 of books — the master-passion of his existence 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 — overcame everything else ; and he com- 
 menced to study for a collegiate course, through 
 which he passed with considerable eclat ; and, 
 with the consent and approval of his parents, 
 he determined to enter the ministry. Im- 
 pressed as he was with the importance of the 
 sacred profession he was about to enter, his 
 mind was, at first, considerably agitated by 
 the fear, that the opposite tendencies of his 
 mind might prove injurious to the duties he 
 was about to engage in. But, for the firm and 
 pure spirit of Christianity which balanced all 
 his thoughts and feelings, he would have been 
 completely deterred ; as he knew himself to 
 be ardent and energetic, yielding, to a fault, 
 and possessed of a sensibility which ofttimes 
 threatened to afiect the stability of his cha- 
 racter. 
 
 It was in the end of spring — that delicious 
 portion of the year, when all things are gay 
 and blooming — that Mortimer first became ac- 
 quainted with the inhabitants of Bulstrode ; 
 indeed, summer was advancing ; and, unfortu- 
 nately for Mary, she was obliged to lie upon 
 a couch in her dressing-room, inactive and
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 291 
 
 helpless. But, at last, her ankle became 
 better, and, by degrees, she recovered the full 
 use of it. The hues of autumn had begun to 
 tinge the woods with their brightest hues, be- 
 fore she was able to get abroad. Her confine- 
 ment had been a very melancholy time for 
 her, for she had but few friends sufficiently in- 
 timate to allow of their admittance. The old 
 doctor, and his excellent wife, with the worthy 
 rector, were her only visitants. Her spirits, 
 consequently, did not improve ; so that, by the 
 time she was able to get off her sofa, and out 
 into the open air, she was miserably low and 
 depressed. Strange, that on her very first 
 arrival, just when she first inhaled the atmos- 
 phere of home, she should be so completely 
 shut out from the enjoyment of her beloved 
 freedom. Everything that could be devised or 
 suggested for her comfort and amusement, had 
 been anxiously and assiduously entered upon 
 by Sir Aldrich ; but, alas ! without the de- 
 sired effect ; nothing had power to cheer, but 
 on the contrary, for everything seemed to mili- 
 tate against the restoration of her spirits. 
 However, she had one great comfort, — Sir 
 
 u2
 
 292 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 Aldrich^s perfect silence respecting everything 
 connected with Harold, whose name was never 
 mentioned in her presence, nor was any allusion 
 ever made to her own peculiar position, saving 
 her being addressed as * Mrs. Bulstrode.
 
 293 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Love ! pure as the fountain under ground, 
 When first it's by the lapwing found." — 
 
 Sir Aldrich, who keenly and narrowly- 
 watched Mary, saw, with unfeigned regret, 
 that her depression of spirits and delicacy of 
 frame did not alter or improve. He set him- 
 self to think, and devise some expedient which 
 would make a change in the monotonous life 
 she led at Bulstrode, and summoned the rector 
 to his aid and counsel. The worthy old clergy- 
 man, who had a very great affection for Mary, 
 struck out a scheme for the improvement of 
 her situation, which, most luckily, met with 
 the unqualified assent and perfect concurrence
 
 294 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 of the baronet, and afforded to the poor in- 
 valid herself the utmost gratification she could 
 enjoy. 
 
 The plan recommended, was to invite Mary's 
 dearest friend, Miss Bouverie, to pass the ap- 
 proaching winter at Bulstrode. Mrs. Bouverie 
 was written to at once by Sir Aldrich, in his 
 most courteous style, and entreated to spare 
 her daughter for a few months to his grand- 
 child. A kind reply was received ere long, 
 and the request was granted, with a promise 
 that Frances would accompany her father to Eng- 
 land in a few weeks, as he had business of import- 
 ance to transact. The baronet immediately 
 wrote to say how extremely happy he would 
 be to receive Mr. Bouverie at Bulstrode, and 
 take charge of his precious child on his de- 
 parture. 
 
 The hope of seeing Frances Bouverie, and 
 possessing her companionship, was a source of 
 great happiness to Mary, and it threw a gleam 
 of sunshine over her gloomy life. Though Sir 
 Aldrich's temper was violent and overbearing 
 to all about him, to her he was all kindly 
 thought and gentleness. He was growing 
 feeble, and unable to enjoy his favourite exer-
 
 THE rOUNG BRIDE. 295 
 
 cise of riding. His sight, too, was very weak; 
 so that he had to depend mostly upon Mary for 
 the enjoyment to be derived from books. In 
 consequence of these increasing infirmities, 
 he was hardly ever away from her. 
 
 By degrees she had been able to get into 
 the air ; at first, she was carried out, and 
 placed on a sofa on the terrace. After a while^ 
 she could venture to drive in a pony-car- 
 riage through the grounds, and at length was 
 able to venture upon her old steady pony. 
 This' was a great pleasure, and, as her foot 
 became better, she felt more courageous and 
 independent, and was able to dispense with 
 the attendance of a servant, and venture into 
 the woods by herself, and all over the demesne. 
 She would alone enjoy those delicious rides 
 and solitary wanderings, permitting her little 
 gentle steed to walk leisurely along from the 
 grounds and park, into the woods and wilds. 
 Plunging into the depths of the forests, along 
 the beautiful avenues of turf, bounded on each 
 side by rows of stupendous trees. From 
 thence, by a slow and gradual ascent, gaining 
 the top of some neighbouring hill ; the pony, 
 being equal to any difficulty he met with in the
 
 296 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 zig-zag paths, with the light weight he carried. 
 Then, carefully picking its steps through the 
 branching roots, which lay thickly through 
 the upland soil, he would stop to rest himself 
 whe're some beautiful view lay before Mary, or 
 where some scattered herbage tempted him to 
 dally. 
 
 Mary loved those lonely rides, far away 
 from the haunts of man, among the wildest 
 beauties of nature. Up in the wild mountains, 
 where the bellowing sound of rushing torrents, 
 down the steep sides of the hill, forced them- 
 selves into the dells beneath, increasing the 
 effect of the romantic aspects around her. 
 Creeping onward, by continuous rocky paths, 
 she and her tiny steed would lose the im- 
 petuous streams, and follow, by some other 
 course, their homeward way. The gentle 
 movement of the pony, as it paced along, 
 was very delightful to Mary ; then it would 
 stand still, immoveable, at her slightest wish, 
 while she drank in the beauties of hill and 
 dale, upland and woodland. The murmurs of 
 the wood-pigeons, within those lonely nooks, 
 had something inexpressibly soothing in their 
 sound, contrasted, as they were, with the
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 297 
 
 hollow sounding notes of the varied tribes of 
 feathered creatures, that lived amongst the 
 further rocks. 
 
 Soothed into forgetfulness, she would wend 
 her way towards Bulstrode Court, descending 
 into the lower woods, and entering some of 
 the forest rides that stretched, in long, arching 
 avenues, to the very house. There was such 
 a noble appearance in J;hat fine old mansion — 
 a venerable charm about it — that was inex- 
 pressibly pleasing ; but, ofttimes, as it came 
 in view, Mary would suddenly turn pale, and 
 miserably sigh, as she gazed upon it; then, 
 close her eyes, and press her hand upon 
 them to shut it from her sight, and exclude 
 images connected with it, too bitter to bear ; 
 while she would sometimes utter aloud, in her 
 agitated moments — 
 
 *' My home ! — no ! never !'' 
 
 Then, what a numbness would seem to seize 
 upon her faculties, how dull and torpid they 
 became, how unconscious of anything she 
 was, till, perchance, the voice of Sir Aldrich, 
 as he descended the steps to receive her, would 
 recal her to herself, and the necessary exertions 
 of her life.
 
 298 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 Then, after long, monotonous dinners, there 
 came the dull, heavy evenings; and, with 
 them, the wearying details of Sir Aldrich's 
 fretful annoyances of every-day life, followed 
 by his long evening sleep, during which she 
 sat with him, silent and thoughtful, only 
 waiting to dispense his tea, and take her seat 
 as his opponent at picquet or backgammon. 
 It was, altogether, dull and uninteresting 
 work for her, and Mary almost felt stupefied 
 by the constant and unchanging repetition. 
 Sometimes, she would try to amuse him, and 
 herself, by music, but that never answered 
 for him ; he had no taste for dulcet sounds, 
 which, without charming him, kept him awake, 
 or away from the card table. To gaze out upon 
 the canopy of heaven, to hearken to the winds and 
 breezes of the autumnal nights, to think over 
 the solitary communings of the past day, were 
 her sole means of enjoyment till the accus- 
 tomed hour brought lights into the dismal 
 drawing-room. 
 
 But Frances Bouverie at last arrived, and 
 then, indeed, there was a change, a happy, 
 happy change in the life of poor Mary. 
 Frances was equally delighted to see her friend,
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 299 
 
 and rushed into her arras, with unspeakable 
 emotion, to re- ceive the fond and loving 
 welcome that was ready for her. Her sweet, 
 fair face and gentle manner, made friends for 
 her at one with all that saw her, most especially 
 
 with Sir Aldrich himself. 
 
 Oh ! what a happy meeting it was — what 
 
 joyful tears were shed ! Mr. Bouverie came, 
 too. He was a fine, gentlemanly-looking man, 
 and was fortunate to win the favour of his 
 host at once, who seldom took a fancy to any 
 one ; but, on this occasion, he totally over- 
 came his habitual reserve and hauteur, and 
 strove to show how pleased and gratified he 
 was at the arrival of Mary's friends. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer met the Bouveries at Bul- 
 strode, on the evening of their arrival, and 
 discovered that Mr. Bouverie knew his father 
 well and intimately, having been a college 
 chum of his in former times. This circum- 
 stance at once paved the way for an inti- 
 macy, which rapidly warmed into a strong 
 friendship. 
 
 Each day increased the good fellowship ex- 
 isting between Sir Aldrich and Mr. Bouverie, 
 who, fortunately, was on the same side of
 
 300 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 politics with him. The baronet found a con- 
 genial feeling, on many matters, with his new 
 acquaintance, with whom he could bewail the 
 sad state of public matters, consequent upon the 
 existence of a Whig ministry — ^the disorgani- 
 zation of all public affairs — the mismanage- 
 ment of a bad government ; and indulge in the 
 usual tirades which are ever ready to flow 
 against the whole unhappy condition of matters 
 in general, when under the sway of an oppo- 
 sing and opposite party. 
 
 Besides all this, Mr. Bouverie was a clever 
 agriculturist, and a judge of horse-flesh ; so 
 that the two gentlemen could wander over the 
 farming establishment, at Bulstrode, and 
 through its amazing length of stables, with 
 equal pleasure and amusement ; lamenting the 
 ruinously low prices of all farm-produce, as 
 well as the increasing degeneracy of stock, 
 with thousands of other interesting subjects ; 
 or drive through the parks and woods, mark- 
 ing trees to be cut down, or directing new 
 ones to be planted. 
 
 Then, in the evenings, they would warmly 
 contest over the chess-board, or, with the aid 
 of the rector or doctor, battle vigorously over
 
 THE TOUNG BRIDE. 301 
 
 interminably long whist ; while the voices of 
 Frances and Mary joined together in some 
 beautiful Italian duets, or, separately, charmed 
 the ears of all that heard them. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer, who excelled upon the 
 cornet, usually joined the musical side of the 
 room, and added his musical talents to those 
 of the ladies, having previously been their 
 escort in their morning walks or rides. Thus 
 time stole cheerfully away, till the approach 
 of Christmas hurried Mr. Bouverie's depar- 
 ture, as he was obliged to return to Genoa 
 for that season ; and, before he could do so, 
 he had to visit his own residence, on matters 
 of importance. He, however, declared his 
 intention of returning in the following spring, 
 to carry back Frances to her mother. 
 
 The winter sped rapidly away ; the young 
 ladies enjoying their mutual friendship, and 
 benefiting each other by their association. 
 Their studies, as in former days, were re- 
 sumed, and in those they were not a little 
 benefited by the assistance given to them by 
 Mr. Mortimer. 
 
 He had become a constant visitor, and was 
 a most amazing favourite with the baronet ;
 
 302 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 he was ever and always ready to attend upon 
 Frances and Mary ; he read well and grace- 
 fully ; and, in the mornings, while the ladies 
 would work or draw, he was ever at hand to 
 delight them with some amusing novel, at- 
 tractive poem, or entertaining book of travel. 
 
 Many visitors had, by this time, become inti- 
 mate at Bulstrode ; and Sir Aldrich gladly wel- 
 comed them, and hospitably entertained them, 
 hoping to aid Mary's cheerfulness by society. 
 All during Christmas, she found herself playing 
 the part of hostess to a numerous circle of 
 friends and relatives, to whom she had before 
 been a stranger. 
 
 And well did she become her position, as 
 the mistress of that noble establishment — that 
 old baronial dwelling — how gracefully she 
 dispensed her hospitable cares, and courteous 
 attentions to all and everybody — how she was 
 courted, admired, and loved ! — how sincerely 
 pitied by all who knew the sad reality of her 
 fate ! — by all who addressed her as ^ Mrs. Bul- 
 strode !' What a mockery it was ! that name. 
 
 An evident and mutual affection, was soon 
 apparent between Frances and the young 
 clergyman ; they were thrown much and con-
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 303 
 
 stantly together for many months, and having 
 congenial tastes and inclinations, soon evinced 
 an attachment for each other. 
 
 Henry Mortimer had been at once charmed 
 with the grace and talent of Frances, and after 
 a further and more intimate acquaintance, and 
 knowledge of her amiable and excellent 
 qualities and disposition, had endeavoured to 
 inspire her with a returning regard for himself. 
 As Miss Edge worth truly says, that there is 
 nothing like ' propinquity ' for inspiring a 
 maturing love ; so Henry and Frances proved 
 it to be the case ; in truth it is the source 
 and beginning of half the marriages in the 
 world How can young people help them- 
 selves? — constant association, and daily inti- 
 macy must open the heart and make it ready 
 to receive the ' soft impression. ' 
 
 His appearance was very pleasing, and con- 
 veyed an impression of much talent and genius, 
 fi'om the fire of his eye and the intellectual 
 moulding of his whole countenance; he was 
 tall and well-formed, and looked what he really 
 was, a gentleman. As for Frances, she soon 
 reciprocated his feelings and affection, and his 
 true and unpretending piety was a source of
 
 304 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 the very greatest happiness to her. In the 
 society of both Henry and Mary, she felt that 
 the mutual love of both to the Almighty ruler 
 of the universe, and their devotion to his will 
 and way had united all their hearts in the very 
 closest bonds of affection, with a power and an 
 influence that was not of earth. 
 
 Mary was a very long time ignorant of the 
 state of things between Henry and Frances — 
 she had never thought of the possibility of 
 such a result, and she felt completely surprised 
 and astonished. Sir Aldrich was not so very 
 innocent or unsuspicious, for he had surmised 
 how matters were likely to end, even before 
 Mr. Bouverie left Bulstrode. The idea of an 
 affection springing up between the young 
 people, had been hinted at by the baronet to 
 her father, and he did not offer any objection, 
 but, on the contrary, seemed to like the thought 
 of the young clergyman being one of his own 
 family ; therefore Sir Aldrich had tacitly sanc- 
 tioned the intimacy, and given him every en- 
 couragement to continue his visits. It was thus 
 that the young man got such free access to the 
 saloons, library, and bowers of Bulstrode, and 
 was permitted to share in the pleasures and re- 
 creations of its inhabitants.
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 305 
 
 Under Henry Mortimer s care and guidance, 
 the pleasure boat, which was moored upon the 
 lake, was often occupied by the trio and Sir 
 Aldrich, with a boat boy, and they would ven- 
 ture evening after evening as the spring ad- 
 vanced, upon the placid waters of the lake. The 
 accompaniment of Mary's guitar would aid the 
 harmony of the glees, and trios in which 
 all would join and give increased beauty to 
 the vocal sounds that floated over the waters, 
 wafted by balmy breezes. Then perchance they 
 would row to some islet, where fastening their 
 little bark, they would clamber up the mount- 
 ain's side, and mark the glories of the setting 
 sun, ere it sunk to rest, an unclouded blaze of 
 living light. 
 
 It was on one of these boating excursions 
 that Mary first opened her eyes, and saw mat- 
 ters as they really were ; she was very happy 
 as she found •out the'extent of the pure feeling 
 which existed between her very dearest friend, 
 and one so calculated to make her happy. 
 The recognition of their happiness delighted 
 her, and she cordially and unselfishly aided 
 their attachment. 
 
 Soon she found out that there were times 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 ;^0() THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 when she was unmissed — nay, forgotten — 
 when, for hours, it was unnoticed that she had 
 lingered behind them in the woods, or had 
 strayed from them in their mountain rambles. 
 It was trying, very trying, thus to find herself 
 severed from her only companion — one as dear 
 to her heart as a sister : but she shook off all 
 thoughts of self, and struggled against herself, 
 till she felt to and for Henry as if he was a 
 dear brother, and freely forgave him his sup- 
 planting her in the breast of Frances. 
 
 But, then, how languid she would become 
 — how careless of the world and all in it — 
 how lone, and weary, and sad, as all the 
 horrors of her own fate would rush with tenfold 
 vigour into her mind and brain. Then she 
 would remember — oh! how bitterly — that 
 no fond lover, nor loving husband, nor de- 
 voted suitor, could ever hope to win her hand, 
 or hold her heart. 
 
 Thus smoothly and prosperously went on 
 the lives of Henry and Frances, contrary to 
 the approved axiom of true love never run- 
 ning so. Though, at times, like all lovers, 
 they might be forgetful of all but themselves, 
 they never remained long so. The love for 
 Mary, so strongly implanted in the heart of
 
 TH? YOUNG BRIDE. 307 
 
 Frances, would not permit her to selfishly neg- 
 lect her, or long overlook her claims upon her 
 own sympathy. The deep and cordial interest 
 felt by Henry for the young heiress herself, 
 joined to the love felt for her by his beloved, 
 produced a very powerful feeling ; and he and 
 Frances often found themselves deeply ab- 
 sorbed and engaged in the interesting theme 
 of her unhappy state. To Henry, Sir Aldrich 
 had constantly spoken of Harold Bulstrode, as 
 Mary's husband, anxiously longing for the 
 time of his return to claim his bride, and take 
 up his residence at Bulstrode, as its master. 
 The old man often expressed his deep anxiety 
 about having bis heir and successor happily 
 established before his own decease, which, he 
 thought, might not be far off, as increasing 
 years and infirmities were loosing his hold, he 
 felt, to earth. He never seemed to think it 
 possible, that any opposition, on the part of 
 his granddaughter, could arise, upon her hus- 
 band's coming to claim her ; and spoke with 
 perfect confidence and satisfaction of the union 
 he had formed between the cousins ; thereby 
 securing their interests in one ; as for the hap- 
 piness of that union, he did not say anything. 
 
 X 2
 
 308 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 All this, Henry communicated to Frances. 
 No one was so well aware of Mary's senti- 
 ments on the subject of her marriage, as she 
 was ; and she told her lover her perfect con- 
 viction, that no earthly power could, or would, 
 induce Mary to recognise, in the slightest 
 manner, Harold Bulstrode's claim upon her, or 
 make her ever look upon him as her husband. 
 Mary had ever given her fullest confidence to 
 her friend ; and declared now, as before, that, 
 sooner than pass one hour under the same 
 roof with her cruel and selfish cousin, she 
 would steal forth, as a thief, in the night, and 
 beg from door to door the scanty nutriment 
 which life demanded, in misery and beggary, 
 if unable to support herself by the labour of 
 her hands. 
 
 Mary was now eighteen years old, and much 
 improved in health. The roses of returning 
 strength had budded and bloomed upon her 
 cheeks, and her spirits were much better, and 
 more cheerful. Bulstrode had been quite gay, 
 and full of company at Easter. There had 
 been some great people — old friends of Sir 
 Aldrich — down from London for the Easter 
 recess There had been state dinners, grand
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 309 
 
 balls, delightful pic-nics, archery meetings, 
 cricket clubs, boating excursions and an un- 
 ceasing round of gaiety. Never had Mary's 
 beauty been more brilliant or captivating ; in 
 the first bloom of early womanhood, refined, 
 retiring and gentle, she possessed a thousand 
 charms, all and each of which she was unaware 
 of. Her happiness in the prospects of Frances 
 had unusually elated her, and the soft, beauti- 
 ful smiles long banished from her intellectual 
 countenance, shone from time to time across 
 it, bringing to view the countless dimples so 
 long hidden, that hovered near and about her 
 mouth. 
 
 Every family in the county had been most 
 anxious to evince their regard and attachment 
 to the child of her deceased father, whom all 
 had loved and respected. Hitherto, the pride 
 and self will of Sir Aldrich had shut out every 
 body from doing this, but now with unwonted 
 hospitality, the old baronet had thrown off his 
 lonely, gloomy habits, and courted the society 
 of those hitherto unwelcome. 
 
 With the end of spring came Mr. Bouverie 
 to carry away his child to her mother, from 
 whom she was ere long to be separated. 
 Henry Mortimer was to accompany them to
 
 310 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 Genoa, where his marriage was to take place. 
 The parting from Mary was got over tolerably 
 well, as she had the hope of having her dear 
 friend settled permanently near her ; neverthe- 
 less, the old place felt lonely and desolate, 
 when Mary was once more alone with Sir 
 Aldrich. He did all he possibly could to 
 amuse and comfort her, and she was too kind- 
 hearted and too grateful not to exert herself 
 to the utmost for his sake. He had been 
 greatly in dread that she would have wished 
 to accompany the Buuveries back, and -stay 
 with them till after the celebration of the mar- 
 riage ; he thought he could hardly refuse her, 
 had she made the request, and therefore it was 
 with much pleasure and great gratification that 
 he witnessed the departure, without being trou- 
 bled as he had expected, and left all solitary 
 and alone again. But Mary would not sacrifice 
 his comforts to her own pleasures or wishes, 
 and therefore refused the warm and kind invi- 
 tation to revisit her old haunts, without naming 
 to her grandfather that she did so. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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 Minister, Diplomatist, and Statesman, during more than Forty Years 
 of Public Life. 1 vol. 8vo vrith Portrait, 7s. 6d. bound. 
 
 " This work ought to have a place in every political library. It gives a complete view 
 •f the sentiments and opinions by which the policy of Lord Palmerston has been dictated at 
 a diplomatist and statesman." — Chronicle. 
 
 „ This is a remarkable and seasonable publication ; but it is something more — it is a 
 vduable addition to the historical treasures of our country during more than forty of the 
 most memorable year* of our annals. We earnestly recommend the volume to general 
 penisal." — Standard.
 
 HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE COURT AND CABINETS OF 
 
 GEORGE THE THIRD, From Original Family Documents. By 
 the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM AND CHANDOS, K.G., &c. The 
 Third and Fourth Volumes, comprising the period from 1800 to 1810, 
 and completing this important work. 8vo., with Portraits. 30s. bound. 
 
 From the Times. — "These volumes consist in the main, of letters written by the two 
 brothers. Lord Grenville, and Mr. T. Grenville, to their elder brother, the Marquis of 
 Buckingham, for his information as to the political circumstances of the time. In the two 
 former volumes a great amount of curious gossip, and of valuable information, was 
 contained relative to the formation of the Coalition Ministry, tha King's illness in 1788, 
 and the early period of the war with revolutionary France. Volumes 3 and 4 take up the 
 tale where volumes I and 2 had left it ; and herein we find a connected narrative of the 
 many stirring historical events which occurred between 1800, when Lord Grenville and 
 Talleyrand were in correspondence respecting Bonaparte's proposals for peace, until the 
 return of the King's malady in 1810 and the debates in Parliament relative to the regency. 
 The present collection is more valuable than the last, inasmuch as Lord Grenville, having 
 attained higher dignity and experience, is a more dispassionate observer of passing events. 
 Whoever would desire to read the running comments of so eminent and well informed a 
 man as Lord Grenville upon a decade so interesting as that of 1800 — 10, would do well to 
 consult these voiumes. Lord Grenville was certainly among the most far-sighted men of 
 bis time ; and to him, from the first, belongs the credit of appreciating truly Napoleon 
 Bonaparte's position and designs. He did so even to a higher degree than Pitt ; and it is 
 most i-emarkable how far his predictions have been verified by the event, even when 
 submitted to the sharp test of the judgment of posterity. The principal points on which 
 light is thrown by the present correspondence are, the negociations before and after the 
 Treaty of Amiens until the time of its rupture — the true character of Artdington's Adminis. 
 tration, and the relations between 'The Doctor' and Pitt — the formation of the Pitt and 
 Sidmouth Cabinet, when the King's prejudices against Charles Fox were found to be insur- 
 mountable — the Grenville and Fox short Administration — the Duke of Portland's Cabinet — 
 the expedition to Portugal, with its climax at Cintra — the Duke of York's scandal with Mrs. 
 Clarke — Sir John Moore's retreat, with the earlier Spanish campaigns of Sir Arthur Wel- 
 lesley, and, finally, the disastrous Walcheren aflfair. There is much curious matter inter- 
 posed in the shape of precis upon the situation of affairs written from time to time by Lord 
 Grenville himself; and perhaps still more curious reports made to the Marquis of Bucking- 
 ham by a certain , whose name remains a mystery, but who seems to have been 
 
 tolerably well acquainted with the arcana imperii at the beginning of the century. There 
 is much in these volumes which well deserves perusal. There is a portion of their contents 
 which possesses nearly as high a claim upon our instant and careful consideration as the 
 Minutes of the Sebastopol Committee." 
 
 From the Athen^um.— "The present volumes exhibit the same features as the former 
 portion of the series. The general reader is entertained, and the reader for historical 
 purposes is enlightened. Of their value and importance, there cannot be two opinions." 
 
 THE LIVES OF PHILIP HOWAED, EARL OF 
 
 ARUNDEL, AND OF ANNE DACRES, HIS WIFE. Edited from the 
 
 Original MSS. By the DUKE OF NORFOLK, E.M. 1 vol. antique, 
 10s. 6d.
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LAST FOUR 
 
 POPES. By His Eminence CARDINAL WISEMAN. 8vo. Portraits. (In 
 the Press.) 
 
 EASTERN HOSPITALS AND ENGLISH NURSES; 
 
 The Narrative of Twelve Months' Experience in the Hospitals of Koulali 
 and Scutari. By A LADY VOLUNTEER. Third and Cheaper Edition, 
 1 vol. post 8vo. with Illustrations, 6s. bound. 
 
 "A production which, not only in the subject-matter, but In its treatment, is filled with 
 the purest and best evidences of womanly tenderness. What the nurses did for our sick 
 and wounded soldiers — how they ministered to their wants and assuaged their sufferings — 
 h(Ow that composite body of hired attendants, sisters, nuns, and lady volunteers, worked 
 together for a common object — how their duties were apportioned — and how, in health or 
 illness, their time passed away — are all faithfully and minutely detailed in these volumes. 
 •Eastern Hospitals and English Nurses' will, no doubt, command a good circulation." 
 — The Times. 
 
 " The story of the noble deeds done by Miss Nightingale and her devoted sisterhood 
 will never be more effectively told than in the beautiful narrative contained in these 
 volumes." — John Bull. 
 
 " Our readers will find much to interest them in the Lady Volunteer's account of her 
 labours." — Athenaeum. 
 
 JOURNAL OF ADVENTURES WITH THE BRITISH 
 
 ARMY, from the Commencement of the War to the Fall of Sebastopol. 
 By GEORGE CAVENDISH TAYLOR, late 95th Regiment, 2 vols, 
 post 8vo., 21s. bound. 
 
 " The evidence these volumes contain is exceedingly valuable. The real state of things 
 is here exhibited " — John Bull. 
 
 "There was scarcely an occurrence of any importance that Mr. Taylor was not an eye- 
 witness of. Balaklava, Inkermann, Kertch, the operations in the Sea of Azof, Anapa, the 
 storming of the Malakoff and the Redan, and the taking possession of Sebastopol — each 
 event is detailed in that concise but clear, professional style which we have not met with 
 before." — United Service Gazette. 
 
 " Mr. Taylor's Journal is valuable for its genuineness, and for the" extent of experience 
 embraced in it." — Examiner. 
 
 TURKEY: ITS HISTORY AND PROGRESS; FROM 
 
 THE JOURNALS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF SIR JAMES PORTER, 
 Fifteen Years Ambassador at Constantinople, continued to the Present Time, 
 with a Memoir of Sir James Porter, by his Grandson, SIR GEORGE 
 LARPENT, Bart. 2 vols. 8vo., with Illustrations. 16s. bound. 
 "This highly interesting work consists of two parts. The first volume, after a memoir 
 of Sir James Porter, proceeds to give a general description of the Turkish Empire, of its 
 natural and industrial productions, and its commerce, a sketch of its histoi-y from the in- 
 vasion of' Europe to the reign of Sultan Mahmud II., and an account of the religion and 
 the civil institutions of the Turks, and of their manners and customs, chiefly from the 
 data supplied by the papers of Sir James Porter. In the second volume we are made ac- 
 quainted with Turkey as it is j the religious and civil government of Turkey, its Legislature, 
 t^e state of education in the Empire, its finances, its military and naval strength, and the 
 social condition of the Turks, are all in succession brought under review. The work gives a fuller 
 and more life-like picture of the present state ot the Ottoman Empire, than any other work with 
 wWch we are acquainted."— JoAn Bull.
 
 HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 ELIZABETH DE VALOIS, QUEEN OF SPAIN, AND 
 
 THE COURT OF PHILIP II. From numerous unpublished sources in 
 the Archives of France, Italy, and Spain. By MISS FREER. 2 vok. 
 post 8vo. with fine Portraits by Heath, 21s. 
 
 •' Such a book as the memoir of Elizabeth de Valois is a literary treasure which will be 
 the more appreciated as its merits obtain that reputation to which they most justly are 
 entitled. Miss Freer has done her utmost to malce the facts of Elizabeth's, Don Carlos', and 
 Philip II. 's careers fully known, as they actually transpired. The pains tliis intelligent 
 lady must have been at to have secured the means for so trustworthy a history, cannot but 
 have been very great; doubtless she will be rewarded by finding this, her last and certainly 
 her best publication, as much and as generally appreciated as were her previous memoirs of 
 Marguerite d'Angoul^me and Jeanne d'Albret, Queens of Navarre."— £eW'« Messenger. 
 
 " This interesting work is a valuable addition to the historical biographies of the present 
 day." — Observer. 
 
 *' These volumes will well repay perusal. They relate to a period of history extremely 
 important and rich in materials of interest. Miss Freer is an industrious biographer. She 
 goes to original sources of information, and she gives the reader all the details she can 
 collect." — Press. 
 
 "This book will add to the reputation of its able authoress." — Sun. 
 
 THE LIFE OF MAHGUERITE D'ANGOULEME, 
 
 QUEEN of NAVARRE, SISTER of FRANCIS I. From numerous original 
 sources, including MS. Documents in the Bibliotheque Imperiale, and the 
 Archives du Royaume de France, and the Private Correspondence of Queen 
 Marguerite with Francis I, &c. By MISS FREER. Second Edition, 
 Revised, 2 vols, post 8vo., with fine Portraits, engraved by Heath, 21s. 
 
 "This is a very complete and cleverly-written life of the illustrious sister of Francis I., 
 and it may be said of her that the varied and interesting stores of French history offer no 
 theme more worthy of research and study than the career of this great princess, who exe»- 
 cised so potent an influence over the politics and manners of the age of which she was 
 herself the brightest ornament. The published and manuscript documents and letters 
 relating to the life of Marguerite of Navarre, and which are iwdispensable to a corre*;t 
 biography of this queen, are widely dispersed. The author has spared no cost or trouble in 
 endeavouring to obtain all that were likely to elucidate her character and conduct. She has 
 furnished us with a very interesting and graphic sketch of the singular events and the 
 important personages who took part in them during this stormy and remarkable period of 
 French and English history." — Observer. 
 
 "This is a very useful and amusing book. It is a good work, very well done. The 
 authoress is quite equal in power and grace to Miss Strickland. She must have spent great 
 time and labour in collecting the information, which she imparts in an easy and agreeable 
 manner. It is difficult to lay down her book after having once begun it. This is owing 
 partly to the interesting nature of the subject, partly to the skilful manner in which it has 
 been treated. No other life of Marguerite has yet been published, even in France. Indeed, 
 till Louis Philippe ordered the collection and publication of manuscripts relating to the 
 history of France, no such work could be published. It is difficult to conceive how, under 
 any circumstances, it could have been better done." — Standard. 
 
 " There are few names more distinguished than that of Marguerite d'Angoul^me in the 
 range of female biography, and Miss Freer has done well in taking up a subject so copious 
 and attractive. It is altogether an interesting and well- written biography."— Lt^. Gast 
 
 THE LIFE OF JEANNE D'ALBRET, QUEEN OF 
 
 NAVARRE, from numerous original sources, including M.S. Documents in 
 the Bibliotheque Imperiale and the Archives Espagnoles de Simancas. By 
 MISS FREER. 2 vols, with Portraits, 21s. bound.
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 REVELATIONS OF PRISON LIFE; WITH AN EN- 
 
 ttuiRY INTO Prison Discipline and Secondary Punishments. By 
 GEORGE LAVAL CHESTERTON, Twenty-five Years Governor of the 
 House of Correction at Cold- Bath Fields. Third Edition, Revised. 1 vol. 
 10s. 6d. 
 
 " Mr Chesterton has had a rare experience of human frailty. He has lived with the 
 felon, the forger, the lorette, the vagabond, the murderer; has looked into the darkest 
 sepulchres of the heart, without finding reason to despair of mankind. In his belief the 
 worst of men have still some of the angel left. Such a testimony from such a quarter is full 
 of novelty :is it is of interest. As a curious bit of human history these volumes are remark- 
 able. They are very real, very simple; dramatic without exaggeration, philosophic without 
 being dull. In dealing with a subject so peculiar as prison life, Mr. Chesterton was wise in 
 making his treatment personal and incidental. General descriptions, however accurate, 
 kiterest only a few ; but stories of crime, anecdotes of criminals, may attract all readers." 
 — Athenceum. 
 
 "This interesting book is full of such illustrations as the narrative of striking cases 
 affords, and is indeed as well calculated to entertain mere readers for amusement as to 
 instruct and assist those who are studying the great questions of social reform." — Examiner. 
 
 "The very interesting work just published by Capt. Chesterton, entitled * Revelations 
 of Prison Life." — Quarterly Remew. 
 
 THE OLD COURT SUBURB; OR, MEMORIALS OF 
 
 KENSINGTON ; Regal, Critical, and Anecdotical. By LEIGH 
 HUNT. Second Edition. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. elegantly bound. 
 
 "A delightful book, of which the charm begins at the the first line on the first page, for 
 fnll of quaint and pleasant memories is the phrase that is its title — 'The Old Court Sulinrb.' 
 Very full, too, both of quaint and pleasant memories is the line that designates the author. 
 It is the name of the mo-^t cheerful of chroniclers, the best of remembrancers of good things, 
 the most polished and entertaining of educated gossips. 'The Old Court Suburb' is a work 
 that will be welcome to all readers, and most welcome to those who have a love for the best 
 kinds of reading." — Examiner. 
 
 " Under the quaint title of 'The Old Court Suburb,' Mr. Leigh Hunt gossips pleasantly, 
 spiritedly, and at large, over all that is of interest in Kensington and its neighbourhood. The 
 subject is happily chosen, for Kensington comprises in it more of antiquarian and literary 
 interest than any other spot in London. It is precisely the kind of book to he pored over by 
 the sea-side or fire-side, where the reader can transport himself, assisted by the poetic fancy 
 of Mr. Hunt, to the company of the wits and beauties of past generations. We very warmly 
 recommend these pleasant volumes to the attention ckf our readers." — Chronicle. 
 
 "A more agreeable and entertaining book has not been published since Boswell produced 
 his reminiscences of Johnson." — Observer. 
 
 THE LITERATURE AND ROMANCE OF NORTHERN 
 
 EUROPE ; constituting a complete History of the Literature of Sweden, 
 Denmark, Norway, and Iceland. By WILLIAM and MARY HO WITT. 
 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ELIZABETH DAVIS, A BA. 
 
 LAKLAVA NURSE. 2 vols, post 8vq , with Portraits, 21s.
 
 HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 THE LIFE OF MARIE DE MEDICIS, QUEEN OF 
 
 FRANCE, Consort of Henry IV., and Regent under Louis XIII. 
 By MISS PARDOE, Author of "Louis XIV, and the Court of France, in 
 the 17th Century," &c. Second Edition. 3 large vols. 8vo. with fine 
 Portraits. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE BARONESS FOBERKIRCH, 
 
 Illustrative of the Secret History of the Courts of France, 
 Russia, and Germany. Written by HERSELF, and Edited by Her 
 Grandson, the COUiNT DE MONTBRISON. 3 vols, post 8vo. 15s. 
 
 The Baroness d'Oberkirch being the intimate friend of the Empress of Russia, 
 wife of Paul I., and the confidential companion of the Duchess of Bourbon, her 
 facilities for obtaining information respecting the most private affairs of the 
 principal Courts of Europe, render her Memoirs unrivalled as a book of interest- 
 ing anecdotes of the royal, noble and other celebrated individuals who flourished 
 on the continent during the latter part of the last century. Among the royal per- 
 sonages introduced to the reader in this work, are Louis XVL, Marie Antoinette, 
 Philip Egalite, and all the Princes of France then living — Peter the Great, the 
 Empress Catherine, the Emperor Paul, and his sons Constantine and Alexander, 
 of Russia — Frederick the Great and Prince Henry of Prussia — the Emperor 
 Joseph II. of Austria — Gustavus III, of Sweden — Princess Christina of Saxony 
 — Sobieski, and Czartoriski of Poland — and the Princes of Brunswick and 
 Wurtemburg. Among the most remarkable persons are the Princes and 
 Princesses de Lamballe, de Ligne and Galitzin — the Dukes and Duchesses de 
 Choiseul, de Mazarin, de Boufflers, de la Valliere, de Guiche, de Penthievre, and 
 de Polignac — Cardinal de Rohan, Marshals Biron and d'Harcourt, Count de 
 Staremberg, Baroness de Krudener, Madame GeofFrin, Talleyrand, Mirabeau, and 
 Necker — with Count Cagliostrc, Mesmer, Vestris, and Madame Mara ; and the 
 work also includes such literary celebrities as Voltaire, Condorcet, de la Harpe, 
 de Beaumarchais, Rousseau, Lavater, Bernouilli, Raynal, de I'Epee, Huber, 
 Gothe, Wieland, Malesherbes, Marmontel, de Stael and de Genlis ; with some 
 singular disclosures respecting those celebrated Englishwomen, Elizabeth Chud- 
 leigh. Duchess of Kingston, and Lady Craven, Margravine of Auspach. 
 
 PAINTING AND CELEBRATED PAINTERS, AN- 
 
 CIENT and MODERN ; including Historical and Critical Notices of the 
 Schools of Italy, Spain, France, Germany, and the Netherlands. Edited by 
 LADYJERVIS. 2 vols, post 8 vo. 12s. bound. 
 
 *• This hook is designed to give to the general public a popular knowledge of the History 
 of Painting and the characters of Painters, with especial reference to the most prominent 
 among those of their works which are to be seen in English galleries. It is pleasantly written 
 with the intention of serving a useful purpose. It succeeds in its design, and will be of real 
 use to the multitude of picture seers. As a piece of agreeable reading also, it is uue^i- 
 ceptionable." — Examiner. 
 
 " This useful and well-arranged compendium will be found of value to the amateur, and 
 pleasing as well as instructive to the general reader ; and, to give it still further praise, th« 
 collector will find abundance of most useful information, and many an artist will rise frona 
 the perusal of the work with a much clearer idea of his art than he had before. We sum up 
 its merits by recommending it as an acceptable handbook to the principal galleries, and a 
 trustworthy guide to a knowledge of the celebrated paintings in England, and that this 
 information is valuable and much required by many thousands is a well-proven fact."— 
 Sunday Times.
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 MY EXILE. BY ALEXANDER HEEZEN. 2 Vols. 
 
 post 8vo. 21s. bound. 
 
 " From these admirable memoirs the reader may derive a clear idea of Russian political 
 society. Mr. Herzen's narrative, ably and unaffectedly written, and undoubtedly authentic, is 
 indeed superior in Interest to nine-tenths of the existing works on Russia.."— Athenmim. 
 
 "The author of these memoirs is one of the most distinguished writers of his nation. 
 A politician and historian, he scarcely reached manhood before the Emperor Nicholas 
 fearetl and persecuted him as an enemy. He was twice arrested, twice exiled. In this 
 English version of his memoirs, he presents a highly characteristic view of Russian 
 official society, interspersed with sketches of rural life, episodes of picturesque adventures, 
 and fragments of serious speculation. "We gain from this narrative of persecution and exile 
 a better idea of the governing system in Russia, than from any previous work. It is rich in 
 curious and authentic detail."— TAe Leader. 
 
 THE MOSLEM AND THE CHRISTIAN; OR, ADVEN- 
 
 TURES IN THE EAST. By SADYK PASHA. Revised with original 
 Notes, by COLONEL LACH SZYRMA, Editor of ''Revelations op 
 Siberia." 3 vols, post 8vo. 15s. bound. 
 
 " Sadyk Pasha, the author of this work, is a Pole of noble birth. He is now commander 
 of the Turkish Cossacks, a corps organised by himself. The volumes on the Moslem and 
 the Christian, partly fact and partly fiction, written by him, and translated by Colonel 
 Scyrma, display very well the literary spirit of the soldier. They are full of the adventures 
 and emotions that belong to love and war; they treat of the present time, they introduce 
 many existing people, and have the Danubian principalities for scene of action. Here are 
 sources of popularity which the book fairly claims." — Examiner. 
 
 HOME LIFE IN RUSSIA. REVISED BY COL. LACH 
 
 SZYRMA, Editor of *' Revelations OF Siberia." 2 vols. postSvo. 12s. 
 
 "This work gives a very interesting and graphic account of the manners and customs of 
 the Russian people. The most interesting and amusing parts of the work will be found to be 
 those interior scenes in the houses of the wealthy and middle classes of Russia upon which 
 we have but scanty information, although they are some of the most striking and truthful 
 indications of the progress and civilization of a country. As such we recommend them to the 
 study of our readers." — Observer. 3 
 
 REVELATIONS OF SIBERIA. BY A BANISHED' 
 
 LADY'^. Third and cheaper Edition. 2 vols, post 8vo. 16s. 
 
 " A thoroughly good book. It cannot be read by too many people."— /ToiweAoW Words. 
 
 "The authoress of these volumes was a lady of quality, who, having incurred the 
 displeasure of the Russian Government for a political offence, was exiled to Siberia. The 
 place of her exile was Berezov, the most northern part of thi.« northern penal settlement ; and 
 in it she spent about two years, not unprofitubly, as the reader will find by her interesting 
 work, containing a lively and graphic picture of the country, the people, their manners and 
 customs, &c. The book gives a most important and valuable insight into the economy of 
 wiiat has been hitherto the terra incognita of Russian despotism."— Daj7^ News. 
 
 " Since the publication of the famous romance the ' Exiles of Siberia,' we have had 
 no account of these desolate lands more attractive than the present work."— G/ofte.
 
 HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 THE JOURNALS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 GENERAL SIR HARRY CALVERT, Bart., G.C.B. and G.C.H., Ad- 
 jutaxt-General of the forces under H.R.H. the Duk.e of York, 
 comprising the Campaigns in Flanders and Holland in 1793-94; with an 
 Appendix containing His Plans for the Defence of the Country in case of 
 Invasion. Edited by His Son, SIR HARRY VERNEY, Bart. 1 vol. royal 
 8vo., with large maps, 14s. bound. 
 
 " Both the journals and letters of Capt. Calvert are full of interest. Sir Harry 
 Vemey has performed his duties of editor very well. The book is creditable to all parties 
 coocerued in its production." — Atherueum. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY MILITARY LIFE. BY 
 
 COLONEL LANDMANN, Late of the Corps of Royal ExVGineers, 
 Author of •' Adventures and Recollections." 2 vols, post 8vo. 12s. bound. 
 
 *• Much as has been written of late years about war and Wellington, we know of nothljig 
 that contains so striking a picture of the march and the battle as seen by an individual, or so 
 dose and homely a sketch of the Great Captain in the outset of the European career of Sir 
 Arthur Welles! ey."—Spec^a<or. 
 
 " The deserved popularity with which the previous volumes of Colonel Landmann's 
 adventures were received will be increased by the present portion of these interesting and 
 amusing records of a long life passed in active and arduous service. The Colonel's 
 shrewdness of observation renders his sketches of character highly amusing."— jBnYaw/ita. 
 
 COLONEL LANDMANN'S ADVENTURES AND Re- 
 collections. 2 vols, post 8vo. 12s. bound. 
 
 " Among the anecdotes in this work will be found notices of King George III., the Dukes 
 of Kent, Cumberland, Cambridge, Clarence, and Richmond, the Princess Augusta, Genera 
 Garth, Sir Harry Mildmay, Lord Charles Somerset, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, Lord Heath- 
 field, Captain Grose, &c. The volumes abound in interesting matter. The anecdotes are 
 one and all amusing." — Observer. 
 
 ADVENTURES OF THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS. 
 
 Second Series. By WILLIAxM GRATTAN, Esa., late Lieutenant 
 CoNNAUGHT Rangers. 2 vols. 21s. bouud. 
 
 •' In this second series of the adventures of this famous regiment, the author extends 
 bis narrative from the tirst formation of the gallant 88th up to the or? ur-ati^n " .^ils. All 
 the battles, sieges, and skirmishes, in which the regiment took part, are described. The 
 volumes are interwoven with original anecdotes that give a freshness and spirit to the whole. 
 The stories, and the sketches of society and manners, with the anecdotes of the celebrities of 
 the time, are told in an agreeable and unaffected manner. The work bears all the cbaratter- 
 istics of a soldier's straightforward and entertaining narrative." — Sunday Times. 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A RESIDENCE AT NEPAUL. BY 
 
 CAPTALN THOMAS SMITH, late Assistant PoLincAL-REsiDENT at 
 
 Nepaul. 2 vols, post 8vo. 12s. bound. 
 " No man could be better qualified to describe Nepaul than Captain Smith ; and his 
 coDdse, but clear and graphic account of its history, its natural productions, its laws and 
 customs, and the character of its warlike inhabitants, is very agreeable and instructive 
 reading. A separate chapter, not the least entertaining in the book, is devoted to anecdotes 
 of the Nepaulese uiission, of whom, and of their visit to Europe, many remurkable stories 
 are told." — Post,
 
 10 HURST AND BLaCKETt's NEW PUBLICATiONI^. 
 
 AKT AND NATURE, AT HOME AND ABROAD. BY 
 
 G. W. TllORNBURY. Esa. 2 vols, post 8vo. 2l8. bound. 
 
 "This is the best book Mr, Thornbury has written. B'eing an artist, he writes abouC 
 art; as a Londoner, with quick eyes and a cultivated taste, he writes of London j as as 
 artist who has travelled he tells anecdotes and dwells on scenes of his past life abroad. Al* 
 this he does in a frank, genuine way." — Examiner. 
 
 "This is a book belonging to the tribe of which Geoffrey Crayon is patriarch. Mr. 
 Thombury's drawing may be less accurate than rr«^on drawing, but it is richer in colour, 
 and wider and more versatile in the choice of subjects. As a whole, Mr. Thdrnbury'» 
 volumes are lively, pictorial, and various."— JMena»?». 
 
 " We have not met with so original a work for many a day as these two volumes by Mr. 
 Thornbury. They have the freedom and freshness of genius. Acute observation is com- 
 bined with gre^ research ; yet the style is so dashing, that the last thing we think of is the 
 variety and the extent of knowledge which these sketches evince. Mr. Thombury's volumes 
 contain matter to please all tastes. He is grave and gay, picturesque and reflective ; and la 
 ail moods and on all subjects he is vivacious and amusing." — The Pre»». 
 
 " Of all Mr. Thornbury's contributions to the literature of the day, bU Sketchet 
 entitled ' Art and Nature ' are the best."— 3fornmg Post. 
 
 CLASSIC AND HISTORIC PORTRAITS. BY JAMES 
 
 BRUCE. 2 vols, post 8vo. 12s. bound. 
 
 This work comprises Biograpbies of tbe follov\?ing Classic and Historic Per- 
 sonages : — Sappho, ^sop, Pythagoras, Aspasia, Milto, Agesilaus, Socrates, Plato^ 
 Alcibiades, Helen of Troy, Alexander the Great, Demetrius Poliorcetes, Scipio 
 Africanus, Sylla, Cleopatra, Julius Caesar, Augustus, Tiberius, GermanicuSr 
 Caligula, Lollia Paulina, Caesonia, Boadicea, Agrippina, Poppaea, Otho, Commodus, 
 Caracalla, Heliogabalus, Zenobia, Julian the Apostate, Eudocia, Theodora^ 
 Charlemagne, Abelard and Heloise, Elizabeth of Hungary, Dante, Robert Bruce^ 
 Ignez de Castro, Agnes Sorrel, Jane Shore, Lucrezia Borgia, Anne Bullen, Diana 
 of Poitiers, Catherine de Medicis, Queen Elizabeth, Mary Queen of ScotS;. 
 Cervantes, Sir Kenelm Digby, John Sobieski, Anne of Austria, Ninon deTEnclos,. 
 Mile, de Montpensier, the Duchess of Orleans, Madame de Maintenon, Catherine 
 of Russia, and Madame de Stael. 
 
 " We find in these piquant volumes the liberal outpourings of a ripe scholarship, the 
 results of wide and various reading, given in a style and maauer at once pleasant and pictu- 
 resque." — AthencEum. 
 
 SCOTTISH HEROES IN THE DAYS OF WALLACE 
 
 AND BRUCE. By the Rev. A. LOW, A.M. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 "We may say with confidence that it would not be easy to find a more enjoyable and 
 instructive book in the whole range of biographical and historical literature. Never before 
 has full justice been done o the Scotch her.)es of the days of Wallace and Bruce, and 
 there is not a southron an-ong us who will not read with deep and sympathetic interest 
 this graphic and authentic rarrative of their gallant exploits."— Morning' Post.
 
 HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 11 
 
 MEMOIRS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF MAJOR 
 
 GExNERAL SIR W. NOTT, G.C.B., Commander of the Army of 
 Candahar, and Envoy at the Court of Lucknow. 2 vols. 8vo. 
 with Portrait. 16s. bound. 
 
 " These highly interesting volumes give a valuable contribution to the history of India 
 atkl an admirable portrait of a most distinguished officer." — John Bull. 
 
 "The volumes form a valuable contribution to the biographical stores of the age. To 
 the young soldier, in particular, they will form a most valuable guide, worthy to be placed 
 by the side of the Despatches of the great Duke of Wellington." — Messenger. 
 
 " We know not a book, after the Wellington Despatches, more deserving of the study of 
 a young officer. It might be made one of the standard manuals of military education^** 
 — Literary Gazette. 
 
 '* One of the most interesting records of military life that we possess, and a genuine mg- 
 morialof onewho has achieved a right to be reckoned among England's greatest men."— 
 Daili/ News. 
 
 MILITARY LIFE IN ALGERIA. BY THE COUNT P. 
 
 DE CASTELLANE. 2 vols, post 8vo. 12s. bound. 
 " We commend this book as really worth perusal. The volumes make us familiarly 
 acquainted with the nature of Algerian experience. St. Arnaud, Canrobert, Changarnier, 
 Cavaignac, Lamorici&re, are brought prominently before the reader." — Examiner. 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN ENGLISH SOLDIER IN 
 
 THE UNITED STATES' ARMY. 2 vols, post 8vo. 12s. bound. 
 " The novelty characterising these interesting volumes is likely to secure them many 
 reatlers. The author went through the Mexican campaign with General Scott, and his volumes 
 contain much descriptive matter concerning battles, sieges, and marches on Mexicaa 
 territory, besides their sketches of the normal chronic condition of the United States' soldisr 
 ia time of peace." — Baili/ News. 
 
 CANADA AS IT WAS, IS, AND MAY BE. BY THE 
 
 late LIEUTENANT-COLONEL SIR R. BONNYCASTLE. With an Account 
 of Recent Transactions, by SIR J. E. ALEXANDER, K.L.S., &c. 2 vols., 
 post 8vo. with maps, &c., 12s. 
 
 ATLANTIC AND TRANSATLANTIC SKETCHES. BY 
 
 CAPTAIN MACKINNON, R.N. 2 vols, post 8vo. 12s. bound. 
 "Captain Mackinnon's sketches of America are of a striking character and permanent 
 value. His volumes convey a just impression of the United States. They are light, ani- 
 mated, and lively, full of racy sketches, pictures of life, anecdotes of society, visits to re- 
 markable men and famous places, sporting episodes, &c., very original and interesting."— 
 Sunday/ Times. 
 
 SPAIN AS IT IS. BY G. A. HOSKINS, ESQ. 
 
 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 .HISTORY OF CORFU ; AND OF THE REPUBLIC 
 
 OF THE IONIAN ISLANDS. By LIEUT. H. J. W. JERVIS, Royal 
 Artillery. 1 vol. post 8vo. 6s.
 
 12 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 ORIENTAL AND WESTERN SIBERIA. A NAR- 
 
 RATiVE OF Seven Years' Explorations and Adventures in Siberia, 
 Mongolia, Daouria, the Kirghis Steppes, Chinese Tartary, and 
 Part of Central Asia. By THOMAS WITLAM ATKINSON. Dedi- 
 cated, by Permission, to His Imperial Majesty, Alexander II., Emperor of 
 All the Ilussias, &c. Preparing for Publication, in one large volume, 
 royal 8vo., Price £2 2s., elegantly bound- Embellished with numerous 
 beautifully coloured plates, and woodcuts, from drawings by the Author, 
 and a map. 
 
 Extract from the " Examiner," October 25, 1856. — " Mr. T. "W. Atkinson, an artist 
 of extraordinary merit. In pursuit of the picturesque, has ventured into regions where, 
 probably, no European foot, save his, has ever trodden. Mr. Atkinson's travels embrace 
 Oriental and Western Siberia, Mongolia, Daouria, the Kirghis Steppes, Chinese Tartary, 
 and portions of Central Asia, and occupied him for the space of seven years, time which he 
 has turned to admirable account. Tt argues no slight devotion to Art, to have undertaken 
 the task of giving to civilised Europe a transcript of what is at once most beautiful and 
 most wonderful in nature, in countries so remote, so difficult of access, and, in many 
 instances, so dangerous to the traveller, whose enterprise led him there. The public may 
 really feel grateful to Mr. Atkinson for thus widely extending our knowledge of this hitherto 
 unknown but most interesting part of the globe." 
 
 Extract from the " Athen-^um," October 11, 1856. — "Mr. Atkinson's sketches 
 were made by express permission of the late Emperor of Russia, during seven years' hunting, 
 sketching, and travelling in the plains and mountains of Oriental and Western Siberia, 
 Mongolia, Daouria, the Kirghis Steppes, Chinese Tartary, and Central Asia. Perhaps, no 
 English artist was ever before admitted into this enchanted land of history, or provided with 
 «be talisman and amulet of a general passportj and well has Mr. Atkinson availed himself 
 of the privilege. Mr. Atkinson's encampments lead us away into forests, gorges of moun- 
 taias, where the thunder shakes the ground and the lightning strikes, like God's sword-blade, 
 among the trees — where the Tartars cower in their felt hut, and the tea-drinkers grow silent 
 round the red logs. Rivers to swim, torrents to pass, became trifles to this adventurous 
 traveller, who has brought us records of places never, perhaps, before visited; for no 
 Englishman has been there — no Russian traveller has written of them." 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY ROUND THE WORLD, 
 
 Comprising A Winter Passage across the Andes to Chili, with a 
 Visit to the Gold Regions of California and Australia, the South 
 Sea Islands, Java, &c. By F. GERSTAECKER. 3 vols. 31s. 6d. 
 " starting from Bremen for California, the author of this Narrative proceeded to Rio, 
 and thence to Buenos Ayresj where he exchanged the wild seas for the yet wilder Pampas, 
 and made his way on horseback to Valparaiso across the Cordilleras— a winter passage full of 
 difficulty and danger. From Valparaiso he sailed to California, and visited San Francisco, 
 Sacramento, and the mining districts generally. Thence he steered his course to the South 
 Sea Islands, resting at Honolulu, Tahiti, and other gems of the sea in that quarter, and from 
 thence to Sydney, marching through the Murray Valley, and inspecting the Adelaide district. 
 From Australia he dashed onward to Java, riding through the interior, and taking a general 
 survey of Batavia, with a glance at Japan and the Japanese. An active, intelligent, observant 
 man, the notes he made of his adventures are full of variety and interest. His descriptions of 
 places and persons are lively, and his remarks on natural productions and the phenomena of 
 earth, sea, and sky are always sensible, and made with a view to practical results. Those 
 portions of the Narrative which refer to California and Australia are replete with vivid 
 sketches ; and indeed the whole work abounds with living and picturesque descriptions of 
 men, manners, and localities." — Globe
 
 VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. 13 
 
 LAKE NGAMI; OR EXPLORATIONS AND DIS- 
 
 COTERIES DUUIXG FoUR YeaRs' WaNDERINGS IN THE WiLDS OF 
 
 South-western Africa. By CHARLES JOHN ANDERSSON. 1 vol. 
 royal 8vo., with Map and upwards of 50 Illustrations, representing Sport- 
 ing Adventures, Subjects of Natural History, &c. Second Edition, 30s. 
 handsomely bound. 
 
 "This narrative of African explorations and discoveries is one of the most important 
 geographical works that have lately appeared. It contains the account of two journeys 
 made between the years 1850 and 1854, in the first of which the countries of the Damaraa 
 and the Ovambo, previously scarcely known in Europe, were explored; and in the second 
 the newly-discovered Lake Ngami was reached by a route that had been deemed imprac- 
 ticable, but which proves to be the shortest and the best. The work contains much scientific 
 and accurate information as to the geology, the scenery, products, and resources of the 
 regions explored, with notices of the religion, manners, and customs of the native tribes. 
 The continual sporting adventures, and other remarkable occurrences, intermingled with 
 the narrative of travel, make the book as interesting to read as a romance, as, indeed, a 
 good book of travels ought always to be. The illustrations by Wolf are admirably designed, 
 and most of them represent scenes as striking as any witnessed by Jules Gerard or Gordon 
 Gumming." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " Mr. Andersson has made no hackneyed excursion up the Nile and back again, bnt a 
 painful journey, something between a pilgrimage and a wild-beast hunt, which might have 
 tried the patience of a fakir and the pluck of a gladiator. Such narratives are agreeable 
 changes in our day, and take hold of attention like the old travels. Mr. Andersson is a 
 good natured and cheerful writerj and his book may be read with as much pleasure as 
 profit. For the details of a romantic and laborious journey,— for particulars about the 
 ostrich, the hippopotamus, the lion, and the hysena,— for curious illustrations of savage 
 life, — for that kind of interest which is awakened by dangers bravely, and by fatigues stoutly 
 borne— readers would do well to consult the book itself. The printers and engravers have 
 done Mr. Andersson justice ; and we think the reading public will go and do likewise." — 
 AiitcncEum. 
 
 " This handsome book is one for everybody to read. As a record of travel, every page is 
 fascinating, while the naturalist and the geographer will be delighted with the new facts it 
 reveals. The sporting adventures of Mr. Andersson, too, are not less wonderful than those 
 of preceding African travellers. The plates are numerous and admirable."— T/«e Press. 
 
 TEE OXONIAN IN NORWAY; OR, NOTES OF 
 
 Excursions in that Country. By the Rev F. METCALFE, M.A., 
 Fellow of Lincoln College, Oxfoid. With Illustrations, bound. 
 
 **'Tlie Oxonian in Norway ' is repleie with interest, is written in an animated style 
 and :s one of those books which cannot fail to be at the same time amusing and instructive 
 Mr. Metcalfe visited places where an Englishman was a rarity; and all who take an interest 
 n customs practiced by various peoples, will welcome his book for the accounts of Nor- 
 wegi;in manners and customs which have not been touched upon before. Numerous inte- 
 resting and exciting anecdotes, in connexion with the author's excursions in pursuit of 
 fishing and sLooiing, pervade throughout." — Chronicle. 
 
 " Mr. Metcalfe's book is as full of facts and interesting information as it can hold, and 
 is interlarded with racy anecdotes. Some of these are highly original and entertaining. 
 More than this, it is a truly valuable work, containing a fund of information on the statistics 
 j»(»litics, and religion of the countries visited." — Blackwood's Magazine,
 
 1 4 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 CHOW-CHOW; BEING SELECTIONS FROM A JOUR- 
 
 NAL KEPT IN INDIA, EGYPT, AND PALESTINE. By the VIS- 
 COUNTESS FALKLAND. 2 vols. 8vo. Wiih Illustrations. 
 
 SPORTING ADVENTURES IN THE NEW WORLD; 
 
 OR, DAYS AND NIGHTS OF MOOSE HUNTING IN THE PINE 
 
 FORESTS OF ACADIA. By CAMPBELL HARDY, Royal Artillery. 
 
 2 vols, post 8vo. with illustrations, 21s. bound. 
 
 "A spirited record of sporting adventures, very entertaining and well worthy the atfra- 
 
 Moa of all sportsmen who desire some fresher field than Europe can afford them. The 
 
 forests of Nova Scotia abound in moose, cariboo, bears, wolves, partridi^e, snipe and wild 
 
 duck, while the rivers are teeming with salmon and other fish, so that Lieutenant Hardy's 
 
 ^Oft was of the best kind, and in the details which he has given us there is much to 
 
 interest and amuse. He is a thorough sportsman, patient, skilful, and active, and relate* 
 
 Ms ady.entures with the gusto of a man who eujoys the life."— TAe Press. 
 
 TRAVELS IN EUROPEAN TURKEY: THROUGH 
 
 Bosnia, Servia, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Roumelia, Albania, and 
 Epirds; with a Visit to Greece and the Ionian Isles, and a Home- 
 ward Tour through Hungary and the Sclavonian Provinces op 
 Austria on the Lowep Danube. By EDMUND SPENCER, Esa. 
 Author of " Travels in Circassia," etc. Second and Cheaper Edition, in 
 2 vols. 8vo., with Illustrations, and a valuable Map of European Turkey 
 from the most recent Charts in the possession of the Austrian and Turkish 
 Governments, revised by the Author, 18s. 
 
 A TOUR OF INQUIRY THROUGH FRANCE AND 
 
 ITALY, Illustrating their Present Social, Political, and Religious 
 Condition. By EDMUND SPENCER, Esa., Author of "Travels in 
 European Turkey," "Circassia," &c. 2 vols, post Svo. 21s. 
 
 ARCTIC MISCELLANIES, A SOUVENIR OF THE 
 
 LATE POLAR SEARCH. By the OFFICERS and SEAMEN op th« 
 EXPEDITION. Dedicated by permission to the Lords op tub 
 Admiralty. Second Edition. 1 vol., with Illustrations. 6s. 
 
 "This volume is not the least interesting or instructive among the records of the tete 
 •x|)e<Iition in search of Sir John Franklin, commanded hy Captain Austin." — Times, 
 
 A PILGRIMAGE INTO DAUPHINE. BY THE REV. 
 
 G. M. MUSGRAVE, A.M., Oxon. Author of "A Ramble through Nor- 
 mandy," etc. 2 vols, with Illustrations. 21s. bound. 
 " It would be difficult to find a more agreeable and instructive travelling companion 
 than Jthe author of these volumes. He has sufficient antiquarian, scientific, and artistic 
 knowledge to make him an enlightened observer and reporter, and a quickness of discern- 
 ment which detects the smallest point of interest."-— G/o6e.
 
 VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. 15 
 
 RUSSIA AFTER THE WAR: THE NARRATIVE OF 
 
 A Visit to that Country in 1856. By SELINA BUiNBURY. 2 toIs. 
 post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 ••We congratulate Miss Bunbufy upon having n-ritten a very entertaining book— one 
 that has the merit ot being readable fiom the beginning to the end. The author saw all 
 that she could, and has described with much vivacity all she saw Her book is full of 
 pleasant pictures, commencing with St. Petersburg and its lions, and ending with the 
 coronation. It will find numerous readers " — Daily News. 
 
 "Miss Bunbury's vivacious sketches are not only piquant with meaning as to the state 
 of society in Russia, but have all the charm and freshness of first impressions on an active, 
 thoughtful, and observing mind. We can cordially recommend the work, as presenting a 
 very entertaining and varied panorama of the route taken by this intelligent lady, and, 
 moreover, as conveying the most recent information with regard to the present state and 
 condition of the more important parts of the Czar's vast territories." — Morning Post. 
 
 A SUMMER IN NORTHERN EUROPE; INCLUD- 
 
 ING Sketches in Sweden, Norway, FrNLAND, the Aland Islands, 
 Gothland, etc. By SELINA BUNBURY. 2 vols, post 8vo., 21s. 
 
 "All readers of the works of lady-travellers will be glad to know that they are favoured 
 afatn by Miss Bunbury with an account of l.er experience in Northern Europe, includh>g 
 much of the seat of the late war — Finland, for example, and the Aland Isles. The book 
 is a very welcome contribution to the reading of the season." — Examiner. 
 
 " A very lively and agreeable book of travels, full of sketches of national character and 
 descriptions of scenery given in a pleasing and entertaining style. To all who wish for a 
 gay and varied panorama of northern life and scenery, and for a work full of information and 
 entertainment, we recommend these volumes as among the most lively and generally attrac- 
 tive travels that have lately appeared." — Sun. 
 
 THE WABASH: OR, ADVENTURES OF AN ENG- 
 
 LISH GENTLEMAN'S FAMILY IN THE INTERIOR OF AMERICA. 
 By J. R. BESTE, Esa. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " Mr. Beste's book is interesting. In literary merit it is above the majority of books o/ 
 tratrel. It deserves consultation from all who may wish to receive a candid, sensible, and 
 fair account of the author's experience." — Athenceum. 
 
 AUSTRALIA AS IT IS: ITS SETTLEMENTS, FARMS, 
 
 AND GOLD FIELDS. By F. LANCELOT, Mineralogical Sur- 
 veyor IN THE Australian Colonies. Second Edition. 2 vols. 12s. 
 " This is an unadorned account of the actual condition in which these colonies arefonnd, 
 by a professional surveyor and mineralogist, who goes over the ground with a careful glance 
 and a remarkable aptitude for seizing on the practical portions of the subject. On the 
 dimate, the vegetation, and the agricultural resources of the country, he is copious in th* 
 extreme, and to the Intending emigrant an invaluable instructor. As a guide to the auriferous 
 regions, as well as the pastoral solitudes of Australia, the work is unsurpassed." — Globe. 
 
 A LADY'S VISIT TO THE GOLD DIGGINGS OF 
 
 AUSTRALIA. By MRS. CLACY. 1 vol. 6s. bound. 
 
 "The most pithy and entertaining of all the books that have been written on the firo^d 
 diggings."— Li7er«ry Gazette. 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF AUSTRALIAN LIFE. 
 
 By MRS. CLACY. 2 vols, post 8vo. 12s. bound. 
 "While affording amusement to the general reader, these 'Lights and Shadows oi 
 Awstralian Life,' are full of useful hints to intending emigrants."— I.if<?rary Gazette.
 
 16 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE CRESCENT AND THE CEOSS. BY ELIOT WAR- 
 
 BURTON. Thirteenth Edition. 1 vol., with 15 Illustrations, 6s. bound. 
 
 "Independently of its value as an original narrative, and its useful and interesting 
 infornmtiou, tliis work is remarkable for the colouring power and play of fancy with which 
 its descriptions are enlivened. Among its greatest and most lasting charms is its leverent 
 Olid serious spirit."— Qw^r^er/^ Review. 
 
 " A book calculated to prove more practically useful was never penned than the 
 ' Crescent and the Cross'— a work which surpasses all others in its homage for the sublime 
 ajid its love for the beautiful in those famous regions consecrated to everlasting immor- 
 tality in the annals of the prophets— and which no oiher modern writer has ever depicted 
 with a pencil at once so reverent and picturesque." — Sun. 
 
 " In the mixture of story with anecdote, information and impression, it perhaps sur- 
 passes • Eothen.' Innumerable passages of force, vivacity, or humour are to be found iu 
 this volume."— S/;ec^a^(/r. 
 
 TRAVELS IN PERSIA, GEORGIA, AND KOOE- 
 
 DISTAN, WITH Sketches of the Cossacks and the Caucasus. By 
 Dr. MORITZ ^yAGNER. 3 vols., post 8vo. 
 " We have here learning without pedantry, acute and close observation without the 
 tedium of uninteresting details, the reflections of a philosopher intermixed with the pleasant 
 stories and graphic sketches of an accomplished traveller."— LjVerar^ Gazette. 
 
 " A book which abounds in varied and useful information. We doubt whether anywhere 
 the reader can find a more trustworthy and satisfactory account of the Koords of Persia, or of 
 the Cossacks of the Caucasus, than in these interesting volumes."— Pos^ 
 
 FOREST LIFE IN CEYLON. BY W. KNIGHTON, M.A. 
 
 Second Edition, 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 •• A very clever and amusing book, by one who has lived as a planter and journalist many 
 years iu Ceylon. The work is filled with interesting accounts of the sports, resources, pro- 
 ductions, scenery, and traditions of the island. The sporting adventures are narrated in a 
 vei-y spirited manner." — Standard. 
 
 "We have no recollection of a more interesting or instructive work on Ceylon and the 
 
 iugalesethan that which Mr. Knighton has just given to the world. It displays a great deal of 
 
 acuteness and sagacity in its observation of men and manners, and contains a vast deal of 
 
 useful information on topics, historical, political, and commercial, and has the charm of a 
 
 fluent and graphic sty\e."— Morning Pout. 
 
 TROPICAL SKETCHES; OR, REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 AN INDIAN JOURNALIST. BY W. KNIGHTON, M.A. 2 vols. 128. 
 " When Mr. Knighton's pleasant volumes on Ceylon were published, we freely gave bis 
 publication the praise which it appears to have well deserved, since another edition has been, 
 called for. Amongst the writersof theday.weknowof none who are more felicitous iu bitting oflF 
 with an amusing accuracy, the characters he has met with, and his descriptive powers are first- 
 rate. Take his Sketches up and open where you will, every page teems with instruction, 
 combined with lively detail."— Sm;i<^«(/ Times. 
 
 FIVE YEARS IN THE WEST INDIES. BY CHARLES 
 
 W. DAY,Esa. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 •• It would be unjust to deny the vigour, hrilliancy and varied interest of this wo>k, th« 
 ^(rtmdant stores of anecdote andincident, and the copious detail of local habits and peculiariiits 
 in each isiaud visited in succession." — Glul/e.
 
 VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. 17 
 
 A PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF THE DISCOVERY 
 
 OF THE NORTH-WEST PASSAGE with Numerous Ircidents of Travel 
 and Adventure during nearly Five Years' Continuous Service in the Arctic 
 Regions while in Search of the Expedition under Sir John Franklin. By 
 ALEX. ARMSTRONG, M.D., R.N., late Surgeon and Naturalist of H.M.S. 
 * Investigator.' 1 vol. With Map and Plate, 16s. 
 "This book is sure to take a prominent position in evei-y library in which works of 
 discovery and adventure are to be met with. It is a record of the most memorable geo- 
 graphical discovery of the present age. It comes from one who has himself actively 
 participated in all the stirring incidents and exciting scenes it so ably describes, and thus 
 possesses that charm of freshness and interest no mere compiler can ever hope to obtain. 
 The stirring passages of Dr. Armstrong's narrative bear ample evidence of their having, 
 been written by an accomplished and highly-educated man, possessed of quick sensibili- 
 ties, cultivated powers, and a refined mind."— Daily News, 
 
 "As a full and authentic record, Dr. Armstrong's work will be one of the most 
 valuable of the Arctic narratives," — Literary Gazette. 
 
 THE WANDERER IN ARABIA. BY G. T. LOWTH, 
 
 Esa. 2 vols, post 8vo. with Illustrations. 21s. bound. 
 
 "An excellent book, pervaded by a healthy enthusiasm, novel and varied in its incidents 
 picturesque in its descriptions, and running over with human interest." — Sun. 
 
 " Mr. Lowth has shown himself in these volumes to be an intelligent traveller, a keen 
 observer of nature, and an accomplished artist. The general reader will find in his descrip- 
 tions of his wanderings in Arabia, and among the most interesting monuments of old 
 Christian lands, a great deal that cannot fail to interest and amuse him. — Post. 
 
 EIGHTEEN YEARS ON THE GOLD ^OAST OF 
 
 AFRICA; INCLUDING AN Account of the Native Tribes, and their 
 INTERCOURSE WITH EUROPEANS. Bv BRODIE CRUICKSHANK, Membeu 
 OF THE Legislative Council, Cape Coast Castle. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 "This is one of the most interesting works that ever yet came into our hands. It 
 possesses the charm of introducing us to habits and manners of the human family of which 
 before we had no conception. Mrs. Beecher Stowe's work has, indeed, made us all familiar 
 with the degree of intelligence and the disposition of the transplanted African ; but it has 
 been reserved to Mr. Cruickshauk to exhibit the children of Ham in their original state, and 
 to prove, as his work proves to demonstration, that, by the extension of a knowledge of the 
 Gospel, and by that only can the African be brought within the pale of civilization. We 
 anxiously desire to direct public attention to a work so valuable. An incidental episode in 
 the work is an aflFecting narrative of the death of the gifted Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) 
 written a few months after her marriage with Governor Maclean." — Standard. 
 
 THE HOLY PLACES: A NARRATIVE OF TWO 
 
 YEARS' RESIDENCE IN JERUSALEM AND PALESTINE. By 
 HANMER L. DUPUIS. With Notes on the Dispersed Canaanitb 
 Tribes, by JOSEPH DUPUIS, late British Vice-Consul in TripoU and 
 Tunis. 2 vols, with Illustrations, 21s. bound. 
 
 EIGHT YEARS IN PALESTINE, SYRIA, AND ASIA 
 
 MINOR. By F. A. NEALE, Esa., Late Attached to the Consular 
 Service in Syria. Second Edition, 2 vols, with Illustrations, 12s. 
 
 KHARTOUM AND THE NILES. BY GEORGE MELLY, 
 
 Esd. Second Edition. 2 vols, with Maps and Illustrations, 12s. bound.
 
 18 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 RULE AND MISRULE OF THE ENGLISH IN 
 
 AMERICA. By the Author of " SAM SLICK." 2 vols, post 8 vo. 2l8. 
 
 " We conceive this work to be by far the most valual)le and important Judge Haliburton 
 has ever written. While teeming with interest, moral and historical, to the general reader, 
 It equally constitutes a philosophical study for the politician and statesman. It will be fouud 
 to let in a fl.)od of light upon the actual origin, formation, and progress of the republic of 
 the United States." — Naval and Military Gazette. 
 
 SAM SLICK'S NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE, 
 
 2 vols, post 8vo. 24s. bound. 
 
 " Since Sam Slick's first work he has written nothing so fresh, racy, and genuinely 
 humorous as this. Every line of it tells some way or other ; instructively, satirically, 
 jocosely, or wittily. Admiration at Sam's mature talents, and laughter at his droll yarns, 
 constantly alternate, as with unhalting avidity we peruse these last volumes of his. They 
 consist of 25 Chapters, each containing a tale, a sketch, or an adventure. In every one of 
 theogi, the Clockmaker proves himself the fastest time killer a-going." — Observer. 
 
 SAM SLICK'S WISE SAWS AND MODERN 
 
 INSTANCES ; or, What he Said, Did, or Invented. Second Edition. 
 2 vols, post Svo. 21s. 
 
 " We do not fear to predict that these delightful volumes will be the most popular, as 
 beyomd doubt, th^ are the best, of all Judge Haliburton's admirable works. The ' Wise 
 Saws and Modern Instances' evince powers of imagination and expression far beyond what 
 even his former publications could lead any one to ascribe to the author. We have, it is true 
 long been familiar with his quaint humour and racy narrative, but the volumes before us 
 take a loftier range, and are so rich in fun and good sense, that to offer an extract as a 
 sample would be an injustice to author and reader. It is one of the pleasantest books we 
 ever read, and we earnestly recommend it." — Standard. 
 
 "The humour of Sam Slick is inexhaustible. He is ever and everywhere a welcome 
 visitor ; smiles greet his approach, and wit and wisdom hang upon his tongue. The present 
 is altogether a most edifying production, remarkable alike for its racy humour, its sound 
 philosophy, the felicity of its illustrations, and the delicacy of its satire. We promise our 
 readers a great treat from the perusal of these ' Wise Saws and Modern Instances.' which 
 eontain a world of practical wisdom, and a treasury of the richest fun." — Morning Post. 
 
 THE AMERICANS AT HOME; OR, BYEWAYS 
 
 BACKWOODS, AND PRAIRIES. Edited by the Author of "SAM 
 SLICK." 3 vols, post Svo. 31s. 6d. 
 
 *• In the picturesque delineation of character, and the felicitous portraiture of national 
 feartures, no writer of the present day equals Judge H.iliburton. ' The Americans at Home ' 
 will not be less popular than any of his pi-evious works." — Post. 
 
 TRAITS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. EDITED BY 
 
 the Author of " SAM SLICK." 3 vols, post Svo. 31s. 6d. 
 
 " No man has done more than the facetious Judge Haliburton, through the mouth of 
 the^nimitable 'Sam,' to make the old parent country recognize and appreciate her queer 
 transatlantic progeny. His present collection of comic stories and laughable traits is • 
 budget of fun full of rich specimens of American humour." — Globe.
 
 HURST AND BLACKETt's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 19 
 
 PEN AND PENCIL PICTURES. BY THOMAS 
 
 HOOD. Second Edition, Revised, with Additions. 1 vol. with numerous 
 
 Illustrations, by the Author, 10s. 6d. bound. 
 •• Few will have seen this book announced without having a wish to welcome it. By his 
 poetry and his prose, Thomas Hood the Second distinctly announces himself to be his 
 father's son. His music has a note here and there from the old household lullabies to 
 which his cradle was rocked. Some of his thoughts have the true family cast. But his 
 song is not wholly the song of a mocking-bird— his sentiment can flow in channels of his 
 own J and his speculations and his stories have a touch, taste, and flavour which indicate 
 that Thomas Hood's father's son may ripen and rise into one of those original and indi- 
 vidual authors who brighten the times in which they write, and gladden the hearts of thos« 
 among whom their lot is cast." — Atheneeiim. 
 
 ••~We are hanpy to find that the delightful volume, * Pen and Pencil Pictures,' has 
 reached a second edition, and that the reception of the younger Thomas Hood, by the 
 public, has been worthy of the name he bears. The work is considerably augmented by 
 passages of increased maturity and vigour, such as will contribute still further to its 
 popularity among the reading classes of the public."— £.27e?*ar^ Gazette. 
 
 THE DRAMATIC WOUKS OF MARY RUSSELL 
 
 MITFORD. Author of" Our Village," " Atherton," &c. 2 vols, post 8vo. 
 with Portrait of the Author and other Illustrations. 21s. 
 " We recommend Miss Mitford's dramas heartily to all by whom they are unknown. A 
 more graceful addition could not be made to any collection of dramatic works." — Blackwood. 
 " Miss Mitford has collected into one chaplet the laurels gathered in her prime of author- 
 ship. Laid by the side of the volume of dramatic works of Joanna Baillie, these 
 volumes suffer no disparagement. This is high praise, and it is well deserved."— ^^/leraawjn. 
 
 SONGS OF THE CAVALIERS AND ROUNDHEADS, 
 
 JACOBITE BALLADS, &c. By G. W. THORNBURY. 1 vol. with 
 numerous Illustrations by H. S. Marks. 10s Gd. elegantly bound. 
 
 "Mr. Thornbury has produced a volume of songs and ballads worthy to rank with 
 Macaulay's or Aytouti's Lays." — Chronicle. 
 
 "Those who love picture, life, and costnme in song will here find what they love."— 
 Athenceum. 
 
 " This volume will raise Mr. Thornbury's literary reputation higher than it has yet 
 mounted. The vigour of his muse asserts itself in every Wne." —Literary Gazette. 
 
 *'The poems show great power, and profound thought and feeling. But, more than all, 
 they display imagination. They glow with all the fire of poetry."— £.r7?ress. 
 
 THE MONARCHS OF THE MAIN; OR, ADVEN- 
 
 TURES OF THE BUCCANEERS. By G. W. THORNBURY. 3 vols. 15s. 
 " An unwritten page of the world's history is not to be met with every day. The author 
 of these volumes has discovered one, and has supplied the deficiency. The deeds of alter- 
 nate violence and heroism of the wild adventurers, who soon after the discovery of America, 
 started forth in search of plunder, and sometimes of territorial conquest— now sweeping the 
 main with their piratical vessels— now surprising and sacking some rich and flourishing 
 town — now fortifying themselves in some strong island-hold, where tliey could bid defiance 
 to a world in arms against them— form the subject of a narrative rich in variety of incident, 
 and replete with striking exhibitions of life and character. To the lover of maritime ad- 
 venture, these pages offer a fund of infinite amusement, doubly attractive from the novelty 
 of the theme."— JoAn Bull. 
 
 DARIEN ; OR, THE MERCHANT PRINCE. BY EIIOT 
 
 WARBURTON. Second Edition. 3 vols, post 8vo. 
 "The scheme for the colonization of Darien by Scotchmen, and the opening of a com- 
 munication between the East and West across the Isthmus ot I'anama, furnishes the founda- 
 tion of this ^tory, which is in all respects worthy of the high reimtation which the author of 
 f)ie * Crescent ^nd the Cross' had already made for himself." — John Bull,
 
 20 HURST AND BLACKETT*S NEW t»UBLICATlONS. 
 
 FAMILY ROMANCE; OR, DOMESTIC ANNALS OF 
 
 THE ARISTOCRACY. B-Y SIR BERNARD BURKE, Ulster King or 
 Arms. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 Among the many other interesting legends and romantic family histories com- 
 prised in these volumes, will be found the following ; — The wonderful narrative 
 of Mai'ia Stella, Lady Newborough, who claimed on such strong evidence to be 
 a Princess of the House of Orleans, and disputed the identity of Louis Philippe — 
 The story of the humble marriage of the beautiful Countess of Strathmore, and 
 tlie sufferings and fate of her only child — The Leaders of Fashion, from Gramont 
 to D'Orsay — The rise of the celebrated Baron Ward, now Prime Minister at 
 Parma — The curious claim to the Earldom of Crawford — The Strange Vicissitudes 
 of our Great Families, replete with the most romantic details — The story of the 
 Kirkpatricks of Closeburn (the ancestors of the French Empress), and the re- 
 markable tradition associated with them — The Legend of the Lambtons — The 
 verification in our own time of the famous prediction as to the Earls of Mar — 
 Lady Ogilvy's escape — The Beresford and Wynyard ghost stories correctly told — 
 &c. &c. 
 
 "It were impossible to praise too highly as a work of amusement these two most in- 
 teresting volumes, whether we should have regard to its exuellent plan or its not less ex- 
 cellent execution. The volumes are just what ought to be found on every drawing-room table. 
 Here you have nearly fifty captivating romances with the pith of all their interest preserved 
 in undiminished poignancy, and any one may be read in half an hour. It is not the least of 
 their merits that the romances are founded on fact — or what, at least, has been handed down 
 for truth by long tradition — and the romance of reality far exceeds the romance of fiction. 
 Each story is told in the clear, unaffected style with which the author's former works 
 have made the public familiar, while they afford evidence of the value, even to a work of 
 amusement, of that historical and genealogical learning that may justly be expected of the 
 author of ' i he Peerage.'" — Standard. 
 
 ** The very reading for sea-side or fire-side in our hours of idleness." — Athenaum, 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE FORUM; OR, NARRA- 
 
 TIVES, SCENES, AND ANECDOTES FROM COURTS OF JUSTICE. 
 SECOND SERIES. BY PETER BURKE, Esa., of the Inner Temple, 
 Barrister-at-Law. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 PRINCIPAL CONTENTS :— Lord Crichton's Revenge— The Great Douglas 
 Cause — Lord and Lady Kinnaird — Marie Delorme and Her Husband — The 
 Spectral Treasure — Murders in Inns of Court — Matthieson the Forger — Trials 
 tJiat established the Illegality of Slavery — The Lover Highwayman — The 
 Accusing Spirit — The Attorney- General of the Reign of Terror — Eccentric 
 Occurrences in the Law — Adventuresses of Pretended Rank — The Courier of 
 Lyons — General Sarrazin's Bigamy — The Elstree Murder — Count Bocarme and 
 his wife — Professor Webster, &c. 
 
 " We have no hesitation in recommending this, as one of the most interesting works 
 that have been lately given to the public." — Morning Chronicle. 
 
 " The favour with which the first series of this publication was received, has induced 
 Mr. Bniketo extend his researches, which he has done with great judgment. The incidents 
 forming the subject of the sei ond series are as extraordinary in every respect, as those which 
 obtained so high a meed of celebrity for the first. Some of the tales could scarcely be believed 
 to be founded in fact, or to be records of events that have startled the world, were there not 
 the incontestable evidence which Mr. Burke has established to prove that they hav 
 actually happened." — Messenger.
 
 WORKS OF FICTION. 
 
 21 
 
 NOTHING NEW. BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN 
 
 HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN. NEW AND 
 
 Cheaper Edition, 1 voL 10s. 6d. bound. 
 
 "This is a very good and a very interesting novel. It is designed to trace the career 
 from boyhood to age of a perfect man — a Christian gentleman, and it abounds in incident 
 both well and highly wrought. Throughout it is conceived in a high spirit, and written 
 with great ability, better than any former work, we think, of its deservedly successful 
 author." — Examiner. 
 
 "The new and cheaper edition of this interesting work will doubtless meet with great 
 success. John Halifax, the hero of this most beautiful story, is no ordinary hero, and this 
 bis history is no ordinary book. It is a full-length portrait of a true gentlemnn, one of 
 nature's own nobility. It is also the history of a home, and a thoroughly English one. 
 The work abounds in incident, and many of the separate scenes are full of graphic power 
 and true pathos. It is a book that few will read without becoming wiser and better.'*— 
 Scotsj/Kin. 
 
 "•John Halifax' is one of the noblest stories among modern works of fiction. The 
 interest is enthralling, the characters admirably sustamed, and the moral excellent." — Press. 
 
 BY MRS. GORE. 
 
 THE 
 TWO ARISTOCRACIES. 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 BY MRS. 
 
 FASHIONABLE LIFE ; 
 
 Or, PARIS AND LONDON. 3 vols. 
 
 '•The book has among its merits the 
 invaluable one of being thoroughly read- 
 able." — Examiner. 
 
 A LIFE'S LESSONS. 3 vols. 
 
 "'A Life's Lessons' is told in Mrs. 
 Gore's best style. She showers wit, 
 grace, and learning through the pages 
 with her usual felicity." — Dailt/ News. 
 
 TROLLOPE. 
 
 GERTRUDE; 
 
 Or, family pride. 3 vols. 
 •• The publication of this work will add 
 to Mrs. TroUope's high reputation as a 
 novelist." — Post. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF MARGARET MAITLAND. 
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Beivo the Con'cludivo Series op 
 "Passages in the Like of Mrs. Mar- 
 garet Maitland." 
 
 Cheaper Edition, I vol. 6s. 
 
 "The concluding series of passages in 
 the • Life of Mrs. Margaret Maitland' is, 
 to our thinking, superior to the begin- 
 ning ; and this we take to be about the 
 most satisfactory compliment we can pay 
 the authoress. There is a vein of simple 
 good sense and pious feeling running 
 throughout, for which no reader can fail 
 to be the better." — Athen/Eum. 
 
 •" Lilliesleaf ' is a sequel to the charm- 
 ing ' Passages in the Life of Mrs. Margaret 
 Maitland,' told also by herself in her own 
 quaint way, and full of the same touching 
 grace which won the hearts of so many 
 people, young and old. It is to be said 
 but rarely of a sequel that it possesses so 
 much beauty, and so much susained 
 Interest, as the tale of " Lilliesleaf."— 
 Examiner. 
 
 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE. 
 
 AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 3 VOls. 
 
 •' The author writes with her usual fine 
 capacity for the picturesque, and her in- 
 variable good sense, good feeling, and 
 good taste. No part of the narrative is 
 uninteresting." — Athenceum. 
 
 •'This story is most eloquently written 
 and is extremely attractive." — Press. 
 
 MAGDALEN HEPBURN; 
 
 A STORY OF THE SCOTTISH REFORMATION. 
 
 3 vols. 
 '•A well prepared and carefully exe- 
 cuted picture of the society and state of 
 manners in Scotland at the dawn of the 
 Reformation." — Athenceum. 
 
 HARRY MUIR. 
 
 Second Edition. 3 vols. 
 
 ADAM GRAEME, 
 
 OF MOSSGRAY. 3 vols.
 
 22 
 
 WORkS OF FICTION. 
 
 A WOMAN'S STORY. 
 
 By Mrs. S. C. Hall. 3 vols, 
 
 CUTHBERT ST. ELME, M.P.; 
 
 Or, passages IN THE LIFE OF 
 A POLITICIAN. 3 vols. 
 
 THE ROSE OF ASHURST. 
 
 By the Author of " Emilia Wy.vdham," 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 " This story inevitsibly pleases, because 
 
 clever and right-minded woman seeuis 
 
 to have really put her heart into the 
 
 telling of it. An air of enjoyment in the 
 
 writing finds its way into the reading." — 
 
 Examiner, 
 
 MARGUERITE'S LEGACY. 
 
 By Mrs. T. F. Steward. 3 vols. 
 
 *• Rarely have we met with a more 
 Interesting l.ooif than this. The story is 
 of a most thrilling rlescription. fhe au- 
 thoress writes with m ich vigour, and from 
 the faithful delineation of her characters, 
 the admirable selection of the incidents, 
 and the graphic description of scenes and 
 events, the reader is enchanted with the 
 work throughout." — Chronicle. 
 
 GOOD IN EVERYTHING. 
 
 By Mrs. Foot. 3 vols. 
 " There is 1 oth talent and power in this 
 novel. Mrs. Foot has demonstrated that 
 she is capable of weaving a plot of the 
 most absorbing interest." — Messtnger. 
 
 THE SECOND WIFE. 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 "This hook is sure of a favourable re- 
 ception. The plot ot the story is carefully 
 constiucted and well sustained. The 
 sketches of fashionable life are all excel- 
 lent, showintr intimate knowledge of 
 society and keen perception." — Press. 
 
 ALCAZAR. 
 
 P7 J. R. Bkstk, EiiQ., Author of "Mo- 
 dern SoriETV IN KovK, &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " There are novelty of scenery and sub- 
 ject in ' Alcazar,' with plenty of variety 
 jEind adventure." — Spectator. 
 
 EDGAR BARDON, 
 
 By W. KviGHTON, BI.A. 3 vols. 
 
 "The story is in every way worthy of the 
 author's reputation. It is full of exciting 
 incidents, romantic sitnatious, and 
 graphic descriptions." — Post. 
 
 DARK AND FAIR. 
 
 By the Author of " Rockingham." 3 v. 
 
 " The author of ' Rockingham ' has sur- 
 passed himself in ' Dark and Fair.' The 
 characters are distinctly drawn. The 
 story is simple and spiritedly told. The 
 dialogue is smart, natural, full of character. 
 The women are sketched with a decision 
 and delicacy that make them live before 
 you. In short. * Dark and Fair' takes its 
 place among the cleverest novels of the 
 season, and deserves to be popular. It is 
 tlie cream of light literature, graceful, 
 brilliant, and continuously interesting."— 
 Globe. 
 
 ROSA GREY. 
 
 By the Author of " Anne Dvsart. 3 ▼. 
 
 "The characters are well delineated, 
 the story is lucidly told, and the conver- 
 sations are sniriied, and impressed with 
 the individuality of the speakers. Alto- 
 gether the work is a success." — Daily 
 News. 
 
 ISABEL; 
 
 THE YOUNG WIFE. AND THE OLD 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 By J C. Jeaffrksov, Author of " Crewb 
 
 Risk." 3 vols. 
 
 " A clever picture of modern life, written 
 by a man who has seen the world. ' Isa- 
 bel ' is a fresh, healthy, entertaining 
 book." — Leader. 
 
 WILDFLOWER. 
 
 By the Author of "The House of El- 
 more." 3 vols. 
 " One of the best novels it has lately 
 been our fortune to meet with The plot 
 is ingenious and novel, and the characters 
 are sketched with a masterly hand." — 
 Press. 
 
 THE GENERAL'S 
 DAUGHTER. 
 
 By Capt. Brook J. Knight. 3 vols. 
 
 " A lively, dashing tale, with broadly- 
 marked characters, and more than the 
 averaije number of startling incidents." — 
 Lit. Gaz. 
 
 MARRIED FOR LOVE. 
 
 By Author of " Cou.sin Geoffrey." 3 v. 
 
 " ' Marri; d for Love ' is as full of lively 
 sketches, smart writing, and strongly- 
 drawn character as ' ( ousin Geoffrey,' and 
 the story is of a more exciting and moving 
 nature." — Globe. 
 
 THE YOUNG LORD. 
 
 By the Author of "The Discipline OF 
 Life," &c. 2 vols. 
 '* This new novel by Lady Emily Pon- 
 sonby is interesting as y. story, and still 
 more to be commeiided for the protitable 
 lessons it inculcates." — Lit. Gaz.
 
 WORKS OF FICTION. 
 
 23 
 
 EACHEL GRAY. 
 
 By Julia Kavanaoh, 
 Author of "Nathalie," &c. 1vol. 
 " Rachel Gray is a charming and touch- 
 ing story, narrated with grace and skill. 
 No one can read the story and not feel 
 a good influence from it. The characters 
 are vigorously sketched, and have a life- 
 like reality about them. We heartily re- 
 commend this story, and shall rejoice 
 when Miss Kavanagh v/ill give us an- 
 other equally good." — Athenteum. 
 
 EVELYN MARSTON. 
 
 By the Author of '• Emilia Wtndham." 
 '• The author has made in ' Evelyn 
 Marston ' a considerable advance over her 
 later fictions. She has chosen a new field 
 for the subject of her tale, and conceived 
 her principal actors wi'h her pristine 
 skill, as well as executed them with her 
 pristine finish." — Spectator. 
 
 ARTHUR BRANDON. 
 
 2 vols. 
 "'Arthur Brandon' abounds in free, 
 vigorous sket' hes, both of life and scenery, 
 which are dashed off with a frt-shness and 
 vitality which the reader will feel to be 
 charming'. The pictures of Rome and of 
 artist-life in Uome are especially good." — 
 AthencBum. 
 
 THE HOUSE OP ELMORE; 
 
 A fa.mily history, a vols. 
 
 "A splendid production. The story, 
 
 conceived with gveat skill, is worked out 
 
 in a succession of powerful portraitures, 
 
 and of soul-stirring scenes."— Jo/m Bull. 
 
 PERCY BLAKE; 
 
 Or, the young RIFLEMAN. 
 By Catt. Rafter. 3 vols. 
 " A capital novel, of the ' Charles 
 O'Malley ' school, tull of dashing adven- 
 ture, with scenes of real history cleverly 
 introduced in the narrative." — Lit. Gaz. 
 
 MODERN SOCIETY 
 IN ROME. 
 
 By J. R. Bbste, Esq. 2nd Edition, 3 v. 
 
 "This work is singularly interesting. It 
 contains striking narratives of most of the 
 principal events that occurred f^vira the 
 accession of Pio Nona to the occupation 
 of Rome by the French, with spirited and 
 truthful sketches of the leading characters 
 of that memorable period." — Lit. Gaz. 
 
 THE LADY OF FASHION. 
 
 By the Author of 
 "Thb Historv of a Flirt," &o. 3 vols. 
 "A striking picture of social existence. 
 The story has the merit of originality, and 
 the vigorous descriptions, the brilliant 
 touches, and the life-like portraits im- 
 part lustre to its pages."— Swn. 
 
 MARGARET 
 AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 
 
 By the Author of " Woman's Devotion.'* 
 
 " We recommend all who are in search 
 of a fascinating novel to read this work. 
 There are a freshness and an originality 
 about it quite charming, and there is a 
 certain nobleness in the treatment, both 
 of sentiment and incident, which is not 
 often found." — Athenceum. 
 
 THE SORROWS OF 
 GENTILITY. 
 
 By Miss Jewsbury. 2 vols. 
 "A remarkably good novel." — Examiney. 
 " In a tale extremely simple in idea and 
 perfectly natural in execution, i\Jiss Jews- 
 bury has contrived to exhibit a choice 
 moral with her accustomed grace and 
 power. We advise our readers to send for 
 ' The Sorrows of Gentility." — Atherueum, 
 
 OUR OWN STORY. 
 
 By Selina BuNBuriY. 
 Author of " Life in Swkden." 3 vols. 
 
 "A work of unquestionable genius. The 
 story is full of interest."— C/;row?We. 
 
 "An exceedingly instructive and im- 
 proving book." — John Bull. 
 
 CONSTANCE HERBERT. 
 
 By Miss Jewsbury. 3 v. 
 
 "*Con.<»tance Herbert" is a poem in its 
 beauty and its lofty purpose; a romance 
 in its variety and fascination. The talaf 
 is deeply interesting." — Athenceum. 
 
 MR. ARLE. 
 
 2 vols. 
 ••*Mr. Arle 'is a work of a very high 
 order, and we are offering it no light 
 tribute when we say that, in style and 
 conception, it reminds us of the writings 
 of Mrs. Gaskell."— JoAn Bull. 
 
 THE NEXT DOOR 
 NEIGHBOURS, 
 
 Ey Mrs. GAscaiovK. Author of " THiim- 
 TATioN, &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " The author has successfully por- 
 trayed the manners of the day in one of 
 the best novels that have lately appeared." 
 —Herald. 
 
 OUT ON THE WORLD. 
 
 By Henry Owgan, L.L.D. 3 vols. 
 
 " The thoughts and observations of Dr. 
 
 Owgan's *Out on the World,' are of • 
 
 fresh and racy kind, and very different 
 
 from the generality of novels."— Sperto<or,
 
 THE ARMY AND THE NAVY. 
 
 COLBUE>'^ ITSTIEI) SEEVJtlT 3IAGAZINT, AXI) 
 
 NaVaL AVD VILIIASY JOUSJSaJL F^:_ilfC o:: tii^ ir^i of eTery 
 
 
 
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 tarr Int^^eenee of tdi^ 
 
 QPE^aoxs or tee m.ess. 
 
 of tie liLCst i^iid mcst i::tnctiTe TJerrodScala «€ wUA 
 
 «f tte nrvoenrires a>e tfiataBg 
 
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 SUCCESSORS TO HE>'RT COLBURN, 
 
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