LIBRARY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 U N I VER5ITY 
 
 or ILLl NOIS 
 
 62.3 
 V. I
 
 \si^ 
 
 i 
 
 (%j 
 
 ^ 
 
 V
 
 VARIETIES 
 
 IN 
 
 WOMAN 
 
 A NOVEL, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 ^' Howsoever, it is a kind of policy in these days, to 
 prefix a phantastical title to a book which is to be sold ; 
 for as larks come down to a day-net, many vain readers 
 will tarry and stand gazing like silly passengers at an 
 antique picture in a Painter's shop, that will not look a 
 a judicious piece. 
 
 Burton." 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED FOR BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY 
 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 1819.
 
 Fhated hf T. C. Ilaonrd, Peterboroc^cout, Fleet itrMt, Li rt f.
 
 ^^3 
 
 /^Z72- 
 
 4\ I 
 
 VARIETIES IN WOMAN, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 TO MY SON ALBERT. 
 
 • J.N choosing to address you, my 
 ^ ' dear Albert, in this manner, — to speak 
 
 .to you when I have no longer the 
 J power of utterance, — to project plans 
 ,^ for your future welfare, when the 
 1^ possibility of my witnessing their 
 ""iarealization is completely withdrawn, 
 -^ — I am not influenced by the desire 
 ^ of working on your mind whilst it is 
 / enfeebled, perhaps, by sorrow for my 
 
 5 loss. I wish not to extort from you 
 any rash vow of yielding implicit 
 
 b Vol. I. B
 
 •J VARIETIES 
 
 credence to my observations. I 
 bequeath to you the most valuable 
 legacy in my power, — the fruits of my 
 own experience. You have equal 
 capacity of judging what mode of life 
 is best adapted to you, as I had; — 
 you are the same free agent, the same 
 accountable being. I am not now 
 going to depart from that maxim 
 which has invariably regulated my 
 conduct to you, — 
 
 Hoc patrium est potius consuefacere filium, 
 Sua sponte recte facere, quam alieno raetu. 
 
 Believe that the only earthly object, 
 which has now the power of interest- 
 ing me, is your happiness. It is this 
 which diverts my soul from the con- 
 templation of that world which is to 
 be her eternal abode. 1 would smooth 
 your path to the great goal of human 
 life. I would point out the means of 
 happiness within your reach, and then
 
 Ii!^ WOMAN-. d 
 
 call on your reason to approve or not, 
 accordingly as it shall agree or dis- 
 agree with me. 
 
 I am not addressing a youth just 
 starting into manhood, and I need not 
 expatiate on the principle, *' to be 
 virtuous is to be happy." If there 
 were any necessity of recalling this 
 to your mind, the work of your educa- 
 tion is indeed incomplete; I must 
 have failed miserably in the end 
 which I had always in view. Of late 
 years, my son, you have been my 
 friend, my cotifidential friend, — in 
 many instances my adviser, — in dis- 
 tress, always my consoler, because I 
 do not blush to avow, that you have a 
 greater strength of mind, and eleva- 
 tion of thought, than I ever had the 
 happiness to possess. In one word, 
 you are a man and a Christian, and I 
 desire, as such, to suggest to you 
 B 2
 
 4 VARIETIES 
 
 what happiness you may reasonably 
 hope to attain. 
 
 The most important consideration 
 towards the attainment of such an 
 end, is marriage. 
 
 I believe, from your domestic incli- 
 nations, — from the strength and per- 
 haps from the infrequency of your 
 attachments, — from the natural sensi- 
 bility and enthusiasm of your tem- 
 perament, — that you are calculated 
 to enjoy extreme felicity, or extreme 
 misery in this state, accordingly as 
 you shall select a partner whose dis- 
 position may respond to your own, 
 or contrast with it. 
 
 Be careful then, — Oh, most careful. 
 The cautious mariner, who, in the 
 darkest night, continually sounds the 
 ocean, fearing to be grounded iu a 
 shallow, or to be dashed against a 
 hidden rock, should be your embleiB.
 
 IN WOMAN. 
 
 On this point hangs your happiness, 
 and so nicely is it poised, that the 
 slightest touch — a breath — a sound — 
 may depress — may destroy it. 
 
 In this age of refinement and lux- 
 ury, glitter is too frequently substi- 
 tuted for the solid ore, — and so well 
 does it deceive, that the closest in- 
 spection only can detect the cheat. 
 Showy accomplishments occupy the 
 place of solid information. Gaudiness 
 of ornament is mistaken for beauty of 
 structure. The ill-proportion of the 
 column is carefully kept from obser- 
 vation by the laboured elegance of 
 the frieze. The multitude admire, — 
 the practised' artist smiles and passes 
 on. The mind bears the impress of 
 the hand that formed it ; — as is the 
 instructor, so are the instructed. To 
 the shameful laxity of morals that 
 prevails in seminaries appropriated to
 
 6 VAUIETIES 
 
 the education of our females, may be 
 attributed most of the misery too 
 frequently found in wedded life, and 
 all the infamy that sometimes results 
 from it. Whilst girls, scarcely past 
 the years of childhood, are brought 
 into the vortex of pleasure,— even of 
 dissipation ; — whilst they are led 
 through the maze of festivities, and 
 luxury ; — whilst they are initiated in 
 all the arts that attract the admira- 
 tion, and ensure the attention of the 
 crowd ;— whilst their hearts are lured 
 to throb at applauses bestowed by 
 our sex ; — whilst they are taught to 
 abjure the blush of modesty, and to 
 substitute for it the flush of vanity, to 
 meet the ardent gaze of man; — he 
 who appreciates happiness'at its pro- 
 per price, shudders at the prospect 
 before him, — trembles as he sees the 
 ruin that awaited himself, — perhaps
 
 IN WOMAN. 7 
 
 which he might have brought on one 
 whom heaven intended to be virtuous, 
 and whom education had prevented 
 from obtaining happiness, — thanks 
 God for his escape, and passes on 
 unloving and unloved. 
 
 That the mind of women should be 
 cultivated, even to its highest pitch 
 of capacity, is essential to the happi- 
 ness of that man who unites the 
 scholar to the gentleman. Such a 
 one, on engaging himself for life to a 
 being in whom is vested so large a 
 portion of man's felicity, seeks not a 
 play-thing, not a source of amusement, 
 but a rational companion, to whom 
 he can communicate all his projects, 
 all his sentiments, without fear of 
 being misunderstood or derided. Her 
 converse is to sooth him on escaping 
 from the fatigues and the anxieties of 
 public life ; and he turns with delight
 
 S VAKIETIES 
 
 from the lofty altitude which he is^ 
 obliged to assume in his intercourse 
 with his fellows, to the period of 
 relaxation and delight; when his 
 mind, released from that extreme 
 tension to which it had been excited, 
 bends to the elegance, the softness, 
 and the refined humility of her who 
 is his solace — his hope — his dearer 
 life. 
 
 All this, my son, your mother was 
 to me. What I describe as possible, 
 I have felt to be real. It is no un-* 
 manly tear that stains my paper, 
 Albert; — I have lost her; we parted, 
 ** like two travellers;" — she has long 
 reached the port to which all our pro- 
 jects, our cares, must ultimately 
 bring us ; — the Almighty witnesses 
 for nje, that I bowed in humble resig- 
 nation to his will; — I have not re- 
 pined; — but the time of my rejoicing
 
 IN WOMAN. y 
 
 is at hand ; — for the wind that is 
 to waft me to the sea of eternity, 
 already breathes around me, — I hiow, 
 that I am to meet her again. 
 
 From a plan of rational felicity, do 
 not understand, that I, by any means, 
 imagine, that the lighter accomplish- 
 ments are to be excluded. When the 
 mind is harassed by the cares of life, 
 the substitution of elegance for utili- 
 ty is a grateful relief to it. She who 
 delights in employing her talents for 
 the amusement of her husband — who 
 desires no louder praise than his 
 smile — and who seeks no other re- 
 ward than his approbation —has no 
 ignoble mind, and is entitled to the 
 highest respect. Mere utiUtif sup- 
 poses a coarseness, a umnt of polls li, 
 which our sex cannot easily forgive 
 in the other. She who unites k hmti 
 avcc Ciitiky is the woman whom a man
 
 10 VARIETIES 
 
 of genius and of religion would call 
 hip:iself eminently happy to secure. 
 
 I am not going to select, from all 
 those little peculiarities and grada- 
 tions of mind which distinguish one 
 female from another, that precise 
 point which will be the most likely 
 to confer happiness on you. The 
 bent and the form of your own mind 
 must determine for you. I might as 
 well decide on the stature and the 
 features of your future wife. I do 
 not dictate, — I desire only to advise. 
 Choose for yourself, — bearing in mind 
 only, that on your decision depends 
 vour happiness. 
 
 I have before alluded to the infre- 
 quency of your attachments. At 
 present, of the female part of creation 
 you have seen very little. Engrossed 
 by a fond father, and occupied by 
 pursuits of the most absorbing arid
 
 IN WOMAN. 11 
 
 extensive nature, you are, at eight- 
 and'-twenty, a novice in the sex. — ^I 
 imagine that I, at this moment, re- 
 ceive from you a promise, not to 
 engage yourself to any woman who 
 may attract you, however lovely, 
 however amiable she may appear, 
 until you shall have been acquainted 
 w^ith her, at least, six months. During 
 that time, see her in her family ; for it 
 is in a domestic circle that the cha- 
 racter is to be developed. Study her 
 minutely, and if it be possible to 
 avoid it, do not let her suspect the 
 interest you take in her. From that 
 moment, you no longer see her as she 
 is. She recollects all those graces 
 and amiabilities which she has heard 
 admired in others, and immediately 
 she adopts them all. She appears 
 always in a false semblance. She 
 feels that you observe her, and she
 
 }2 VARIETIFS 
 
 holds up to'you continually the fairest 
 side of the portrait. 
 My friend Grafton 
 
 It appeared, that the hand of death 
 had arrested the writer ; — the un- 
 finished letter was discovered in his 
 escritoire, nearly three months after 
 his interment, by the son to whom it 
 was addressed.
 
 IN WOMAN. 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 '' AND I am alone in the world !" 
 said Albert Beverley to himself, as he 
 stood at the window of the large oak- 
 pannelled parlour, watching the last 
 faint lines of the twilight. The wind 
 murmured through the casement, and 
 seemed to respond to his melancholy. 
 " Yes, I am indeed alone, — with none 
 to love, none by whom to be loved ! 
 There sate my father, there he watch- 
 ed the fading day, from whose glories 
 he was so soon to be shut out for ever. 
 It seems but as now, and he was here 
 — elevating my hopes, advising, en- 
 couraging me. And that voice is 
 still, and that countenance which 
 always beamed on me with kindness
 
 14 VARIETIES 
 
 and affection, is cold and immutably 
 fixed ! — That hand which has so often 
 been clasped in mine, that impres- 
 sive action — I see it now — the finger 
 extended — the arm leaning on the 
 table— ^M^^, dust! — Take, takeaway, 
 Philip, — I cannot eat." 
 
 The venerable domestic obeyed 
 with a sigh. " The will of God must 
 be done, sir," said he, " my poor 
 master thought so when my lady 
 died." 
 
 Albert passed his hand over his 
 eyes, — " man is born to trouble ;" — 
 ** and what am I, that I should dare to 
 repine at being included in the com- 
 mon lot? the most illustrious, the 
 most virtuous, the ornaments and 
 the benefactors of mankind — all, all 
 have their portion of suffering !" said 
 he. 
 
 *' And my master too, sir," added
 
 IN WOMAN. IB 
 
 Philip, — *' to lose my lady — so young, 
 so beautiful, — and three blooming 
 young gentlemen in one year, — it was 
 not a little, sir, it was not a little. — 
 But, God's will be done ! he made us, 
 and he does with us as it pleases 
 him." 
 
 The servant quitted the apartment, 
 and Albert paced across it with slow 
 and melancholy steps. 
 
 His mind still dwelt on the parent 
 he had lost. Gradually his memory 
 recalled the precepts and the exam- 
 ple that parent had given him. He 
 asked himself, if the line of conduct 
 he was pursuing, was such as would 
 have obtained his father's approba- 
 tion. His conscience reproached him, 
 that he had suffered his better facul- 
 ties to slumber, whilst his mind had 
 been enveloped in a mist of vain and 
 sinful regret. The selfishness of his
 
 ftt VARIETIES 
 
 grief, for the first time, distinctly 
 struck him. He had spent that time 
 in impious repinings against Provi- 
 dence, which ought to have been de- 
 voted to the benefit of mankind or 
 to his own. 
 
 — " Man, fool man ! here buries all liis thoughts, 
 
 " Inters celestial hopes without one sigh. 
 
 " Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon, 
 
 " Here pinions all his wishes ; wing'd by heaven 
 
 " To fly at infinite, and reach it there, 
 
 *< Where seraphs gather immortality, 
 
 " On Life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God. 
 
 " VVliat golden joys ambrosial clust'riug glow 
 
 " In his full beam, and ripen for the just, 
 
 " Where momentary ages are no more ! !, 
 
 ^' Where Time, and Pain, and Chance, and Death 
 
 expire ! 
 <' And is it in the flight of threescore year» 
 ** To push eternity from human thought, 
 « And smother souls immortal in the dust '^ 
 « A soul immortal, spending all her fires, 
 " Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, 
 " Thrown into tumult, raptured, or alarmed,
 
 m WOMAK* 17 
 
 " At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, 
 *' Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, 
 " To waft a feather, or to drown a fly." 
 
 The mind of Albert had been bowed 
 by the pressure of affliction, so new 
 and so poignant ; but it had not been 
 enervated or overwhelmed. His rea- 
 son, once awakened, gradually re- 
 gained its ascendancy. He accus- 
 tomed himself to contemplate the 
 future as a source from which hap- 
 piness was to be derived. That 
 strength of mind, and that calmness 
 of appearance, which had been his 
 distinguishing characteristics, again 
 returned. He resumed his usual oc- 
 cupations, — his habits of study and of 
 observation. To enlarge his views, 
 and completely to shake off the me- 
 lancholy that still clung to him, he 
 visited the greater part of Europe. 
 There he gathered a stock of obser-
 
 18 VARIETIES 
 
 vations, which he considered as 
 sources of future pleasure, of which 
 nothing could deprive him. He re- 
 visited England, and that seat which 
 w^as now his. zih ./ 
 
 It was a spot highly favoured by 
 nature, and improved by art. The 
 prospects from every aspect were 
 delightful and the embellishments 
 were so exquisitely disposed, that the 
 eye of taste discerned no defect. The 
 house was spacious, and magnificent. 
 It contained the best private library 
 in the kingdom, A happy and flou- 
 rishing tenantry blessed the bountiful 
 hand 'that contributed so largely to 
 their comforts. *' And yet with all 
 this, there wants something," thought 
 Albert, and he read over the Ig^st let- 
 ter of his father. 
 
 The abrupt conclusion embarrassed 
 him. At what the allusion to Mr,
 
 IN WOMAN. 19 
 
 Grafton pointed, it was not in his 
 power to conjecture. The extreme 
 intimacy that had always existed 
 between this gentleman and the Be- 
 verley family, had of late years been 
 somewhat interrupted by Mr. Graf- 
 ton's residence on the continent. He 
 and Albert were personally strangers, 
 but the character of each had been 
 displayed to the other, as far as con- 
 fidential correspondence can develope 
 it. " I will visit him," thought 
 Albert ; " possibly he can supply this 
 deficiency." 
 
 * Albert felt that he had the power 
 of acting on this resolution whenever 
 he pleased, and he constantly post- 
 poned it. He became immersed in 
 scientific speculations and discove- 
 ries; — a new world seemed to open 
 around him, and he sought no society 
 but that which he had always at
 
 20 VARIETIES 
 
 command — of philosophers and his- 
 torians, who have enlightened man- 
 kind, and detailed the progress of 
 knowledge. That polish of manner, 
 which a residence on the continent 
 had given to him, was rapidly resolv- 
 ing itself into the ease of conscious 
 superiority. There was nothing in 
 him that aimed at effect. A certain 
 quietude that was visible in every 
 action and in every motion, declared, 
 at once, his elevation above the com- 
 mon mass of mankind, and his perfect 
 indifference to opinion. There were 
 few who durst aspire to his intimacy, 
 because they felt that his peculiar 
 habit of retiring into self, threw them 
 at an invincible distance. His was 
 one of those *' master spirits " which 
 require absolute dominion over others, 
 without departing, in the slightest 
 degree, from their usual track in order
 
 IN WOMAK. 21 
 
 to ascertain it. His inferiors vene- 
 rated him ; — the few who were his 
 equals aippreciated him; — he knew 
 not a superior.
 
 2 VARIETIES 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 TO SIR ALBERT BEVERLEY, BART. 
 
 IT is to you, my excellent old friend, 
 that I turn in this last agonizing mo- 
 ment of life, and of distress, for as- 
 sistance and for consolation. 
 
 When I left France I was immersed 
 in speculations which completely 
 absorbed me. I lost my usual habits ; 
 my mind became estranged from 
 common objects ; I forgot even rny 
 existence, and frequently neglected 
 the means of supporting it. I no 
 longer remembered ** the charities of 
 life ;" — I inhabited the same house as 
 my wife and my daughter, seldom see- 
 ing them, and conversing only in mo- 
 nosyllables. At length I was com-
 
 IK WOMAN. 23 
 
 pletely abstracted from ordinary oc- 
 cupations. I was no longer capable 
 of understanding the sentiments of 
 others. Medical assistance was 
 deemed necessary. I confounded 
 visions and realities ; I imagined that 
 speculation was fact, and distinction 
 identity ; — I mistook axioms for pos- 
 tulates, and acted on so absurd a 
 theory. In short, I was a lunatic ; 
 and though my madness was of a 
 harmless species, medical attendance 
 was absolutely requisite, and change 
 of scene was ordered for me. 
 
 At this time we were at Venice, 
 and we proceeded immediately to 
 the republic of the Seven Islands. 
 We returned again to Italy, and 
 thence to Montpellier. My mind 
 began to approach more nearly to 
 a healthful tone, but my frame was 
 gradually declining. I desired to re-
 
 24 VARIETIES 
 
 visit England ; — 1 did so, — and found 
 myself a beggar. 
 
 You knew my agent, and you 
 warned me constantly against him. 
 Still I was completely infatuated, 
 and I considered your prepossessions 
 against him, prejudice. My pursuits 
 hourly demanded fresh supplies of 
 money, and I entrusted to this man 
 the negotiation of a mortgage on my 
 estate in Shropshire. He himself 
 became the mortgagee ; loan after 
 loan I obtained from him ; — he fore- 
 closed; — his brother was the pur- 
 chaser. 
 
 My next step takes me to my 
 grave, and I leave to my wife and 
 my child — beggary. 
 
 Oh, Beverley, you know not, none 
 but the sufferer can know, the agony, 
 the deep, heart-breaking agony, of 
 such a conviction. I have squandered
 
 IN WOMAN. 25 
 
 in useless speculations that which 
 was not my own, — that which my 
 child expected from me, clear and 
 unincumbered as I received it from 
 my father. And this child so young, 
 — lovely, — and poor : — beauty, 
 education, and poverty 1 — dreadful 
 union ! — 
 
 That dependence must be the lot 
 of this daughter so dear, and yet, 
 despoiled by me of her inheritance, I 
 am aware. But to you I look, — 
 without any false delicacy (for surely 
 this is not an hour for it), I call on 
 you, Beverley, to be her guardian, 
 to watch over her, to protect her from 
 those tremendous dangers I fear for 
 her, and to act by her, in every re- 
 spect, as I would have done by your 
 son, if it had been the pleasure of 
 Heaven to reverse our situations. I 
 consign her to you : both my trea- 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 VARIETIES 
 
 sures, the mother and her child, have 
 been taught to look on you as their 
 sole friend on earth. Beverley, you 
 will not refuse them your advice and 
 your assistance, — I know you will 
 not. 
 
 I have charged my wife to dispatch 
 this letter to you immediately that I 
 am consigned to my parent dust. If 
 you cannot go to her, at least write, 
 — and write kindly, my friend. 
 Bereaved as they both are, they want 
 soothing and consolation. I know I 
 need not leave this charge with you. 
 Pardon the anxiety of a mind, torn 
 by the terrible conflict of repentance 
 and anticipation of future evil to the 
 dearest objects of affection. Our's 
 has been no common friendship; it 
 has been proved by a thousand cir- 
 cumstances. On your part one more 
 trial is to be made: — Ah, Beverley!
 
 IN WOMAN, 27 
 
 I would have selected you from a 
 thousand to'meet such a trial. 
 
 You will find this sad legacy which 
 I bequeath to you, at Warnesley Cot- 
 tage, on the common that runs up to 
 the mansion of my fathers. Oh, my 
 friend, what a terrible fall has our 
 house sustained ! — and my own im- 
 prudence was the very source of it. 
 
 Farewell, Beverley ! — Be to my 
 child what we have been to one 
 another. — The dying man confidently 
 reposes his hope on you. 
 
 We shall meet again, — I believe, 
 and I rely on the eternal promise of 
 God, 
 
 Farewell ! 
 
 Eustace Grafton. 
 
 " And he is gone to whose friend- 
 ship you so confidently trusted, poor 
 c2
 
 28 VARIETIES 
 
 Grafton !" thought Albert, as he read 
 the letter, evidently intended for his 
 father — ** Ye have indeed, met again, 
 after a short separation !— And I will 
 be a brother to thy wife, and a father 
 to thy child. My house shall be 
 theirs — my fortune, theirs. — Thou 
 who art gone wouldst not have ren- 
 dered them sincerer service than I 
 will." 
 
 Albert, on that very day, set out 
 for Warnesley Cottage. The journey 
 was long, and he amused himself during 
 its progress with reflections on the 
 novel character which he was called 
 on to sustain. He was about to in- 
 trbduce himself to two desolate beings 
 as their voluntary and sole protector. 
 He marked out various plans of con- 
 duct. He was to be the instructor 
 of the child and the friend of the 
 mother. In the former character, he
 
 IN WOMAN. 29 
 
 traced for himself a path, which he 
 would inviolably pursue, and he pro- 
 mised to himself that no consideration 
 should induce him to swerve from it. 
 He arrived. Mrs. Grafton received 
 him with surprise. He related, as 
 briefly as possible, the melancholy 
 event which had placed him in the si- 
 tuation of his father. He oifered, with 
 earnestness and with sincerity, his 
 friendship and his protection. Mrs. 
 Grafton was grateful : all other re- 
 sources were denied to her. Mr. 
 Grafton had been dead more than 
 two months when the letter was dis- 
 patched to sir Albert Beverley. It 
 was not natural that her grief for the 
 loss she had sustained, should be so 
 great as it would have been, if alarm- 
 ing symptoms of that loss had not 
 often appeared. During Mr. Graf- 
 ton's melancholy estrangement, he
 
 30 VARIETI£S 
 
 had been dead to his family, or in a 
 state more afflicting than even death. 
 The mind of his wife had been gra- 
 dually bent to meet the blow, and 
 its pressure consequently was not so 
 violent. 
 
 ** I will be your friend— your bro- 
 ther, if you permit me, and the father 
 of your child," said Albert. 
 
 Mrs. Grafton looked at him for a 
 moment, and slightly smiled. 
 
 It was not a smile of gratitude, but 
 Albert received it as such.
 
 IN WOMAN. 31 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 BEVERLEY returned home to 
 raake preparations for his new in- 
 mates. 
 
 He was pleased with what he had 
 seen of Mrs. Grafton. Her manners 
 were polished, and her conversation 
 sufficiently agreeable. Nevertheless, 
 he was, on reflection, somewhat sur- 
 prised that she had not shown him 
 her child, — the child of his adoption. 
 
 Six weeks were yet to elapse ere 
 they should arrive, and he returned 
 former pursuits. 
 
 Sometimes, in the evening, he cal- 
 culated with impatience on the time 
 when female society would enliven 
 the hour in which its influence is most
 
 32 VARIETIES 
 
 felt. He began to project improve- 
 ments, which would require the in- 
 spection and the assistance of Mrs. 
 Grafton. His fathers letter was less 
 frequently recurred to. Albert had 
 listened to tales of ivooing and of 
 winuwg, and he desired ardently to 
 escape from both. He liked the 
 freedom with which he could roam 
 from place to place; and he also 
 liked the prospect of Mrs. Grafton's 
 residence with him, because he should 
 at once enjoy all the comforts of 
 domestic life, with the power of 
 changing the scene whenever inclina- 
 tion or caprice prompted. 
 
 She arrived. — He assisted her out 
 of the carriage. 
 
 *' My daughter ! — Sir Albert Be- 
 verley !" 
 
 Albert could not entirely repress a 
 smile. In place of the blooming
 
 IN WOMAN. 33 
 
 little fairy, the docile pupil, the gay 
 and sportive child he had pictured to 
 himself, he saw a tall and not un- 
 graceful figure, though deformed, in 
 his opinion, by a certain reserved 
 stateliness of air, v^hich w^as percep- 
 tible in every motion. She accepted 
 his assistance with a slight bow, and 
 she did not speak more than mono- 
 syllables during the whole evening. 
 Albert had not entirely shaken oiF a 
 sense of disappointment occasioned 
 by her appearance, which heightened 
 the disagreeable impression he was 
 conscious she had made on him. This 
 feeling was unpleasant, because he 
 knew that it affected his manner, and 
 he ardently desired that his protegees 
 should not feel the distance between 
 the benefactor and the obliged. Mrs. 
 Grafton was lively and agreeable : 
 but Albert felt that this period on 
 c 5
 
 94 VARIETIES 
 
 which he had calculated so much, 
 had not bestowed all the happiness 
 he expected to derive from it. 
 
 The morning strengthened his pre- 
 judice, and instantaneously dispersed 
 the sage resolutions he had made 
 during the night. Miss Grafton's 
 features were not bad, but there was 
 a vacancy, a sullen reserve, which 
 destroyed every character of beauty. 
 Her complexion was pale olive, and 
 she had no colour. It seemed as if 
 her blood slept in her veins, and had 
 imparted its drowsiness ta her mo- 
 tions. There was no elasticity,--^no 
 animation, — scarcely life. The mono- 
 tony of her voice destroyed any effect 
 that might have been produced by its 
 sweetness. When she spoke, all was 
 common-place, and uninteresting. 
 Albert soon grew tired of addressing 
 her; he engaged Mrs. Grafton in a lively
 
 IN WOMAN. 35 
 
 discussion on the beauties of Mosaic 
 pavement, and artificial grottos. Miss 
 Grafton quiefly kept her seat, with- 
 out appearing in the least conscious 
 that she was entirely excluded from 
 conversation; seldom, indeed, mani- 
 festing any attention to it. 
 
 As they gradually became domes- 
 ticated at Beverley Hall, Albert hoped 
 she might improve. He was disap- 
 pointed. She was always inanimate, 
 and appeared to have attained that 
 enviable apathy, which is not affected 
 either by misery or happiness. She 
 was as far from exhibiting symptoms 
 of disapprobation as of pleasure. 
 Nothing excited emotion. The un- 
 derstanding of Mrs. Grafton was not 
 above mediocrity, and our hero sighed, 
 as he beheld all his plans of felicity 
 so suddenly and so completely de- 
 stroyed.
 
 36 VARIETIES 
 
 Sometimes they rode out on single 
 horses. It was the only species of 
 amusement, or occupation, or exer- 
 cise, for which Miss Grafton had ever 
 testified any preference. Albert was 
 remarkably fond of it, and he accom- 
 panied her always on these excur- 
 sions. All his endeavours failed to 
 draw her into any thing like regular 
 conversation. There was a cold and 
 ungraceful politeness about lier, which 
 froze every feeling of kindness. Her 
 riding was like every thing else that 
 belonged to her, neither to be censured 
 nor commended : she kept always 
 that middle course between grandeur 
 a nd littleness, which is as remote as 
 possible from the line of genius or 
 distinction. 
 
 Sir Albert had procured a harp and 
 a piano for the use of the Miss Graftoti 
 he had pictured to himself He en-
 
 IN WOMAN. 37 
 
 treated the Miss Grafton he knew, to 
 play. She coldly declined it, on the 
 plea of inability. He was scarcely 
 disappointed ; for he did not expect 
 compliance. 
 
 Tired of his present course of life, 
 and heartily desirous of returning to 
 those pursuits from which he had 
 been interrupted, he introduced his 
 guests to the ladies of the neighbour- 
 hood as speedily as possible, and 
 once more confined himsel'^ almost 
 entirely to his library. 
 
 ** My father s letter r he sometimes 
 thought to himself: — " What would 
 he think of the child of his friend ? — 
 How would he be surprised to ftnd 
 the comfort of my life destroyed by 
 the perpetual presence of a being 
 whom I value only on account of her 
 misfortunes ! — After all, is she unfor- 
 tunate ? — It depends on our own per-
 
 38 VARIETIES 
 
 ception of events, whether they are 
 to be termed happy or otherwise. I 
 believe that she is affected by nothing; 
 her heart has been touched by a 
 torpedo, and it cannot /ee/. She has 
 neither k beau nor Vutile, As the 
 child of my father's friend, my house 
 and my fortune are at her service;— 
 but I cannot afford to give her either 
 my time or my conversation." 
 
 Wearied by the monotony of his 
 existence^ Albert resolved to quit his 
 house for some time. He looked 
 through his port-folio, and found an 
 invitation from a college intiniate, 
 Mr. Lockhart, which he determined 
 to accept. — He deputed to Mrs. 
 Grafton the presidency over his 
 household during his absence, and 
 left Beverley Hall with a sensation of 
 recovered freedom, to which he had 
 hitherto been a stranger.
 
 IN WOMAN". 39 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IT was strange that sir Albert 
 Beverley left the mansion where he 
 was supreme master, with the feeling 
 of one just escaped from the yoke of 
 tyranny. 
 
 The nearer he approached the seat 
 of his friend Lockhart, the greater 
 became his satisfaction. He went 
 through the metropolis, and remained 
 there a week, more delighted than 
 usual with its variety, because it 
 forcibly contrasted with the vapid 
 uniformity from which he had fled. 
 
 He received from his friend Lock- 
 hart as warm a welcome as he had 
 anticipated. He was exhilarated by 
 it, and he more than ever rejoiced.
 
 iO VARIETIES 
 
 that he had left Beverley Hall to Miss 
 Grafton. 
 
 Lady Mary Lockhart was a lively, 
 fashionable woman, in the decline of 
 life, if such a woman is ever past her 
 meridian. Albert enjoyed her agree- 
 ableness, and if sometimes he detected 
 the substitution of show for solfdity, 
 he recollected from what he had es- 
 caped, and forgave it. 
 
 ** How do you like us V said Lock- 
 hart to him about a fortnight after his 
 arrival; — *' how do you like us ? I 
 am anxious that you should think 
 well of us. Have we tired you ? To 
 say truth, it is generally Cvoafoundedly 
 dull, stopping at home with Lady 
 Mary ; — confess, have you not found 
 
 it so r 
 
 ** I cannot for a moment associate 
 the ideas of dulness and Lady Mary 
 Lockhart. Ineverknev a more" —
 
 IN WOMAN. 41 
 
 Albert hesitated a moment for a word 
 ■ — "a more amusing woman." 
 
 " Faith! I am right glad you find 
 her so ; in very truth, one sometimes 
 discovers that mothers are terribly 
 iu'the-way sort of beings.— Do not 
 frowji, and look like the college proc- 
 tor ; — I know I am a sad dog ; — ^but 
 you will forgive my etourderies when 
 I bring you a classical excuse for 
 them. You recollect how Themis- 
 tocles defended his igaremens ; — " the 
 wildest colts," said he, " make the 
 best horses when they come to be 
 properly broken in and managed." 
 
 ** But by this time, my dear Lock- 
 hart, you ought to be broken i7i. Five 
 and twenty is no longer boyhood, and 
 the man' — 
 
 ** Should put away childish things,'' 
 interrupted Lockhart, '' I believe you 
 were going to say so, and I allow
 
 42 VARIETIES 
 
 that you have good authority. Indeed 
 my mother, and my grandmother, and 
 my uncles, and aunts, and cousins to 
 the fifth generation, inclusive, incul- 
 cate daily precepts of sobriety and so 
 forth, which pass my poor under- 
 standing. Nay, now you look as 
 stern as Rhadamanthus ; — forgive me 
 — I wonder at myself in daring thus 
 to trifle with you. I ought to remem- 
 ber the distance between simple, 
 mad-cap Harry Lockhart, who as- 
 pires to nothing higher than a quib- 
 ble, or a pun, or a bon-moty and the 
 distinguished Albert Beverley, Fate 
 committed a strange blunder when 
 she threw us in the way of each other, 
 and formed that intimacy between us, 
 which reminds one always of the 
 lion that took a fancy to the lamb, — 
 I do not mean a fancy in the eating 
 line, Beverley."
 
 IN WOMAN. 43 
 
 The good-humour and apparent 
 want of vanity of Lockhart were in- 
 vincible. Albert was subdued by it. 
 
 *' Yes, you look like my friend 
 again now ; and I dare ask you what 
 I have wanted to do ever since you 
 have been with us : are you — do not 
 despise me for my audacity, — you can- 
 not wonder at me, more than I wonder 
 at myself, — are you enraptured with 
 your ward ?" 
 
 " Which of my wards, — the mother 
 or the daughter, do you mean ?" 
 asked Albert; for it seemed to him 
 that the power of captivating belong- 
 ed rather to the former. 
 
 '' Ye gods, what a question ! — This 
 must be — I dare scarcely even ima- 
 gine it in you, — but this must be 
 aifectation. For that you can have 
 been so completely blind to the 
 matchless witcheries of Ella Grafton
 
 44 VARIETIES 
 
 as that question seems |to imply, 
 passes belief." 
 
 *' Pardon me,-^it is really true,^ 
 said Albert coldly. 
 
 ^* Then what do you think of her T 
 .emanded Lockhart anxiously. 
 
 Beverley was not in the habit of 
 opening his heart to every man who 
 would be glad to pry into it, and he 
 chose not to depreciate a person 
 whom he had obliged. " I have 
 scarcely thought of her," said he. 
 
 *' Do you mean to say, then, that 
 you have actually lived in the same 
 house with Ella Grafton, without 
 thinking of her ?" demanded Lockhart. 
 
 " Not ejcactly without thinking of 
 her, but certainly without being so 
 powerfully impressed by her, as you 
 seem to expect." 
 
 " Upon my soul, Beverley, you be- 
 come more incomprehensible daily.
 
 IN WOMAN-. 45 
 
 1 ever knew you a man of solitary 
 habits, much given to serious pur- 
 suits,, a contemner of folly, and above 
 being affected by the common acci- 
 dents that derange the system of 
 lesser planets, — myself, par exeinple. 
 I know you would rather have watch- 
 ed the transit of Venus over the Sun's 
 disk with Solander, than have been 
 her partner in Olympic revels, even if 
 the Muses had heen fiddlers, and Mer- 
 cury master of the ceremonies. You 
 prefer a telescope to an opera glass ; 
 and a stroll through Keswick vale, to 
 a walk in Bond-street, towards the 
 latter end of May. You prefer Shak- 
 speare to Kotzebue, Lord Byron to 
 any classic poet from Virgil down- 
 wards, and the chef-d'oeuvres of Ca- 
 nova to the sublime mutilations of 
 the Elgin marbles. You prefer a 
 rational and distinguished man to a
 
 46 VARIETIES 
 
 beautiful and exquisitely silly woman. 
 You prefer looking on to dancing at 
 any time. In short, you are made up 
 of eccentricities, but this passes all. 
 Ella Grafton, who was admired for 
 her grace in France, her fascination 
 and musical talents in Italy, and for 
 her animated beauty in Greece, has 
 actually produced no impression on 
 you. It is most monstrous and in- 
 conceivable. Tell me candidly, did 
 you ever look at her ?" 
 
 '' Frequently." 
 
 *' Sacr6! — has she not the most en- 
 chanting mobility of countenance that 
 ever captivated an adorer of variety ?" 
 
 " Certainly not ; on the contrary, 
 she has the most rigid flexibility of 
 muscle, I remember to have seen in 
 any person." 
 
 *' It is not the same, it is not the 
 same, it cannot be the same !" ex-
 
 IN WOMAN. 47 
 
 claimed Lockhart, joyfully, " you do 
 not know my Ella ^Grafton ; it is her 
 stupid, silent, pale, uninteresting, 
 inflexible kinswoman to whom you 
 have the honour of being guardian. 
 Entre-nouSy I am highly delighted that 
 it has happened so, for I should have 
 been confoundedly sorry to have had 
 a rival like you, for with such a wo- 
 man I could have stood no chance. 
 Now, for I love to talk of her, let 
 me tell you what my Ella is : her ex- 
 pression, aye, I begin with that; it 
 varies continually, and every change 
 is equally irresistible. I have seen 
 her weep, — that still, that silent tear, 
 that speaks the holy rapture which 
 none but genius ever feels, which 
 none but genius can pourtray, and 
 which, therefore, I leave to your ima- 
 gination. You know, however the 
 influence a woman's tears always have
 
 48 VARIETIES 
 
 over me : — think then, how I am af- 
 fected by them, when they soften the 
 brilliancy of the brightest eyes in 
 nature, and gem the finest dark, 
 silken fringe imagination can pour- 
 tray. She sighs !" 
 
 '* Very ambrosial, I dare say," in- 
 terrupted Beverley, ** I give your 
 imagination all due credit ; but, I 
 would not draw on it more largely." 
 
 " Infidel ! I am inspired ! I am on 
 the tripod ! I feel the influence of the 
 deity! — Interrupt me not, but recog- 
 nize the reality of the portrait by the 
 minuteness of the touches. — Her sigky 
 — yes, her sigh has over me all the 
 influence of enchantment, — of intox- 
 ication ; — I forget myself, — the world, 
 — everything but Ella, and the grace 
 of her pensiveness. — She smiles! Oh, 
 Jupiter ! her smile is like the morn- 
 ing beam to the v/retch who has spent
 
 IN WOMAN. 49 
 
 years in a long dreary night of capti- 
 vity and darkness ; — all sensation, 
 all emotion vanishes before it, except 
 that which itself inspires ; — it seems 
 to me, that there can be nothing more 
 delightful on earth, until — she speaks ! 
 Oh, Beverley, the magic of her voice ! 
 — soft, full, and delicious, it is at- 
 tuned to heaven's own harmony; on 
 every subject it preserves its own 
 delightful cadence, contrasting con- 
 tinually its modulations. She has 
 charms which penetrate every heart ; 
 — touching even in her brilliancy, — 
 soft in her dignity; — and Beverley, 
 Beverley, this woman is to be mine !" 
 
 " You are a very happy man. If 
 it is not a fancy-portrait, I envy 
 you." 
 
 *' And then her manner," — con- 
 tinued Lockhart ;:7-" it is so pecu- 
 liar,— so different from any thing one 
 
 Vol. I. D
 
 50 ^ VARIETIES 
 
 sees in others. That which common 
 minds consider affectation and the 
 result of study, is, in fact, nature. I 
 can compare it to nothing but a piece 
 of Florentine marble; the veins of 
 which are formed into landscapes so 
 regular, that they appear the produc- 
 tion of the most exquisite art. Then 
 there is something so classic about 
 her, — a genius, that *feeems palpable 
 in every attitude, — in every motion* 
 Above all, I admire her for her ex- 
 traordinary openness, — her transpa- 
 rency of mind. There is no vanity 
 in her composition. There are no 
 littlenesses to be detected, — no foibles 
 to be dreaded. She shows herself as 
 she really is; — she has neither the 
 vanity of affecting to know less than 
 she really does know, nor that of 
 assuming talents which she does not 
 possess. She is too proud for exhi-
 
 IN WOMAN. 51 
 
 bition, and, like the convolvulus, the 
 sun must always shine on her, before 
 she can be known. She h^s pride; — 
 sometimes I have seen her walk, as 
 " if she would veil earth with her 
 haughty shadow." Her polished 
 courtsey throws one at a greater 
 distance, than the most repulsive 
 hauteur. When she addresses people 
 in general, there is a certain air of 
 grandeur and conscious superiority 
 about her, — a peculiar inflection of 
 voice, — which seems to express a 
 desire of bending to the inferiority of 
 the persons addressed, and yet of 
 raising them above their usual level. 
 When she is animated, her graceful 
 action is irresistible. — And this is 
 the woman, whom I supposed you 
 had been senseless enough not to 
 admire!" 
 
 " I never yet had the honour of 
 D 2 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 52 VARIETIES 
 
 seeing such an one," replied Beverley, 
 " I can only assure you, that if you 
 had intended to describe the diame- 
 trical opposite of my Miss Grafton^ 
 you could not have succeeded better." 
 
 *' Your Miss Grafton, indeed! — 
 one of those insignificant beings 
 w^hom one sees to-day and forgets to- 
 morrow, I suppose." 
 
 '' Not quite. In truth^ since I 
 have known her, I have thought of 
 her continually." 
 
 " Solve this enigma, for I cannot 
 comprehend it. How is it possible 
 to think of a woman whom one 
 neither admires nor loves ?" 
 
 *' Without disputing on the pos- 
 sibility, I can only affirm the actual 
 existence of such an event. Having 
 once seen Miss Grafton, there is an 
 uncomfortable feeling connected with 
 her idea, Which clings to one, and
 
 IN WOMAN. 53 
 
 which it is impossible entirely to lose. 
 I believe the eye would select her in 
 the midst of a crowd. Not because 
 she is beautiful, or graceful, or 
 animated, but because there is a 
 something — an undefiuable, inexpres- 
 sible je ne seals quoi — which no other 
 has, and which, tlA ^jgh anything 
 rather than attractive preserves her 
 from insignificance, and me from 
 forgetting her." 
 
 " Did you ever happen, by any 
 chance, to see my sister, Kate ?" 
 
 '* Never," 
 
 " You never did ? — Well, I tell you 
 she is worth all the rest of us. — If 
 you were to see no other curiosity 
 than her, the trouble of your journey 
 from Beverley-Hall would be well 
 repaid. — I am glad she was out of the 
 way when you arrived, because I 
 would have all your gratifications in an
 
 54 VARIETIES 
 
 ascending scale ; and like a dainty 
 child, I reserved the bonne bouche until 
 last. I will give you no clue to un- 
 derstand Kate ; — develope her mind 
 if you think it worth the trouble, and 
 understand her if you can." 
 
 Beverley had frequently thought 
 of his fathers letter whilst Lockhart 
 was speaking. The portrait Lockhart 
 had sketched of Miss Grafton, com- 
 bined qualities of whose existence 
 Albert had only dreamt or speculated^ 
 on. There w^as something so alluring 
 to the imagination, — so captivating, 
 — so irresistible, in the picture ; it 
 was so distinct from what one sees 
 or expects. Beverley sat in profound 
 reverie, nearly an hour, when he 
 retired to his apartment. He recol- 
 lected all that Lockhart had said, and 
 he desired to compel his imagination 
 to embody a form that should possess
 
 IN WOMAN. 00 
 
 all these graces. In vain : — he saw 
 nothing but the Miss Grafton he knew ; 
 she clung to his thoughts, and pur- 
 sued him in his dreams. It was 
 seldom that he entirely forgot her, 
 and some recurrence to beauty or 
 agreeableness perpetually dispersed 
 that forgetfulness, and presented her 
 to his recollection in all the coldness, 
 the vapidness, the reserve, and the 
 mediocrity, of which he had left her 
 in possession at Beverley-Hall. 
 
 *' My father s letter /" thought he ; — ■ 
 *' neither his definition of le beau nor 
 of rutile would describe the eccentric 
 Miss Grafton of Lockhart's acquaint- 
 ance, nor the still more eccentric 
 Miss Grafton of mine 1 — And what is 
 Kate Lockhart ?"
 
 66 VARIETIES 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHAT Catherine Lockhart was^ 
 Beverley had soon the means of at- 
 tempting to discover. 
 
 On his first introduction to her, he 
 was powerfully struck with the 
 extreme contrast between her and 
 Miss Grafton. There was life and 
 motion, even to restlessness, in every 
 feature, in every limb. It was im- 
 possible that the mind could seize any 
 particular expression of her counte- 
 nance, for it changed continually. 
 There was a certain fancifulness in 
 her maniere (Tetre, which perpetually 
 attracted attention, and frequently 
 admiration. Albert was interested 
 by her, because the difficulty of dis-
 
 IN WOMAN. 57 
 
 covering the spring from which her 
 actions flowed excited his curiosity ; 
 — and besides, she possessed the 
 universally acknowledged means of 
 inspiring interest,- extreme beauty. 
 
 She had a cultivated taste, and 
 gradually she became intimate with 
 Albert Beverley. Whilst there was 
 a frankness, even to freedom, in her 
 general manner, it was impossible not 
 to perceive that there lurked behind, 
 a feeling of conscious superiority that 
 derided the beings to whom she con- 
 descended to speak on terms of 
 equality. Sometimes this feeling 
 was more visible than at others, and 
 the uncertainty of her manner gave 
 her the appearance of caprice, of 
 which the world complained, whilst 
 it still remained the sport of it. 
 Albert detected the real position of 
 her mind ;— he saw, that its apparent
 
 58 VARIETIES 
 
 levity, was the result of a haughty 
 and careless superiority, which was 
 sometimes even openly avowed. 
 Her animation and the bursts of 
 genius which, at intervals, flashed 
 from her, were the more conspicuous 
 and dazzling from their extreme 
 variety and uncertainty. Often when 
 it seemed that her whole soul was 
 displayed to the view of others, a 
 shade came across it, which declared, 
 at once, she had been acting a part, 
 and amusing herself with having so 
 well deceived spectators. 
 
 The anniversary of Lockhart's birth- 
 day was celebrated as usual by a 
 splendid gala. It was impossible not 
 to be struck by the gloom of Miss 
 Lockhart's appearance, which con- 
 trasted so forcibly with the gaiety of 
 every one around her. Towards 
 the evening, however, it gradually
 
 IN WOMAN. 5Q 
 
 dispersed ; and a more than ordinary 
 brilliancy played over her, as, leaning 
 on the arm of Beverley, she entered 
 the saloons where the guests were 
 already assembled. 
 
 Sometimes Albert admired her 
 genius, and, at others, he recoiled 
 from her eccentricity. The union of 
 these qualities in her character re- 
 sembled two powerful chemical sub- 
 stances of opposite quality, which 
 being mingled, produce one neutra- 
 lized mass. In proportion as the first 
 attracted, the other repelled him. It 
 was, as if she directed her shafts at 
 him, whilst she herself presented the 
 shield, that defended him from their 
 attacks. 
 
 She courteously noticed the guests 
 in general, without distinguishing any 
 individual. She had been in the
 
 60 VARIETIES 
 
 midst of them rather more than half 
 an hour, when the door opened, and 
 Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair were an- 
 nounced. 
 
 Albert perceived the almost con- 
 vulsive shudder that shook the hand 
 which reposed on his arm. He looked 
 in her face; — she still retained her 
 colour, but her lips were blanched. 
 For the first time, Albert detected 
 that her unusual bloom this evening 
 was artificial. 
 
 " You are ill," said he ; — '* had not 
 you better retire ?" 
 
 The sudden crimson that flushed 
 her neck and temples, marked the 
 effect this question produced. *' I 
 thank you," she said, in a voice less 
 clear than usual, but quite as forcible, 
 and with a degree of haughtiness that 
 had never before been directed against
 
 IN WOMAN. 61 
 
 him ; — *' I am quite well ; and conse- 
 quently it would be ridiculous to 
 withdraw." 
 
 At this moment, Mr. and Mrs. St. 
 Clair approached her. The suppres- 
 sion of some painful feeling was suffi- 
 ciently obvious, in the slight contrac- 
 tion of Miss Lockhart's brows. She 
 seemed to recover herself with a 
 powerful effort; — and Beverley's 
 heart glowed within him, as he wit- 
 nessed the sudden elevation of her 
 form, and the air of grandeur and of 
 even regal dignity, that diffused itself 
 all over her, as she paid and received 
 their compliments. 
 
 There was a peculiarity in the 
 manner of each of the trio, that 
 attracted the closer attention of 
 Beverley. When Miss Lockhart 
 named him, Mr. St. Clair fixed on
 
 63- VARIETIES 
 
 him a look of the minutest scrutiny; 
 a supercilious smile curled the lip of 
 his wife; — and Catherine's counte- 
 nance expressed a bitterness of deri- 
 sion which she essayed not to con- 
 trol. Towards St. Clair himself, her 
 manner was friendly, but towards his 
 wife, it displayed an invincible polite- 
 ness, that denoted extreme and un- 
 conquerable contempt. 
 
 Miss Lockhart was called on to 
 begin the dance. Albert led her to 
 the set. The peculiar indolence of 
 her manner, denoted the constraint 
 she endured in partaking of this 
 amusement. But she had scarcely 
 passed half down, when the very 
 spirit of vivacity seemed to inspire 
 her. The grace and the agility of 
 her motion appeared almost aerial. 
 Albert remarked the change, and he
 
 IN WOMAN. 63 
 
 observed, at the same moment, that 
 Mrs. St. Clair was amongst the spec- 
 tators. 
 
 They finished, and he led her to a 
 seat. 
 
 The elasticity of her mind ap- 
 peared completely exhausted by her 
 exertions. She was profoundly silent, 
 and a sigh, amounting almost to a 
 convulsion, once or twice agitated her. 
 
 Albert was astonished, but he did 
 not suffer that astonishment to ap- 
 pear. He began to suspect, that this 
 being — so lovely, — so young, — so 
 talented, — so endowed, — was op- 
 pressed by suffering of no common 
 nature. Such a suspicion could not 
 but increase interest, and inspire 
 curiosity. 
 
 Lockhart approached them, and 
 threw himself into a seat by the side 
 of his sister.
 
 64 VARIETIES 
 
 " The St. Clair this evening," said 
 he, ** is quite endimanchee, as the 
 French call it. Rouge and pearl- 
 powder are very attractive, are they 
 not ? She resembles that pupil of 
 Apelles, who, not being able to make 
 his Helen beautiful, determined, at 
 least, to make her fine. Her affecta- 
 tion is about as good a substitute for 
 grace, elegance, and vivacity, as 
 Henry the Eighth's deceptions artil- 
 lery at Boulogne was for real cannon. 
 To-night she appears inclined to sport 
 an air of infinite ease and non-cha- 
 lance, forgetting, at the same time, 
 that it is as dangerous for her to 
 throw aside her inflexibility, as it is 
 for the tortoise to thrust its head out 
 of its shell. How gay she is ! her 
 spangles are actually forming a wake 
 after her." 
 
 *' She is like the bolides in Cum?aia,
 
 IN WOMAN. 65 
 
 that are so bright and fiery, and that 
 leave after them luminous traces and 
 their phosphorescence," said Miss 
 Lockhart, suddenly excited to a pitch 
 of extreme vivacity. 
 
 -Who is Mrs. St. Clair?" de- 
 manded Albert. 
 
 ** Nobody'' replied Lockhart, who 
 was accustomed to describe all the 
 non-descript animals that are gene- 
 rally classed under the denomination 
 of men and women, by that name : 
 ** or, at least, she would be nobody, 
 were she not the wife of St. Clair." 
 
 " And who is he ?" asked Albert. 
 
 '* One," replied Lockart, 
 
 <' Whose life was gentle, and the elements 
 
 *' So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up, 
 
 <* And say to all the world, This was a man .'** 
 
 " Such was St. Clair! he is strangely 
 altered now, — a thousand curses on
 
 66 VARIETIES 
 
 that woman who has so changed 
 him !" 
 
 At this moment Mrs. St. Clair ap- 
 proached, and wished to know if Miss 
 Lockhart chose to waltz. 
 
 Catherine refused, with a look ex- 
 pressive at once of surprise, indigna- 
 tion, and contempt; Mrs. St. Clair 
 walked away. 
 
 " That woman seems to dare you 
 to the contest !" said Lockhart, after 
 a silence of some minutes. He walked 
 with his sister and Albert to the 
 circle that had formed round Mrs. St, 
 Clair, and an officer with whom slio 
 had just begun to waltz. 
 
 Joined to unusual height, Mrs. St, 
 Clair's form had a muscular breadth 
 and squareness that destroyed all ap- 
 pearance of contour. At ^ve and 
 thirty, firmness of sinews had dis- 
 placed the pliant grace of youth, Tall,
 
 IN WOMAN. 67 
 
 Stiff, and unbending ; a neck misera- 
 bly deficient in that exquisite tour- 
 nure, on which the grace of a figure 
 principally depends ; the total im- 
 mobility of expression ; the inelo- 
 quently white complexion ; the light 
 thin head of hair, its deficiency more 
 perceptible from the French costume 
 which it caricatured, — were decided 
 imperfections thrown into the most 
 glaring light. 
 
 '' A woman with luxuriant dark 
 hair, and full, bright, dark eyes, may 
 be a beauty as long as she lives, if 
 she has only variety of expression. 
 But those light, lamentably spare 
 locks, look dreadfully passe,'' said 
 Lockhart. " You should waltz, Kate ; 
 this is an actual throwing of the 
 gauntlet on the part of Mrs. St. 
 Clair." 
 
 ** I dare not," said Catherine, shak-
 
 68 VARIETIES 
 
 ing her head with an air of profound 
 humility and hopelessness; — ''' an- 
 tistat mihi millibus trecentis : parva 
 smn ; nulla sum ; altum nee spiro, nee 
 spero. Besides," — continued she, as- 
 suming an air and gesture perfectly 
 theatrical. 
 
 *' I am not fit for courts,- 
 
 I cannot cast 
 
 ** Unholy glances from a side-long eye, 
 
 " Or give my untouched body to the wreath 
 
 *' Of mazy dances, where all decency 
 
 ^' Is lost in Pleasure's 'wildered labyrinth." — 
 
 *' Always the same 1" said a voice 
 behind them ; it was Mr. St. Clair's. 
 
 Lockhart went away instantly, and 
 St. Clair occupied his place, by the 
 side of Catherine. 
 
 ^' I have been looking round these 
 apartments," said he ; ''I detect every 
 where marks of you ; their magnifi- 
 cence, their exquisite taste, the classiq
 
 IN WOMAN. 69 
 
 air that pervades them, all breathe 
 of you. This, and the assemblage of 
 wit, learning, virtue, and wisdom, 
 dispersed throughout, remind one of 
 Athens in its glory, — of Athens, when 
 it was distinguished by the appella- 
 tion of *' the Residence of the GodsT 
 
 *' You flatter," said Catherine, with 
 an air of affected indifference, " these 
 compliments only serve to remind one 
 of deficiencies." 
 
 *' How changed, and yet the same !" 
 said St. Clair, in a suppressed voice. 
 
 ** Do you remember," said Cathe- 
 rine, with an air of abstraction, '* do 
 you remember that remarkable sen- 
 tence in Bossuet's funeral oration on 
 the Prince de Cond6 ? — ' Ces colonnes, 
 qui semblent porter jusqu'au ciel 
 le raagnifique temoignage de notre 
 neant.' " 
 
 Albert observed them attentively ; 
 their eyes met ; perhaps never glance
 
 70 VARIETIES 
 
 expressed so much. There was a 
 tear in St. Clair's, but the dark hazel 
 of Ce^therine's became for an instant 
 glazed. 
 
 In a few moments she recovered 
 herself, and went on, still with an air 
 of abstraction. " How comes it, that 
 the young are frequently more im- 
 pressed with images of gloom than 
 the old ? Do you remember what 
 Cramer says, speaking of the divine 
 Klopstock's early melancholy, and his 
 gaiety at a more advanced period of 
 life ? — ' I could wish to know,' he 
 writes, * from what cause it arises, 
 that in many persons who are re- 
 markable for sensibility, and strong 
 powers of imagination, precisely that 
 period of life when the body is in its 
 greatest vigour, and the animal spirits 
 are the most lively ; when the pros- 
 pect of all the delights of honour and 
 friendship is most fair and blooming.
 
 -^ IN WOMAK. 71 
 
 and when the termmation of these 
 enjoyments appears at the greatest 
 distance ; that period is, however, 
 frequently the time of melancholy re- 
 flections, of familiarity with the grave, 
 and habitual contemplation of death V 
 Perhaps it is, that they anticipate 
 greater misfortune than others, and 
 consider death as the means of escape 
 from them. Such a contemplation 
 certainly divests it of its terrors. 
 Happy they who die in youth, inex- 
 perienced in the fallaciousness of hope, 
 unwounded by the disappointments 
 of sensibility, not blasted by the sud- 
 den gale of adversity, not seared by 
 the corroding hand of care.'" 
 
 '' Catherine, Catherine, you torture 
 me beyond endurance," whispered St. 
 Clair ; " spare me, for the love of 
 God. Do you think that / cun upon 
 a bed of roses T
 
 72 VARIETIES 
 
 Albert observed the whisper, but 
 he could not hear it. He saw the 
 silent anguish that ^appeared in the 
 countenances of both. He perceived 
 the pressure which St. Clair gave 
 the hand of Catherine, as he gently 
 removed it from his arm, and rushed 
 from the apartment. He watched 
 the bursting tear in her eye, and the 
 convulsive heaving of her form. He 
 witnessed that writhing of the lip, 
 that silent and inscrutable agony, 
 which is felt by none but the impas- 
 sioned and the enthusiastic. He 
 heard her laboured breathings, each 
 breath amounting almost to a sigh ; 
 he heard^he pitied — he was almost 
 indignant that any other than him- 
 self had the power of exciting such 
 emotion ; he envied him ; and yet he 
 wished to believe, that this was 
 the interest of friendship only.
 
 IN WOMAN. 73 
 
 CHAPTER Vll. 
 
 AFTER this evening, Albert ob- 
 served Miss Lockhart more closely 
 than ever. 
 
 If it were possible to avoid the St. 
 Clairs without appearing evidently 
 desirous of it, she always did so. 
 Although her countenance did not 
 change when their name was men- 
 tioned, it was obvious that it excited 
 an unusual feeling, and that consider- 
 able effort alone enabled her to repress 
 the appearance of it. She read a 
 great deal, and contrived never to be 
 unoccupied. Her conversations with 
 Beverley were extremely unreserved. 
 She appeared to delight in speaking 
 
 Vol. I. E
 
 74 - VARIETIES 
 
 with him on subjects, not generally 
 in the range of female research. But 
 she carefully restrained every sym|)- 
 tom of unhappiness ; she never al- 
 luded to it. She spoke frequently of 
 the great benefits she enjoyed above 
 others, and she was especially fond 
 of conversing on religious topics. 
 
 Beverley's affection for her in- 
 creased hourly, and the more he in- 
 dulged in her society, the more ne- 
 cessary it became to him. Sometimes 
 he forgot the existence of the St. 
 Clairs, and at others a thousand 
 doubts tormented him, which he de- 
 sired to dissipate by seeking her con- 
 fidence. As frequently he was pre- 
 vented by the recollection of the pain 
 the mention of them always caused 
 her. He felt that he deserved her, 
 but he felt also, that whilst her man- 
 ner preserved this quiet friendliness
 
 IN WOMAN. 75 
 
 and confidence towards him, he had 
 little chance of success. 
 
 Sometimes he was resolved to try 
 the effect of absence, and as often he 
 was prevented from the execution - of 
 that design by the fascination of her 
 manner, and the captivating genius 
 that pervaded her conversation. 
 
 The acknowledged talents of Miss 
 Lockhart attracted to their house men 
 of the greatest eminence in the lite- 
 rary world. With most of them 
 Beverley was already acquainted, and 
 he was pleased with their general so- 
 ciety. Many foreigners visited there, 
 and the variety of manner naturally 
 induced by this mixture of nations, 
 gratified the observer of human na- 
 ture. 
 
 In proportion as the superiority of 
 Catherine became more evident, the 
 passion of Beverley i'or her increased ; 
 £ 2
 
 76 VARIETIES 
 
 and as her mental sufferings became 
 more visible, his suspicions of St. Clair 
 returned with redoubled violence. 
 
 '' I do not w^onder," said he to 
 Lockhart, one day, " I do not wonder 
 at the general disgust the waltz in- 
 spires in England ; I am only as- 
 tonished that there are individuals 
 to be found who tolerate it, either by 
 endurance or practice." 
 
 " Aye, this is very well in you, 
 Beverley, but it would not do at all 
 in mey you know," said Lockhart ; *' I 
 cannot pretend to set up for a re- 
 former of manners, or a censor of 
 them. Now the waltz seems to me 
 a very delightful, graceful, enchant- 
 ing, intoxicating sort of affair, in 
 which I am always glad to join with 
 a young and pretty woman." 
 
 '' Your Miss Grafton waltzes, per- 
 haps ?"
 
 IN WOMAN. 77 
 
 '^ Who ? — Ella ? — Faith, no !— no 
 one would think of asking her, in the 
 first place ; and if they did, she would 
 not, I am convinced." 
 
 '' She wants, then, a principal 
 charm in your estimation ?" 
 
 '' Oh no, — not at all ; — on the con- 
 trary, that sort of thing would not 
 suit Ella Grafton. But, to say truth, 
 there is, on recollection, something 
 high and mighty about her, which I 
 should be quite as glad that my wife 
 should want. It would throw me 
 rather too much into shade, I fancy." 
 
 ** You intend then to break off your 
 engagement with her?" 
 
 " Engagement ! — - what engage- 
 ment r 
 
 " I recollect your calling on me 
 for congratulation, that such a woman 
 was to be yoursr 
 
 " Oh, aye, true, — but that was
 
 78 VARlfiTIES 
 
 only conditionally, that I could per- 
 suade her, and that I should continue 
 in the same mind. Consider, it is a 
 long time since I saw her ; I have 
 been in the sphere of a hundred girls 
 since, who, if they have not her 
 talents, suit me the better on that 
 account. No, I assure you, I do not 
 think of Ella Grafton now, more than 
 of my own sister." 
 
 Beverley sighed, and he recurred 
 to ivaltzing, 
 
 *' If you had ever seen it in Germany 
 you would not endure it in England," 
 said he. '' Mrs. St. Clair's exhibition 
 was a vile caricature of it." 
 
 " Mrs. St. Clair is a vile caricature 
 of every thing that is graceful and 
 fashionable," returned Lockhart ; '' she 
 is a stupid, ugly, heartless, insipid 
 woman." 
 
 *' Her husband appears a gentle-
 
 IN WOMAN. 79 
 
 manly, dignified character, and it is 
 difficult to conceive why he chose a 
 partner so opposite to himself." 
 
 " Aye, but know you not, Beverley, 
 ' there are more things in heaven 
 than are dreamt of in our philoso- 
 phy ?' — * Thereby hangs a tale,' of 
 which, however, I speak not." 
 
 " There are few men who would 
 choose to see their wives waltz, I 
 think," said Beverley. 
 
 " The St. Clair might waltz to the 
 devil, and he would not say her nay, 
 I believe. These things are ' mar- 
 vellous strange,' are they not ? — Per- 
 haps, St. Clair thinks women thrive 
 well on contradiction, and therefore 
 tries the effect of an opposite mode of 
 conduct." 
 
 " Is Mrs. St. Clair happy with 
 him?" 
 
 '■ No ; she never can be : it is im-
 
 §0 VARIETIES 
 
 possible. She knows that he under- 
 stands her thoroughly; and she knows, 
 consequently, that notwithstanding 
 the politeness, the attention, and the 
 courtesy which he always observes 
 to her, he cannot but despise her. 
 
 '' Lockhart," said Albert, after a 
 pause, — " my very agreeable visit to 
 your house must terminate to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 *' Nay ! — how ?" demanded Lock- 
 hart, with an air of extreme surprise, 
 and evident vexation. 
 
 '' You know," said Beverley, smil- 
 ing, '' that having once resolved, I. 
 am unpersuadable; — to-morrow I bid 
 you adieu." 
 
 Lockhart's embarrassment was ob- 
 vious. Beverley observed it, with- 
 out being able to penetrate the cause. 
 He felt that there was danger in re- 
 maining so near Catherine, — he feared
 
 IN WOMAN. 81 
 
 the mystery that hung over her, — 
 and he desired to try if absence would 
 weaken the impression she certainly 
 had made on him. 
 
 E 5
 
 82 VARIETIES 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 TO MISS GRAFTON 
 
 I KNOW not, my dear Ella, how 
 to reply to your question. — I scarcely 
 can decide whether the present 
 quietude of my mind, be resignation 
 or despair, — whether I am more tran- 
 quil, or only more careless of the 
 worst that can befall me.- — Has not 
 this worst already happened ? — Can I 
 suffer more ? — No, Ella, no ; it is but 
 a perpetual recurrence of the same 
 tortures ; — all that can be felt, I have 
 already endured. 
 
 What increase of pain do I not owe 
 to a heated imagination, a sensibi- 
 lity wrought to the most exquisite
 
 IN WOMAN. 83 
 
 pitch, and a substitution of feeling 
 for reason ! What is genius to the 
 possessor but an additional source of 
 misery, if unhappiness should be his 
 lot ? — It but increases his perception of 
 misery. The mind acquires, from the 
 indulgence of this pernicious sensibi- 
 lity, the same delicacy as the body of 
 that luxurious Sybarite, who was in- 
 convenienced by the folding of a rose- 
 leaf upon his couch. Man requires 
 a perpetual increase of mental 
 strength ; those pursuits that ener- 
 vate his reason, and heighten his 
 imagination, are fatally dangerous to 
 him. 
 
 And yet it is to this genius, and to 
 this heightened imagination that I owe 
 the only satisfaction I am capable of 
 enjoying. I feel, that fame, not- 
 withstanding the adverse circum- 
 stances that may tarnish its lustre, is
 
 84 VARIETIES 
 
 an abundant reward for the pains that 
 have procured it. The applause that 
 attends the exertion of man's nobler 
 faculties, is sufficient recompense for 
 them. Such has ever been the 
 opinion of philosophers. Hence, 
 when Lycurgus, the orator, had 
 delivered Xenocrates from the tax- 
 gatherers who were carrying him to 
 prison, and afterwards prosecuted 
 them for their insolence, the philo- 
 sopher said to the children of his 
 protector and avenger, '' I have 
 made a noble return to your father 
 for the service he did me ; for all the 
 world praise him for it." 
 
 " It is in pursuit more than in 
 attainment, that our pleasure now 
 consists," says Blair. I seek no 
 good on earth, because I know that 
 there is none within my grasp. My 
 sum of happiness has been blotted out
 
 IN WOMAN. 85 
 
 from the book of time. We are 
 amused with running after phantoms, 
 only whilst we believe them to be 
 tangible substances ; when we dis- 
 cover how impalpable, how illusory 
 they are, we turn from them with 
 disgust. All my hope of happiness 
 rests beyond the grave. To that 
 goal I am journeying with impatience. 
 All my actions tend to that one centre 
 of hope. I amuse myself with the 
 most exhilarating speculations on 
 eternity. I believe that I shall rise 
 again in this very body, however 
 purified and embellished; that I shall 
 recognize him whom I have so fondly 
 and so fatally loved here. We know 
 not — mortals cannot imagine — th^ 
 sentiments by which spirits are af- 
 fected. We have not the power of 
 comprehending how they can com- 
 municate with each other, deprived 
 of those organs by which we possess
 
 86 VARIETIES 
 
 that power. Consequently on their 
 affections we can only speculate by 
 what we at present feel. And I with 
 the Meta of the divine Klopstock, 
 '' feel that a brother whom I have so 
 '' long known, with whom I have 
 " been so long united, I should love 
 *' differently from all the inhabitants 
 " of heaven. Wiih. tenderness \ ^hovXdi 
 " love him." — Yes, I shall in eternity 
 love unrestrained him whom it is a 
 crime to love now. 
 
 It is a delightful idea, that the 
 present state of man is but the first 
 of a series of approaches towards that 
 Being who is the standard of per- 
 fection and happiness. — It is a felicity 
 to believe that I shall be associated 
 with him, whose soul even here has 
 always blended with mine ; in every 
 progressive state I thank God conti- 
 nually, that I have lived in the same 
 age with him, — that I have known
 
 IN WOMAN. 87 
 
 him. For a short space, Ella, I 
 believed that I had nothing to be 
 grateful for. Impious that I was! 
 what a source of enjoyment is that 
 capacity which it has pleased the 
 Omnipotent to bestow on me ! 
 
 I picture him to myself in various 
 stages of future existence, always in 
 the form that has been so dear to me 
 here. It seems no irrational imaofi- 
 nation. Whatever is a substance 
 must always continue a substance. 
 The chemist, in his experiments, 
 gives to one body a variety of shapes, 
 and, at length, by his skill restores it 
 to its original form. Man, when dis- 
 solved in dust, is still a substance; — 
 if his ashes be dispersed through the 
 universe, there is still substance, and 
 the idea of self-subs is rence. It is 
 easy, therefore, to imagine, that 
 we may rise again evei' ui the forms
 
 88 VARIETIES 
 
 we have worn on earth. Omnipo- 
 tence can effect whatever involves 
 not a contradiction ;— and to restore 
 what is still substance, to a different 
 comhination or mode of the same sub- 
 stance, is a consistent power, and 
 dependent only on the will of the 
 Almighty operator. 
 
 «' But not till Time has calmed the ruffled breast, 
 <^ Are these fond dreams of happiness confest. 
 " Not till the rushing winds forget to rave, 
 " Is heaven's sweet smile reflected on the wave." 
 
 I am calm, then, — I am resigned. 
 Sometimes, it is true, I cannot entirely 
 prevent criminal regret. I indulge- 
 in vain desires. I would fondly recall 
 the past, and mould the future to my 
 wishes. When I see him, — ah, Ella ! 
 this is surely a trial 1 — it tortures — it 
 agonizes me. — And yet my pride, — 
 my invincible pride, — makes me dare 
 it continually, and I smile and look
 
 IN WOMAN. 89 
 
 as indifferent as the wretched triflers 
 around me, whilst my heart is writh- 
 ing, — is bursting, under the pressure! 
 — You cannot conceive the despotic 
 government, the unceasing vigilance, 
 I am obliged to maintain over myself, 
 — the hours of reflection it costs me 
 to regain that calmness of which these 
 scarcely-endurable trials deprive me 1 
 But I will not shrink now, — I will 
 endure it to the end ! 
 
 Would that that end were nearer ! 
 — Would that I could feel the ap- 
 proach of that mighty and irresistible 
 monarch to whose dominion I would 
 so gladly bow \ — But God's will be 
 done ! — to his decrees I submit ! 
 
 I have talked to you a long time 
 of myself, Ella ; grief makes me an 
 egotist. You will forgive it. 
 
 Sir Albert Beverley left us this 
 morning. I regret his departure.
 
 90 VARIETIES 
 
 There are few characters that have 
 interested me more. Amongst his 
 other extraordinary qualities, he has 
 that decided attribute of a strong 
 mind, which Antipater remarked of 
 Aristotle, that *' of persuading people 
 to whatever he pleases." He may 
 be described in the words of M. Bar- 
 thelemi, applied to Pisistratus, *' Ja- 
 mais homme ne reunit plus des qua- 
 lites pour captiver les esprits. Une 
 naissance illustre, des richesses 'con- 
 siderables, une valeur brillante et sou- 
 vent 6prouvee, une figure imposante, 
 une eloquence persuasive, a la quelle 
 le son de sa voix pretoit des nouveaux 
 charmes ; un esprit enrich6 des 
 agr6mens que la nature donne, et des 
 connoissances que procure I'etude." 
 In his conversation with the female 
 sex, there is that gallantry of heart, 
 which one finds chiefly among the
 
 IN WOMAN. 91 
 
 southern nations of Europe, and the 
 very perfection of its tenderness in 
 France. The peculiar tone of his 
 mind resembles the auriferous pyrites, 
 varied v^ith alternate streaks of bright 
 and opaque, yet its prevailing appear- 
 ance sombre ; or fire-marble, the lu- 
 minous and splendid veins of which 
 are scattered, and perceptible only in 
 certain lights. His brilliancy appears 
 like native gold in a quartzy rock, 
 perceptible only at very remote in- 
 tervals. The v^^oman who once saw 
 the grandeur, the magnificence of his 
 countenance, the fire of his eye, and 
 the splendid intelligence that beams 
 in it, would worship it with devotion 
 as fond as that of the Romans towards 
 the eagle that glittered in the front 
 of their legions, and she would deem 
 it scarcely less impious to abandon it 
 in the hour of danger. To adopt the
 
 92 VARIETIES 
 
 idea of a modern celebrated poet, in 
 speaking of a contemporary one, 
 ** his beauty is like that of an alabaster 
 vase, which requires to be lighted up 
 before its perfection becomes visible." 
 In short, it is only a heart so withered 
 and so desolate as mine, that could 
 resist him. 
 
 You forbade me to speak to him of 
 you, and I have obeyed. What 
 actuates your conduct, at present, I 
 am, I confess, at a loss to discover. 
 You are completely impenetrable. 
 Whatever end you desire to attain, I 
 can only wish you success : I am sure 
 that it is honourable. 
 
 The chevalier Balermo has returned 
 to Italy, and has made some important 
 discovery concerning the pyramids 
 at Djiza, more particularly that of 
 Cheops. He is now on his way to 
 England, — to us, in short, — and comes
 
 IN WOMAN. 93 
 
 enriched with intaglios of the hiero- 
 glyphics in the temple of Apollino- 
 polis Magna, besides cork models of 
 that of Herraopolis, and the Cryptae. 
 His society will surely tempt you to 
 travel to us. I shall summon you 
 immediately on his arrival. 
 
 Do not think of your ancient tor- 
 ment, Lockhart. Other cares com- 
 pletely engross him. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Ella. Commend 
 me to your mother. 
 
 Catherine Lockhart.
 
 94 VARIETIES 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SIR Albert Beverley arrived at 
 home. 
 
 This was a name which had for- 
 merly imparted to him the same 
 cheering sensations which the idea of 
 it generally brings to the soul of the 
 traveller. But now it appeared cold 
 and comfortless. There was none to 
 welcome him, — no heart that throbbed 
 impatiently to greet him, — no steps 
 that flew to meet his approach. It 
 was late in autumn, and the falling 
 leaves,- — the gradual embrowning of 
 the trees, — the chill of the air, — were 
 felt keenly by him. It seemed as 
 if a friend had died with the summer. 
 In short, he felt that he was receding 
 every step from Catherine Lockhart.
 
 IN WOMAN". 95 
 
 He received the cold greeting of 
 the inanimate Miss Grafton with 
 additional disgust. He looked at 
 her now with a feeling little short of 
 aversion. He saw her quietude, and 
 he thought of the animation of 
 Catherine ; — he heard her common- 
 place remarks, and he remembered 
 the genius and the novelty that had 
 sparkled in Catherine's ; — he felt her 
 coldness, and he remembered Cathe- 
 rine's enthusiasm ; — he saw the frigi- 
 dity of her countenance, and he 
 remembered the incessant variety of 
 Catherine's. 
 
 With these recollections, there 
 came also one that pressed on him 
 more heavily than all, — the mystery 
 that hung over Miss Lockhart. 
 
 That he loved, he could not deny ; 
 — and that his love was hopeless, he 
 avowed to himself.
 
 96 VARIETIES 
 
 He resumed his former occupa- 
 tions, but they had lost the power of 
 interestmg him. He could no longer 
 absorb himself in theories and specu- 
 lations, when the contemplation of 
 realities would intrude on him. He 
 could not form plans for the benefit 
 of others, whilst his decision fluc- 
 tuated on the means of happiness to 
 himself. 
 
 Mrs. Grafton exerted all her talents 
 to dissipate the lassitude that visibly 
 hung over him. He received the 
 attempt with gratitude, and was 
 sometimes amused, for a short time, - 
 at the liveliness of her remarks, and 
 the worldly knowledge she possessed. 
 Besides her having resided for many 
 years on the continent gave her the 
 power of recalling some agreeable 
 recollections to the mind of Beverley. 
 
 But her vivacity never amused
 
 IN WOMAN. 97 
 
 liim for a long period, it was so 
 different from the grace of Catherine's. 
 What, abstractedly considered, ap- 
 peared entertaining, became insipid 
 when compared with that from which 
 he had formerly received so much 
 pleasure. It was from memory, that 
 he derived the greatest felicity, and 
 even this was mixed with a pro- 
 portionate degree of pain. 
 
 Indisposition also contributed to 
 overwhelm him with ennid. He was 
 obliged to confine himself entirely to 
 the house. Mrs. Grafton was sensi- 
 ble of the charms of what is generally 
 called good neighbourhood, and she 
 frequently enjoyed them. During 
 these absences, Sir Albert was left 
 always to the mercy of Miss Grafton. 
 
 In their first tete-a-ttte, he had 
 recourse to a book. Miss Grafton 
 immediately availed herself of the 
 
 Vol. I. F
 
 98 VARIETIES 
 
 privilege of imitating him. A violent 
 head-ache presently obliged him to 
 lay it aside. She closed her's in- 
 stantly. 
 
 " Do not let my presence inter- 
 rupt you," said Sir Albert, faintly 
 smiling. 
 
 '' It does not," she replied coldly. 
 
 *' Pardon me; you were reading 
 whilst I read, and it is an extremely 
 improbable co-incidence, that our 
 respective subjects should have 
 ceased to interest us precisely at the 
 same moment." 
 
 ** One must sometimes sacrifice to 
 politeness." 
 
 " Is there an absolute necessity?" 
 
 '' I do not know ; I am not a philo- 
 sopher. I have been told that it is 
 proper sometimes to sacrifice our 
 own inclinations to the comfort of 
 others."
 
 IN WOMAN. 99 
 
 " But do you really suppose, my 
 dear Miss Grafton, that I have more 
 comfort in seeing you devoured by 
 ennui, than in knowing that you are 
 interested by being occupied ?" 
 
 '' I never considered the questiono 
 It is sufficient for me, that I perform 
 what is required of me. If the means 
 do not attain the end I desired, that 
 is nothing to me. I thought they 
 were right, and to me they became 
 so." 
 
 " But if it is proved to you that 
 they are wrong, you surely do not 
 believe that it is right to persist in 
 them." 
 
 " Perhaps you deceive yourself in 
 imagining, that you would rather I 
 continued reading, or it may be only 
 an effort of politeness on your part to 
 say that you preferred it. I am not 
 a sophist or a logician. There is a 
 f2
 
 100 VARIETIES 
 
 certain line of right marked out for 
 me, and I do not choose to swerve 
 from it/' 
 
 '' But if it be proved to you that 
 your line is dravv^n in a wrong direc- 
 tion "— 
 
 '' That is not possible. A straight 
 line drawn either perpendicularly, or 
 horizontally, or diagonally, is equally 
 a right line. It can only be changed 
 by being curved." 
 
 " And if a curved line would facili- 
 tate your approach to the extreme 
 point, would it not be better to pro- 
 ceed by it?" 
 
 '' The route would be circuitous, 
 and consequently longer. That which 
 can be approached by a curved line, 
 can always be attained more readily 
 by a straight line." 
 
 *' You are a mathematician, I per- 
 
 ceive."
 
 IN WOMAN. 101 
 
 " If I had chosen the curved line, 
 perhaps from politeness I should 
 have agreed with you. As it is, I 
 have only to say, that you are mis- 
 taken ; — plain common sense so often 
 wears the semblance of excellent 
 logic, that it is not surprising one 
 sometimes takes one for the other." 
 
 Sir Albert was silent. He atten- 
 tively observed her countenance. Its 
 complete vacancy surprised, as much 
 as it disappointed him. There was a 
 mechanical action about it, which was 
 as remote as possible from vivacity 
 or animation. There was no play of 
 muscle, no brightening of the eye, no 
 flashes of intellect. In was calm even 
 in motion. 
 
 Nevertheless, he pondered fre- 
 quently on this his first conversation 
 with her. There was a sort of fasci- 
 nation about her, which as he himself
 
 102 VARIETIES 
 
 had affirmed, attracted the eye to her, 
 and prevented its ever after losing 
 the sight of her. There was a some- 
 thing uncommon, even peculiar in her 
 manner, — but so distinct from the 
 peculiarity of Catherine Lockhart's ! 
 
 He was glad, when, after an interval 
 of nearly a week, Mrs. Grafton's 
 absence again afforded him the op- 
 portunity of a tete-a-tete with Miss 
 Grafton. 
 
 She had a book, but it was closed. 
 
 '" I suppose. Miss Grafton," began 
 Sir Albert, " I must not again entreat 
 you to read." 
 
 '^ If you think it right to do so, of 
 course you will. It will be sufficient 
 for me to decline taking advantage of 
 your politeness." 
 
 *' Is it not a curious practice to be 
 so minutely scrupulous of right and 
 wrong, in such very trifles as these ?"
 
 IN WOMAN. 103 
 
 "' By carious you mean to express 
 ridiculous. If you consider it so, of 
 course to you it is so. It is our own 
 perceptions that must determine for us 
 the nature of our actions. To me it 
 seems that since a multitude of these 
 trifles swell the aggregate of a man's 
 actions, as a combination of atoms 
 composes the universe, it is proper 
 that we should take care to attend to 
 them as much as possible." 
 
 '' You have a 'peculiar manner of 
 considering subjects. You cannot 
 change this word so mischievously as 
 you have done my unfortunate curious,'' 
 
 " No, but this peculiar equally ex- 
 presses your disapprobation." 
 
 " Upon my honour, you wrong me," 
 said Sir Albert. 
 
 " Do not take the trouble to re- 
 move this impression. I assure you, 
 I am not in the least disturbed by it.
 
 104 VARIETIES 
 
 There would be an end to all dignity, 
 if one were to suffer one's self to be 
 affected by everybody who disagrees 
 with one in opinion. I am obliged, 
 however, by your wish to relieve me, 
 when you imagined I was uneasy." 
 
 Sir Albert smiled at the naivete 
 which had thus classed him with 
 every body. It must be confessed, 
 however, that if he were not displeased 
 by it, at least he heard it with no 
 agreeable sensation. 
 
 "Perhaps, since I cannot prevail 
 on you to read to yourself, you will 
 do me the favour to permit me to be 
 a partaker of your amusement, and 
 will read aloud." 
 
 '\ Certainly, — if it will oblige you," 
 replied Miss Grafton unhesitatingly. 
 
 ** Is it possible, that I have mistaken 
 this girFs disposition ? That her former 
 disobligingness had its source rather in
 
 IN WOMAN. 105 
 
 my own imagination, than in any dis- 
 inclination on her part ?" thought he, 
 and he listened with an attention 
 which nothing — not even a thought 
 of Catherine Lockhart, — disturbed. 
 
 That she read ivell, was his first 
 impression, — again, that she read un- 
 commonly well, — and lastly, that she 
 read in a manner totally distinct from 
 that of other people, and infinitely 
 superior. 
 
 He looked, — where he had so often 
 looked with disappointment, — ^at her 
 countenance. Immoveable, inex- 
 pressive as usual ! It was, indeed, 
 turned from him as much as possible 
 not to prevent his distinctly hearing, 
 and her eye-lid was considerably de- 
 pressed. Once he fancied that a 
 beam so brilliant burst from her eye, 
 as for a moment entirely to change its 
 character. But a second glance con- 
 F 5
 
 106 VARIETIES 
 
 vinced him that it was only its own 
 fixed, black brightness. 
 
 *' And this excellence is mecha- 
 nical!" thought he,— '' and after all 
 that I have expected, she has no soul, 
 — no feeling; — a common-place, un- 
 loving and unloved being !" 
 
 A note was brought by a servant 
 to Miss Grafton. She opened it im- 
 mediately, and having read it, put it 
 into the hand of Albert. 
 
 *' I am very glad, my dear Miss 
 Grafton, to inform you, that I have 
 returned to my new mansion, because 
 it is in your neighbourhood. This is 
 not a compliment, and you will be- 
 lieve me, because you know me ; — 
 cynics do not flatter. Desire me to 
 come to you as soon as possible, that 
 I may get a little more in charity
 
 IN WOMAN. 107 
 
 with the world again. Nothing can 
 produce such an effect so soon as 
 your society. I say continually to 
 myself, ' Je connois a present les 
 hommes; cependant, je ne les hais 
 point, mais je ne saurois les estimer. 
 Je leur veux, et je leur fais du bien 
 sans espoir de recompense.' — You 
 see, I improve under your tuition, 
 and am now but half a savage. The 
 increasing demoralization of mankind, 
 however, prevents my reforming 
 wholly. London is the grand theatre 
 where all their vices and their follies 
 find space for exertion. You observe 
 I have, by courtesy to you, separated 
 vices and follies into two classes. 
 That is a point, however, which we 
 must still argue. I consider it cri- 
 minal to throw away time ; the follies 
 that dissipate it are the means of this 
 end, and therefore partake of its cri-
 
 108 VARIETIES 
 
 minality. We must discuss this sub- 
 ject at large, when we meet. 
 
 " I have returned sooner than I 
 mentioned to you ; the reason is 
 obvious. I no where meet with any 
 society which gives me so much plea- 
 sure as yours.' You perceive how 
 selfish a principle regulates our con- 
 duct. I long for the time, when our 
 
 ' Sermo oritur, non de villis doraibusve alienis ; 
 
 * Nee male necne Lepos saltet : sed quod magis 
 
 ad nos 
 
 * Pertinet, et nescire malum est, agitamus : 
 
 * utrumne 
 ' Divitiis homines, an sint virtute beati ; 
 
 * Quidve ad amicitias, usus, rectumne, trahat nos: 
 
 * Et que sit natura boni, summumque quid ejus.' 
 
 " How does Euclid? — I have a very 
 fine edition of Klopstock ; I hope the 
 works of this inimitable poet will 
 increase our ardour in the attainment 
 of this fine language. I agree entirely 
 with you in your disapprobation of
 
 IN WOMAN. 109 
 
 Kotzebue. His pathetic periods, and 
 affecting sentiments, engage our feeJ- 
 ings completely on the side of the 
 person for whom he wishes to interest 
 us; and by his art in gaining our sen- 
 sibility and our imagination to his party, 
 he prevents the exercise alike of our 
 reason and our principles. It is safer 
 to listen to him in the closet, than in 
 the theatre. In the latter, all our 
 passions are more forcibly excited. 
 Hurried along by the splendor of the 
 spectacle, we cannot stop to analyse 
 what so forcibly engages our atten- 
 tion, and we retire impressed with the 
 propriety of the emotions which have 
 been excited. 
 
 " I intended only to write a note in- 
 forming you of my arrival. It is 
 swelled into a letter. You will for- 
 give it, because it is principally your 
 fault. If you were less admirable, I
 
 110 VARIETIES 
 
 should have less inclination to address 
 you. 
 
 I beg that you will tell sir Albert 
 Beverley, his quondam tutor has pur- 
 chased a residence in his neighbour- 
 hood, and intends personally to renew 
 the intimacy that has so long existed 
 between them, by calling on him at 
 noon to-morrow. 
 
 I shall be glad to find your health 
 better. Present my compliments to 
 Mrs. Grafton, and believe that I ex- 
 pect the moment of seeing you with 
 impatience. 
 
 I am, 
 Your's most sincerely, 
 
 George Falconer. 
 
 P. S. Perhaps it would be better 
 that you should show sir Albert this 
 letter. It will save me the trouble 
 of explaining to him the change which
 
 IN WOMAN. Ill 
 
 a mischievous elf in your shape, has 
 contributed to effect in me. You 
 have a mind above being affected by 
 what I can say of you, and w^ill not 
 fear being suspected of vanity.
 
 112 VARIETIES 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ALBERT read over Doctor Fal- 
 coner's letter several times. For this 
 man he had always a high veneration. 
 He respected his uncommon talents, 
 and even loved him for his prejudices. 
 The manner in which the doctor ad- 
 dressed Miss Grafton sufficiently in- 
 dicated his estimation of her talents. 
 
 ** She is a learned woman, perhaps," 
 thought Beverly ; and he revolved in 
 his mind all the disagreeable ideas he 
 had formerly entertained against this 
 unfortunate class of females. 
 
 ** She certainly is not a pedant," he 
 reflected next,—" she is as remote as 
 possible from display; — perhaps ex- 
 cessive pride."
 
 IN WOMAN. 113 
 
 This idea, once excited, was not 
 easily dissipated ; Miss Grafton's cold- 
 ness, reserve, inflexibility, monotony 
 of manner, were all accounted for by 
 this single word. Perhaps Sir Albert 
 Beverley was not sorry to have his 
 speculations on her character decided 
 so easily. 
 
 '' Learning and pride," thought he, 
 '* were just the qualities to attract a 
 man of Doctor Falconer's stamp. He 
 would be fascinated by them. I have 
 heard him declaim for hours on the 
 too great facility of women. He dis- 
 likes a female who can be approached 
 by every body, and receives the ad- 
 dress of each with equal affability. 
 He would not distinguish the power 
 of repelling those who have been at- 
 tracted from that of not attracting at 
 all. In short, he would not perceive 
 the infinite superiority of Catherine
 
 114 VARIETIES 
 
 Lockhart to such a woman as this 
 mathematical Miss Grafton." 
 
 And the idea of Catherine Lock- 
 hart, once distinctly presented to his 
 mind, dwelt there. He fondly re- 
 collected the sort of imaginative grace 
 that pervaded her manner. He re- 
 called the haughty vivacity which 
 kept the fancy of every one at play, 
 whilst it made each sensibly feel his 
 own inferiority, and sometimes com- 
 pelled him to shrink into positive di- 
 minutiveness. He remembered the 
 brilliancy of her beauty, the bright- 
 ness of her countenance, its incessant 
 change, and the contrasted appear- 
 ances it bore. In fancy, he heard 
 again the accents of her voice ; they 
 thrilled to his heart ; they smote every 
 nerve ; he thought on the pathos with 
 which she had quoted Cramer's de- 
 scription of Klopstock, — and this re-
 
 IN WOMAN. 115 
 
 collection immediately presented to 
 him the form of St. Clair. 
 
 At this point began all the mystery 
 that had separated him from Cathe- 
 rine. Her idea, though almost con- 
 stantly present with him, always 
 brought pain with it, for it was always 
 connected with St. Clair. A thou- 
 sand suspicions floated in his brain, 
 without his being able to select one as 
 probable. Her evident misery seemed 
 not that of guilt, but of innocence 
 struggling with severe and almost 
 insupportable misfortune. Her viva- 
 city was not of the heart, it sprang 
 from a luxuriant imagination which 
 could not be restrained, but which 
 affected only her manner. Her bril- 
 liant genius served but to contrast 
 the deep shade of unhappiness, and 
 the dignity of her uncomplaining sor- 
 row, — the very act of restraining its
 
 116 VARIETIES 
 
 appearance, indicated by the con- 
 tracted brow, and the convulsive agi- 
 tation of her form, — were ever before 
 him. 
 
 The longer he was absent from her, 
 the more his heart was attracted to 
 her. He saw her in every part of 
 nature. He endeavoured to dissipate 
 his attention on a variety of objects ; 
 but it was as if he had broken into a 
 thousand pieces a mirror that reflect- 
 ed an image which he wished to 
 avoid : instead of being obliterated* 
 the reflection was multiplied. 
 
 '' This Miss Grafton," thought he, 
 " with her rigidity of countenance, 
 resembles a raw recruit, whose fea- 
 tures are under the control of disci- 
 pline, and have been so long accus- 
 tomed to obey the word of command, 
 ' eyes right,' ' eyes left,' that they 
 are completely drilled to the beat of
 
 IN WOMAN. 117 
 
 the drum!— And I am obliged to en- 
 dure her society after Catherine Lock- 
 hart's !" 
 
 A very natural question next sug- 
 gested itself to him, '' what obliged 
 him ?" 
 
 Now there was no authority in 
 existence that could say to Sir Al- 
 bert Beverley, " you shall go there," 
 or " you shall remain here." He 
 exulted in the conviction of his own 
 freedom, and he had just arrived at 
 the resolution of returning to Cathe- 
 rine Lockhart, — of demanding from 
 her a solution of the mysteries that 
 disturbed him, — of ascertaining whe- 
 ther that heart were free which he so 
 ardently desired should beat only for 
 him ; when Doctor Falconer entered. 
 
 " I am heartily glad to see you," 
 said the Doctor, after the first saluta- 
 tion, " and rejoice to find myself
 
 118 VARIETIES 
 
 in your neighbourhood. Do not, 
 however, for a moment suppose, that 
 this inducement made me settle here. 
 No ; — I am not a man to flatter, and 
 I confess to you that no one but your 
 young ward so much interests me, as 
 that I should consider her society 
 equivalent to all the beauties of pros- 
 pect and situation to be found at 
 Keswick." 
 
 " I am glad you have discovered 
 so much attraction in Miss Grafton ; 
 — I honour your perseverance and 
 your penetration," said Sir Albert, in 
 a tone which expressed the irony he 
 used. 
 
 *' Don't be petulant. Sir Albert, 
 don't be petulant; you know, I am 
 not an admirer of womankind gene- 
 rally. I think with Plautus, ' qui 
 in amore precipitavit, pejus perit 
 quam qui saxo salit,' and I believe
 
 IN WOMAN. 119 
 
 that the most exact definition of the 
 character the husband sustains in 
 married life, is given by the sultan 
 who says to the Turkish princess on 
 her nuptials, '' Daughter, I give thee 
 this man for thy slave." However, 
 the gunner to his linstock, the steers- 
 man to his helm. As a woman, no 
 woman interests rae. As an extra- 
 ordinary creature, I admire Miss 
 Grafton, but I am not come here to 
 speak to you of her or any woman, if 
 you do not wish it." 
 
 '' But just now, my dear Sir, my 
 head is filled with nothing else." 
 
 " Seriously, and soberly, my dear 
 Sir Albert, are you in love ?" 
 
 " Seriously and soberly, then, with 
 my hand on my heart, I answer, I 
 am. 
 
 '' You are? — Miss Grafton has it! 
 I knew, she must! — I knew it was
 
 120 VARIETIES 
 
 impossible any man could live in the 
 same house with her without being- 
 captivated by her !" 
 
 " Does my being in love involve, 
 as a necessary conclusion, that Miss 
 Grafton is my object ?" 
 
 " Certainly, certainly ;— you have 
 been living with her, and it is the 
 most natural incident in the world." 
 
 " My dear Sir, you mistake; — I 
 am not in love with Miss Grafton." 
 
 Doctor Falconer was silent from 
 extreme astonishment. 
 
 '' I see, you wonder at such an 
 avowal, and believe me our surprise 
 is reciprocal. I am as much amazed 
 at your imagining it for a moment 
 possible, that Miss Grafton is a 
 woman I could love, as you can be 
 that she is not the woman I do love." 
 
 '' Proceed, sir Albert, proceed." 
 
 *' No, my dear sir, not until I per-
 
 IN WOMAN. 121 
 
 ceive in you a more favourable dis- 
 position towards me than at present. 
 Pardon me, I cannot repress a smile. 
 You are angry that I do not love the 
 woman in whom you have found some- 
 thing to admire !" 
 
 " Something! — say xzXh^v every thing 
 — every thing that man ever can ad- 
 mire. Sir, no other woman deserves 
 to be compared to her. And youf 
 you had this gem at your disposal, — 
 you might have secured it, and you 
 basely throw it away for a thing — 
 how far below it !" 
 
 Sir Albert knew the Doctor's tem- 
 per, and he suffered him to proceed 
 without interruption. 
 
 " On this point I had placed my 
 happiness ! What a fool a man is, 
 when he calculates securely on any- 
 thing which depends on another's 
 caprice 1 — * Sir Albert Beverley,' said 
 
 Vol. I. G
 
 122 VARIETIES 
 
 I> * my pupir — how proud have I been 
 of such a pupil ! — but that is all over ! 
 — I shall never boast of it again! 
 * My pupil,' said I, * by the greatest 
 good fortune imaginable, is thrown 
 into the way of this incomparable 
 girl ; this Miss Grafton 1 I know him ; 
 he would certainly be for popping 
 his head into matrimony some of these 
 days, and it is as clear as possible 
 now that he will marry her ! ' — And 
 all my congratulations were prema- 
 ture and ridiculous ! — You are going 
 to throw yourself away on some fine- 
 lady affected woman of fashion, 
 whom / shall never notice; that, at 
 least, is certain. Zounds ! Sir Albert 
 Beverley, tell me candidly, is it not 
 enough to drive a man mad, when he 
 sees his pupil, the very being whose 
 mind he has helped to form, on the 
 high-road to making a fool of him- 
 self."
 
 IN WOMAN. 123 
 
 Albert preserved hk gravity and 
 his composure ; he sat quietly ex- 
 pecting v^hat was yet to be said, 
 wisely determining to hear the whole 
 before he replied to any part. 
 
 Doctor Falconer took snufF, and 
 after a silence of about three minutes' 
 duration, abruptly demanded, " and 
 pray J Sir Albert Beverley, if I may 
 presume to ask the question, who is 
 the lady ?" 
 
 Beverley was silent. 
 
 " I am an impertinent, inquisitive 
 old fellow, I confess. Excuse me, 
 excuse me, people of my stamp have 
 not generally all their wits about 
 them on such occasions as these." 
 
 " My dear sir, when you are quitei 
 calm enough to hear me, I am ready 
 to tell you all. There is nothing I so 
 much desire as to give you my con- 
 fidence, and entreat your advice." 
 G 2
 
 124 VARIETIES 
 
 *^ Well, well, I confess it was ridi- 
 culous enough in me to be angry that 
 you have not fallen in love with the 
 woman I expected you would do. 
 Don't, however, expect me to listen 
 in patience to a relation of your 
 love for a being who 
 
 " Nee tamen ante adiit etsi properabat adire, 
 " Quam se composuit quam circumspexit amic- 
 
 tus, 
 " Et finxit vultum, et meruit Formosa videri." 
 
 " It is my private opinion, that, as 
 Menander says, ' malum est mulier, 
 * sed necessarium malum.' I do not 
 publicly avouch this, because I be- 
 lieve in such a case the ladies would 
 limb me, as the Bacchse did Orpheus. 
 It has been considered as a refine- 
 ment of cruelty to tear a man piece- 
 meal with wild horses ; but what was 
 poor Damien's case to that of being 
 demolished by infuriated women ?
 
 IN WOMAN. 125 
 
 There is no more comparison between 
 the two, than there is between being 
 kicked to death by a butterfly, and 
 entangled in the fly wheel of a steam- 
 engine ; between letting the tribute 
 money fall on your toe, and being ex- 
 tinguished by the burthen of Atlas ; be 
 tween the silent lapse of the sand in the 
 housewife's hour-glass, and the mighty 
 swell of the tempestuous ocean, when 
 ' the labouring bark climbs hills 
 * Olympus high, and ducks again as 
 ' low as to the fiends ;' between a man's 
 being hustled by a gang of pick- 
 pockets, and a planet's being jostled 
 by a crowd of comets ; between the 
 Lord Mayor's state-carriage and the 
 equipage of Queen Mab ; between — " 
 
 " Such a being as you have des- 
 cribed I do not love,'* interrupted Sir 
 Albert. 
 
 '* Nothing,*' continued the Doctor,
 
 126 VARIETIES 
 
 " can give an adequate idea of the fury 
 of these Bacchse ; Ovid labours for it 
 when he says, 
 
 '* Sed neque fulvus aper media tam fulvas in ira 
 est 
 «* Fulmineo rapidus dum rotat ore canes 
 " Nee leo." 
 
 *' Nothing can give an idea of so 
 terrific a Jinale. There may be a si- 
 milarity of situation it is true ; Her- 
 cules, for instance, was at sea in an 
 earthen pitcher, and Nelson in a hun- 
 dred gun ship ; yet each was the cap- 
 tain of his vessel. In short, sir, ad- 
 mirable women are as scarce as fine 
 days in January." 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied Sir Albert, 
 *' and therefore we should the more 
 highly prize one when we find her." 
 
 " True, and therefore Miss Gral^ 
 ton—" 
 
 ** And therefore Catherine Lock-
 
 IN WOMAN. 127 
 
 hart is precisely the woman I intend 
 to marry/* 
 
 *' Catherine Lockhart V 
 
 Doctor Falconer was silent; his 
 extreme astonishment was visible in 
 every line of his countenance. 
 
 ''Catherine Lockhart!" he ex- 
 claimed a second time. 
 
 " My dear sir," said Albert with 
 impatience, '' such is the fact. Spare 
 these expressions of surprise. If you 
 know Catherine Lockhart, tell me in 
 what manner you know her ; there is 
 much concerning her of which I de- 
 sire to be informed. She appears to 
 me talented, gifted beyond women in 
 general. There is nothing common- 
 place, nothing uninteresting about 
 her. It is impossible that the feelings 
 can be tranquil in her presence; one's 
 imagination is constantly excited by 
 her ; she steals in the heart by every
 
 128 VARIETIES 
 
 possible avenue ; there is no resisting 
 her. Beyond all the world, she is 
 captivating and enchanting. Her 
 beauty is, perhaps, her least fascina- 
 tion ; certainly it derives its greatest 
 power from the intellect that is visible 
 in her countenance." 
 
 " Her haughtiness," — began the 
 Doctor, 
 
 "Naturally results from a compa- 
 rison of herself with the triflers around 
 her. Placed in a circle of intelligent 
 and cultivated people, Catherine Lock- 
 hart has an attentive, listening mo* 
 desty, which is the more attractive, 
 because all the world is aware that 
 she is equal with the choicest spirits 
 there." 
 
 ** Modesty!'' said the testy old gen- 
 tleman, with an expressive frown ; 
 *' modesty is doubtless the probable 
 disposition of a girl like that, — spoiled
 
 IN WOMAN. 129 
 
 by learning, by wit, by beauty, by 
 admiration, in short by every thing 
 that gives to woman the power of 
 tormenting. Sir, I tell you the giving 
 her credit for such an attribute, is a 
 proof of as great discernment as the 
 ancients possessed, who assigned the 
 sovereignty of the serener atmosphere 
 to the virago, Juno !" 
 
 " Permit me to observe, sir," said 
 AlberJ:, '' that I believe I am better 
 acquainted with Catherine Lockhart 
 than you are." 
 
 *' So every lover thinks. Every 
 lover imagines that he knows and 
 understands his object better than 
 any other person. It is natural to a 
 man suffering under your malady. 
 Thank heaven, sir, I can speculate on 
 your complaint with the satisfaction 
 of a physician who prescribes for an 
 g5
 
 130 VARIETIES 
 
 indisposition with which he is totally 
 unacquainted, except in theory." 
 
 " Quid est enimtemeritate turpius ?' 
 said Albert quickly, in the words of 
 Cicero, " aut quid tam temerarium 
 tamque indignum sapientis gravitate 
 atque constanti^, qtiam aut falsum 
 sentire, aut, quod non satis explorate 
 perceptum sit et cognitum, sine ull4 
 dubitatione defendere ?" 
 
 " Well, come, I allow that it is 
 quite fair," replied the doctor smiling; 
 — " I have recovered my temper; 
 and now let me hear all about 
 yourself and Kate Lockhart, as con- 
 meted therewith. 
 
 *' Permit me to ask first, what in- 
 formation c^n i/ou give me respecting 
 Miss Lockhart?" 
 
 '* Very little. I know the family ; 
 generally, it is a bad family alto-
 
 IN WOMAN. 131 
 
 gether. The mother, a scheming, 
 forward, dashing woman of quality, 
 studious to repair the ravages of age, 
 by inefficacious arts, and, like the 
 Helen of Euripides, bestowing all her 
 care on that beauty which was her 
 entire occupation in youth. — The son 
 a dissipated, idle, vain, mischievous 
 rake, — a compound of art and vice ; 
 boasting even of his faults, and yet, 
 when it serves his purposes, appear- 
 ing all modesty, and candour and 
 simplicity. The daughter, infinitely 
 too good for such a mother, I allow. 
 It was commonly thought among the 
 ancients, that the quince affords an 
 excellent antidote against poisons. 
 So the strength and purity of Miss 
 Lockhart's mind are, in the circle in 
 which she is placed, an antidote to 
 the horrible looseness and depravity 
 that surround her. She has feeling,
 
 132 VARIETIES 
 
 — and imagination, — and genius ; 
 — but she wants reason, — She is 
 the creature of impulse, — led away 
 by every specious appearance, and, 
 discoursing most eloquent * music' 
 lo any one who will be at the 
 trouble of touching the chord. When 
 I knew her, she was devoted to a 
 Mr. St. Clair ; — their acquaintance 
 began, I believe, in Italy. You may 
 judge what love would be in such a 
 woman. Sir, it was passion, — en- 
 thusiasm, — madness. She gave up 
 her whole soul to it. Every feeling 
 was absorbed in it. She no longer 
 esteemed or cared for any other being; 
 .she seemed to exist but through him. 
 I have seen them together. I have 
 witnessed that intense watchfulness 
 of his least action,— that evident par- 
 ticipation in his least emotion, which 
 must be seen to be understood. Soon
 
 IN WOMAN. 133 
 
 after their return to England, St. 
 Clair married another. He forsook 
 this woman, who had had princes at 
 her feet, and rejected them all for 
 him. Catherine Lockhart's mind, I 
 understand, never afterwards regained 
 its usual tone. There is a sort of 
 unhealthy restlessness about her, 
 which approaches nearly to insanity." 
 
 *' Good God!" interrupted Sir 
 Albert, '' what are you saying, sir ?" 
 
 " The simple truth. She is no 
 longer the same being. There is a 
 bustling sort of vivacity about her 
 which evidently affects only her man- 
 ner whilst her heart remains deadly 
 cold. I have once heard her laugh 
 since this fatal event occurred. I 
 shall never forget the sensation with 
 which I listened to her. The most 
 piercing scream of agony never im- 
 parted to me an idea of half the pain
 
 134 VARIETIES 
 
 this laugh expressed. It was so un- 
 natural, — so broken. It contained such 
 bitter derision of self, such despair, 
 such agony. Sir, it seemed the 
 laugh of a maniac." 
 
 *' A maniac!''' exclaimed Sir Albert, 
 in agony ; — "a maniac ! for God's 
 sake, sir, recall the word." 
 
 ''It is fact. I am convinced that 
 her mind was wrought to momentary 
 delirium. Can you not conceive how 
 deeply that misery must sink into 
 the heart, every appearance of which 
 is so carefully repressed ? It will 
 drink up the life-blood, sir, and the 
 sufferer will, at last, find the only 
 refuge left to her — the grave." 
 
 "The grave ! — the gram I — oh , 
 Catherine!" sighed Sir Albert, — 
 concealing his head in his folded arms. 
 
 "I observed these symptoms,*' 
 resumed Doctor Falconer, " sooa
 
 IN WOMAN. 135 
 
 after St. Clair's marriage. Since 
 then, I am told. Miss Loekhart more 
 resembles her former self. I firmly 
 believe it, because I am sure it is im- 
 possible for any human being to exist 
 long in such a state as she was at 
 that time." 
 
 *' How long is it since Mr. St. 
 Clair's marriage?" demanded Sir 
 Albert. 
 
 " Nearly two years. Since then. 
 Miss Loekhart has constantly met 
 himself and his wife in society, with- 
 out any symptom of emotion, ex- 
 cept, I am informed, that her manner 
 towards Mrs. St. Clair is always 
 marked by peculiar haughtiness. I 
 am not surprised at it. The lady is a 
 compound of inherent vulgarity, ac- 
 quired affectation, and contemptible 
 meanness. What could possibly in-
 
 136 VARIETIES 
 
 fluence St. Clair is a mystery which 
 time alone can devdope." 
 
 " I cannot wait so tardy a dis- 
 closure," said Sir Albert ; — ''I am 
 resolved to return to Lockhart's. 1 
 am pledged not to make proposals to 
 any woman until I have been ac- 
 quainted with her six months. Three 
 have just elapsed since I first knew 
 Catherine Lockhart. The remaining 
 three shall be occupied in endeavour- 
 ing to understand her thoroughly, 
 and to penetrate those circumstances 
 apparently inexplicable. St. Clair's 
 desertion could not be occasioned by 
 any diminution of his love for her. I 
 have seen them together, and I have 
 witnessed in him the most hopeless 
 passion, and in her, — I know not, I 
 will not think what I have imagined 
 in her."
 
 IN WOMAN. 137 
 
 " And you are resolved to prefer 
 this woman to one who, with as much 
 genius, has ten times more power of 
 exerting it !" said the Doctor. 
 
 ** My dear sir, love is a sentiment 
 so independant of these considera- 
 tions ! it ,is impossible to compare, 
 and to analyse, and to decide ac- 
 cordingly as that comparison and that 
 analysis shall result. It is sufficient, 
 that to be loved by Catherine Lock- 
 hart 1 would sacrifice every other 
 hope in existence. In the attainment 
 of such an end, I shall spare no ex- 
 ertions. I shall return immediately 
 to Lady Mary Lockhart's. I will 
 endeavour to conceal from Catherine 
 the sentiment that animates me. I 
 will observe her accurately." 
 
 " And if the result of your obser- 
 vations should be a conviction that 
 your case is altogether hopeless" —
 
 138 VARIETIES 
 
 Sir Albert sighed as he listened to 
 the suggestion. — '' I will immediately 
 quit England," said he. 
 
 "Ye gods! — quit your country, 
 because you cannot succeed in gain- 
 ing the heart of a foolish, romantic 
 woman, from a man who ought to 
 have lost it the moment he proved 
 himself unworthy of it !" — 
 
 " My dear sir, I know in affairs of 
 the heart, that ought is so little at* 
 tended to !"— 
 
 *' More shame on them ! — Ought 
 one's principles of moral rectitude 
 ever to be sacrificed? Our rule of 
 right and wrong differs exceedingly, 
 I perceive. Once, indeed, I believed 
 that you would never choose to 
 succeed any man in a woman's affec- 
 tions !" 
 
 " True, most true ! — Once I believed 
 so myself. It is only since I have
 
 IN WOMAN. 139 
 
 known Catherine, that I have thought 
 differently. Perhaps, — undoubtedly, 
 I would prefer being the first who 
 had inspired her with love. That 
 now is impossible, I must be content 
 with the good within my reach." 
 
 '' My dear Sir Albert, believe me, 
 you do not understand the good that 
 is within your reach — Miss Grafton." 
 
 " If you desire that I should in- 
 deed think well of her, never speak 
 of her after Catherine Lockhart." 
 
 Doctor Falconer shook his head^ 
 disdaining to reply. 
 
 " When do you leave us then in 
 this wild-goose chace ?" he demanded, 
 after a short silence. 
 
 '* In a few days. To confess the 
 truth, independently of every other 
 consideration, I shall not be extremely 
 sorry to get out of the way of that
 
 140 VARIETIES 
 
 tame, impenetrable, silent Miss 
 Grafton." 
 
 ** Silence imputed to a woman as^ a 
 crime !" said the Doctor with an air 
 of mingled anger and astonishment.
 
 IN WOMAN. 141 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 SIR Albert Beverley arranged to 
 leave home four days after this con- 
 versation with his friend. 
 
 On the morning of that day, doctor 
 Falconer again called on him. They 
 went into the library. It was already 
 occupied. 
 
 " Hey-day, Miss Grafton!" said 
 the doctor, " I wished to talk to you. 
 But of late you have been always 
 employed, when I should be glad to 
 engross your attention for half an 
 hour." 
 
 " That is your misfortune, not my 
 fault," replied Miss Grafton, coldly ; 
 " you come intempestivo as great 
 scholars have it.
 
 142 VARIETIES 
 
 " A pedant ! — At length I have 
 gained a clue to this incomprehen- 
 sible !" thought Sir Albert. 
 
 " May I ask what is your present 
 occupation ?" demanded the doctor. 
 
 " I am reading. I will give you a 
 catalogue of my subject, in the words 
 of an author, who enjoyed the greatest 
 celebrity from the time of the 
 publication of his work, during 
 more than half a century, and then 
 for a long period, ' proh pudor ! ' 
 sunk into oblivion. Thanks to the 
 plagiarisms of Messrs. Sterne, &c. &c. 
 its popularity is, at present, restored, 
 and its excellencies are allowed ! — ^^I 
 am reading, then, ' the ordinary ru- 
 
 * mours of wars, plagues, fires, inun- 
 
 * dations, thefts, murders, massacres, 
 ' meteors, comets, spectrums, prodi- 
 
 * gies, apparitions, of towns taken, 
 ' cities besieged in France, Germany,
 
 IN WOMAN. 143 
 
 * Turkey, Persia, Poland, &c. daily 
 ' musters and preparations, and such 
 ' like, which these tempestuous times 
 ' afford, battles fought, so many men 
 
 * slain, monomachies, shipwrecks, 
 
 * piracies, and sea-fights, peace, 
 
 * leagues, stratagems, and fresh alarms 
 ' — a vast confusion of vows, wishes, 
 
 * actions, edicts, petitions, law-suits, 
 
 * pleas, laws, proclamations, com- 
 
 * plaints, grievances ; — new books, 
 
 * pamphlets, currantoes, stories, whole 
 
 * catalogues of volumes of all sorts, 
 ' new parodoxes, opinions, schisms, 
 ' heresies, controversies in philosophy, 
 ' religion, &c. Now come tidings of 
 ' weddings, maskings, mummeries, en- 
 ' tertainments, jubilees, embassies, 
 
 * tilts and tournaments, trophies, 
 
 * triumphs, revels, sports, plays : 
 ' then again, as in a new shifted scene, 
 
 * treasons, cheating, tricks, robberies.
 
 144 VARIETIES 
 
 ' enormous villanies in all kinds, fu- 
 ' nerals, burials, death of princes, new 
 ' discoveries, expeditions ; now co- 
 ' mical, then tragical matters. To 
 ' day we hear of new lords and offi- 
 
 * cers created, to-morrow of some 
 ' great men deposed, and then again 
 
 * of fresh honours conferred : one is 
 ' let loose, another imprisoned : one 
 ' purchaseth, another breaketh : he 
 
 * thrives, his neighbour turns bank- 
 ' rupt ; now plenty, then again death 
 ' and famine ; — one runs, another 
 ' rides, wrangles, laughs, weeps, &c. 
 ' &c.' Envy me the infinite variety." 
 
 " Bravo! — this tirade is a thousand 
 times better than the simple poly- 
 syllable newspaper. And then the 
 variety I — Oh, how Sir Albert enjoys 
 it," exclaimed the doctor in rapture. 
 
 " A pedant, verily !" thought Be- 
 verley, and he looked again in her face. 
 
 II
 
 IK WOMAN. 145 
 
 Its character was completely 
 changed. The vivacity of its expres- 
 sion harmonized exactly with the 
 excessive rapidity and forcible mo- 
 dulations of her voice. But it was 
 entirely the animation of manner. He 
 allowed to himself, for the first time, 
 that her face was decidedly hand- 
 some ; but it wanted a principal 
 charm, — the play of soul, — of mind. 
 In short this exuberant vivacity was 
 purely animal, and had not a single 
 grace which belongs to intellectual, 
 
 ** I envy you. Miss Grafton," said 
 he, ** not so much because you have 
 been enjoying this variety, but be- 
 cause so few accidents appear to have 
 the power of disturbing you." 
 
 '* That is true, my dear," said the 
 doctor ; " people jostle against you 
 continually, and yet you are never 
 disturbed." 
 
 Vol. I. H
 
 ]46 VARIETIES 
 
 *' I proceed with my quotation,'* 
 replied Miss Grafton, reclining indo- 
 lently on the ottoman, — *' amidst the 
 *' gallantry and misery of the world, 
 " jollity, pride, perplexities, and cares, 
 ** simplicity and villainy, subtlety, 
 " knavery, candour and integrity 
 '' mutually mixt and offering them- 
 *' selves, I rub on, privus privatus : as 
 '' I have still lived, so I now continue, 
 *' statu quo prius, left to a solitary life, 
 " and mine own domestic discontents ; 
 '^ saving that sometimes, ne quid men- 
 ** tiar, as Diogenes went into the city, 
 " and Democritus to the haven, to 
 " see fashions, I did, for my recrea- 
 '^ tion now and then walk abroad, 
 *' look into the world, and could not 
 *' choose but make some little obser- 
 *' vat ion, non tarn sagax observator, ac 
 '' simplex recitator, not as they did, to 
 *' scoff and laugh at all, but with a 
 '* mixed passion :
 
 IN WOMAN. 147 
 
 " Bikm scepe jocum vestri movere in* 
 " multiis,'" 
 
 ** I did sometimes laugh and scoff 
 '' with Lucian, and satyrically tax 
 '' with Menippus, and lament with 
 '* Heraclitus." 
 
 Sir Albert sighed profoundly. It 
 was impossible to detect the source 
 of that sigh, still less of the laugh that 
 immediately broke from Miss Graf- 
 ton, 
 
 Beverley started, — it was such a 
 laugh as had never before smote on 
 his ear, — so elfish, so piercing. A 
 hundred mischievous spirits seemed 
 winged on it. Her countenance had 
 again changed. It was as if he had 
 traversed a dark apartment, and in 
 an instant a thousand glittering flam- 
 beaux had flashed there. Its sudden 
 irradiation impressed him with a sen- 
 station of amazement bordering on 
 H 2
 
 148 VARIETIES 
 
 horror. It seemed as if in every 
 lineament, 
 
 " There lurked a still, and dumb-discoursive 
 
 devil, 
 " Tempting most cunningly.'*— 
 
 He endeavoured to shake off the 
 feeling she had inspired, but it clung 
 to him, it fastened on him resistlessly. 
 Magic, the most powerful sorceress^ 
 could not have produced a more com- 
 plete impression. It seemed as if 
 Miss Grafton had the power of Pro- 
 teus, and could assume at will, forms 
 the most opposite. She had suddenly- 
 started from her former self into a 
 new being. The very spirituality, 
 the subtlest essence of intellect, per- 
 vaded every feature, every limb. It 
 seemed as if she had all the treasures 
 of the world of imagination in her 
 control, and selected from them what 
 stores she chose, assigning to each
 
 IN WOMAN. 149 
 
 separate grace what situation she 
 pleased. It was as if she had hitherto 
 been cVad in the disguise of a coarsely- 
 woven garment, and, on throwing it 
 off, beamed with innumerable bril- 
 liant jewels, radiant as the sun. No 
 transformation was more sudden, or 
 produced greater effect. From that 
 moment the mind of Sir Albert never 
 lost the traces of it. It appeared as 
 if in that instant she fixed her hand 
 on him, and never afterwards loosened 
 the pressure ; she gained an unplea- 
 sant but irresistible influence over 
 him which he could not shake off. 
 
 These sensations succeeded each 
 other with the rapidity of lightning. 
 The revolution of his mind scarcely 
 occupied a momentary space. Miss 
 Grafton, without the pause of more 
 than a second, continued, " I am the
 
 150 VARIETIES 
 
 lesg affected by this jostling of the 
 crowd, as you call it, because I know 
 * there has always existed a; secret 
 ' and general league of fools against 
 ' men of understanding, and of me- 
 ' diocrity against superior talents.'" 
 
 " And this," thought Beverley ; 
 " this is the way in which a retentive 
 memory supplies deficiency of inteU 
 lect, and poverty of idea ! What is this 
 quoting but the most detestable pla- 
 giarism and pedantry? It is a dis- 
 graceful assumption of talents which 
 she does not possess, and of labours 
 and researches which cost her no- 
 thing. Oh, Catherine ! one spark of 
 thy native and original genius is worth 
 whole volumes of such arrogant pre- 
 tensions as these !" 
 
 It appeared from the countenance 
 of Doctor Falconer, that he thought
 
 IN WOMAN. 151 
 
 Tery differently ; he rubbed his hands, 
 took snufF, and exhibited every ap- 
 pearance of extreme satisfaction. 
 
 ** That is not a new idea," said he, 
 " but it is well expressed : this is all 
 we can expect ; we know * nihil dic- 
 * turn quod non dictum prius : metho- 
 ' dus sola artificem ostendit.'" 
 
 ** And that is why I am so seldom 
 affected by admiration," said Miss 
 Grafton quickly ; " it is invention and 
 originality that naturally excite : this 
 sentiment. On this ground we prefer 
 the ancients. So much has already 
 been said on every subject, that what 
 is to be again written, on that subject, 
 is rather a combination, or an epi- 
 tome, of what has formerly appeared, 
 than something before new, and un- 
 imagined. When every idea of which 
 ja, subject is susceptible, has been ex- 
 hausted in illustration or argument.
 
 152 VARIETIES 
 
 we are certain, that for admiration of 
 genius we must substitute respect for 
 talent and accurate arrangement." 
 
 *' True, true,— admirable, — excel- 
 lent, by Jove!" exclaimed the Doctor; 
 ** I know not whom you would choose 
 for your model, but — " 
 
 " Oh, the most perfect being I could 
 find, certainly," replied Miss Grafton 
 with vivacity ; ''to acquire a high 
 point of exaltation, we 'must always 
 aim at a higher point. The eagle can 
 never reach the sun, but by his tower- 
 ing efforts he acquires a power of 
 flight beyond that of any other bird." 
 
 *' Inimitable !" exclaimed the Doc- 
 tor. 
 
 " You very generously part with 
 the stores of your mind," said Beverley 
 sarcastically. 
 
 " It is not the praise of a man, but 
 of a money-chest, to keep treasure
 
 IN WOMAN. 153 
 
 without diminution," replied Miss 
 Grafton, adopting the idea applied to 
 Aristides by Themistocles. 
 
 "This is the very galimathias of 
 learning !" thought Beverley. 
 
 But Doctor Falconer was every 
 moment more delighted. He drew 
 Miss Grafton " nothing loth," to 
 further exhibition. She talked of 
 the sistrum of the Egyptians, and 
 compared it with modern musical in- 
 struments ; then she spoke of the 
 Abyssinian messer cano, and the war- 
 whoop of the Chippeways ; the pla- 
 netary lyre of Apollo, and the harp of 
 Miriam and David. From music she 
 travelled to costume, because the 
 principal female figure, in the paint- 
 ing that covered the ceiling of the 
 library, wore on her neck a fantastic 
 wreath of roses. She spoke of the 
 roman garlands, formed of roses of 
 H 5
 
 154 VARIETIES 
 
 PflBStum, fastened to lindenbark* 
 Then she spoke of botany, and the 
 misapplication of the modern term 
 botanist, by which the Greeks 
 denoted weeders of gardens, and she 
 expressed a wish that the proper 
 term Rizotomous might become general . 
 Then she touched on female charms, 
 and spoke of the thirty points of 
 beauty ascribed to Helen by Gio- 
 vanni Nevizano. Then the melody 
 of the Pentameter verse introduced a 
 well expressed regret that the works 
 of Mimnermus, its inventor, whom 
 Horace prefers to Callimachus, were 
 lost. This brought Homer into 
 igervice, and she panegyrised Lycur- 
 gus for having been the first to col- 
 lect his poems into one body. Ly- 
 curgus introduced Numa, and by a 
 sort of retrograde motion, Numa led 
 to Romulus and his credulous fond-
 
 IN WOMAN. 156 
 
 ness for divination. Here she con- 
 trived to introduce the idea of a 
 celebrated author, — *' in the single 
 art of inventing miracles, modern 
 Rome excels the ancient." — She 
 spoke of the Scandinavian mytholo- 
 gists, — of their association of marriage 
 and liberty, — their considering the 
 terms synonymous, — and committing 
 the guardianship of both to the god- 
 dess Freia. At length having enu- 
 merated nearly all the gods in the 
 Pantheon, the classical lady retired, 
 modestly affording her auditors an 
 opportunity of applauding her memory 
 and her reading. 
 
 ''Well, Sir, weir— began the 
 Doctor, " if you call this tameness, 
 and impenetrability, and silence, you 
 and I assign very different significa* 
 tions to the same terms." 
 
 •' Miss Grafton bew^ilders me/*
 
 156 VARIETIES 
 
 replied Sir Albert ! — *' she is not to- 
 day what she was yesterday, and I 
 can by no means calculate on what 
 she will be to-morrow. Silence! I 
 know not if the very insipidity of 
 which I formerly complained, be [not 
 preferable to this loud and obtrusive 
 pedantry, this exhibition of reading, 
 and parade of learning. I shall never 
 forget the manner in which she has 
 appeared to me to-day. It is im- 
 possible to conceal from myself, that 
 she has impressed me in no common 
 degree, and I tell^ow, that that im- 
 pression is no less unpleasant than 
 forcible. You must have observed 
 that laugh of her's." 
 
 *' What particular laugh ? — She 
 often laughed/' 
 
 *'And is it possible," thought 
 Beverley, " that that sound which 
 pursues me continually, was not dis-
 
 IN WOMAN. 157 
 
 tinguished as peculiar, by the only 
 person who heard it besides myself? 
 Doctor Falconer," he continued 
 aloud, " I cannot like Miss Grafton, 
 she inspires me with feelings of aver- 
 sion, of which I am ashamed, because 
 they are inexplicable. I cannot im- 
 part to your mind, the most remote 
 conception of the idea mine retains of 
 her. That laugh, that horrid laugh, 
 seemed the exultation, of a daemon, I 
 had nearly said, — at least, of a mali- 
 cious being who exists only in ima- 
 gination: its bitter derision, its in- 
 expressible combination of mischief, 
 will never be forgotten by me : it 
 was as if the fiercest spark had been 
 extracted from a hundred meteors, 
 and the amalgama had been made to 
 flash for a moment, and had then 
 been withdrawn for ever. I see that 
 I astonish ypu. I confess, my pre-
 
 158 VARIETIES 
 
 judice appears almost unaccountable 
 to myself. It is sufficient, however, 
 that I am aware of its existence, and 
 of the impossibility of removing it*" 
 
 *' This from you !" said the Doctor ; 
 " I shall no longer be a sceptic on 
 any point ; I shall no longer refuse 
 assent to the most improbable posi^ 
 tion! I could not have credited it 
 from other lips than your own. I 
 could not have believed you so much 
 the creature of prejudice and fancy. 
 I could not have imagined that you 
 would have admitted a prepossession 
 against any human being, — above all, 
 against a woman, — because the tone 
 of her laugh happens to displease 
 your ear 1" 
 
 " It does, I acknowledge, it doe^i 
 appear most ridiculous, most con- 
 temptible, most unworthy of me. 
 Nevertheless, the fact does exist. No
 
 IN WOMAN, 159 
 
 laugh ever impressed me with such 
 sensations as that ; it was so inhu- 
 man, so unnatural. I am no fatalist, 
 you know I am not. But I believe 
 there is an original, a native, a for- 
 cible antipathy in my nature against 
 Miss Grafton. As the daughter of 
 my father's friend, I would protect 
 her, and befriend her to the utmost of 
 my power, but never willingly will 1 
 inhabit, for any long period, the 
 house in which she resides." 
 
 " Most strange and unaccountable!" 
 said the Doctor, and there ensued a 
 long and meditative silence in both 
 parties. 
 
 '* I am now going to Catherine 
 Lockhart," resumed Beverley; " from 
 her, I shall receive happiness or 
 misery. It is not probable that my 
 loss of her will entail eternal hope- 
 lessness on me, but at least it will
 
 160 VARIETIES 
 
 deprive me of actual felicity. I have 
 made up my mind to the worst. If 
 my admiration, my affection for her, 
 had before been susceptible of in- 
 crease, the decided contrast Miss 
 Grafton is to her, would have im- 
 pelled it to its utmost height." 
 
 Doctor Falconer was silent. — That 
 afternoon Beverley again quitted his 
 home ; if any thing could have driven 
 from his mind the recollection of the 
 scene in the library, it would have 
 been the usual quietude and coldness 
 of Miss Grafton's countenance, which 
 had never been more apparent than 
 at the moment when he made his 
 adieux to herself and her mother.
 
 IN WOMAN. 161 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 TO MISS LOCKHART. 
 
 I AM as inexplicable to myself, my 
 friend, as I am impenetrable to you. 
 I scarcely know what end I desire to 
 attain ; I am perfectly convinced 
 only, that it is something absolutely 
 unattainable. 
 
 You had drawn a fascinating por- 
 trait of Sir Albert Beverley; I ex- 
 pected something uncommon, some- 
 thing to be admired, venerated, and 
 esteemed. What did I find ? A crea- 
 ture made up of prejudices and fan- 
 cies, — of common-place sentiments, 
 and vulgar ideas ; one, in short, who 
 comprehends me as little as I desire 
 to be comprehended by him.
 
 162 VARIETIES 
 
 You never were so deceived in your 
 appreciation of character, Catherine ; 
 or rather, is it that the material dif- 
 ference which always existed between 
 us, and which we ourselves have so 
 often perceived, operates in this in- 
 stance also, and affects our percep- 
 tions in such a point ? 
 
 Sir Albert Beverley, [instead of the 
 original of that portrait you have 
 sketched, I find to be a man on whom 
 I could play what strain I pleased, 
 without his detecting that my hand 
 produced the sound. He is not a 
 trifler, — he is not a modern man of 
 fashion, — he is not a smooth, unmean- 
 ing courtier. Nevertheless, I am 
 unable to distinguish what he is, 1 
 know only, that he is not the man 
 whom I could ever love. 
 
 That part of your letter which in- 
 terests me most, relates to yourself.
 
 IN WOMAN. 163 
 
 My dearest Catherine, — my chosen 
 friend, — what a course of conduct 
 are you pursuing ! You are sacrificing 
 your mind, your energies, your ge- 
 nius, even your life, to a man who, 
 whatever he formerly might have 
 been, became unworthy of you the 
 moment he gave to another that si- 
 tuation which ought to have been 
 yours alone. Do you not remember 
 those lines in Corneille ? 
 
 *' Si nos feux sont egaux, mon exemple l*or- 
 
 donne, 
 " Ou d'etre k la Daphnis, ou de n'fetre a per- 
 
 Sonne.'* 
 
 It seems to me, Catherine, that in 
 every action of your life, you substi- 
 tute feeling and imagination for rea- 
 son, and act on so delusive a theory. 
 It is a fatal mistake. You have loved, 
 — I can imagine how ardently. You 
 were deceived. Is it possible that
 
 164 VARIETIES 
 
 this sentiment could continue when 
 you found another preferred to you ? 
 Where was your pride, your dignity, 
 your self-appreciation ? A high-mind- 
 ed woman forgives every thing rather 
 than the preference of an unworthy 
 rival. None could be more offended 
 against than you in this point. The 
 woman preferred to you fell far be- 
 neath the most remote comparison. 
 It was degrading, doubly degrading, 
 to be displaced by such a one. It 
 argued so powerfully the worthless- 
 ness, the littleness of him whom you 
 had loved. It placed you in the most 
 degrading light, by affording to the 
 w^orld an opportunity of judging you 
 from her who had been preferred to 
 you. And yet you persist in loving 
 the man who so abased you ! There 
 is a vast difference between us ! , From 
 that moment ipy heart WQuld hs^va
 
 IN WOMAN* 165 
 
 loathed, would have spurned him. I 
 should have regained full possession 
 of myself, and never again have 
 lost it. 
 
 This could not have been a solitary- 
 instance of baseness in him. The 
 mind of man does not attain such a 
 pitch of exquisite villany by one step. 
 He must have proceeded gradually, — 
 he must, in fact, have served his ap- 
 prenticeship to it by a series of minor 
 attempts. 
 
 It is for this being that you are 
 weary of life ! that you disregard all 
 the beautiful and the sublime in na- 
 ture and in existence ! You cease to 
 value the blessings within your reach, 
 because one means of happiness, which 
 you desired, is withholden from you ! 
 
 Is this the temper of a philosopher? 
 can we argue wisely on the pre* 
 cariousness of all human good; can
 
 166 VARIETIES 
 
 we affect to be convinced of the 
 ^lightness, the frangibility of the te- 
 nure by which we hold all sublunary 
 felicity, — and yet resign ourselves ta 
 hopelessness, because we lose a part? 
 You appear to consider death with 
 the indifference of one, to whom the 
 contemplation has become habitual. 
 Recollect, death is the penalty we pay 
 for life. If it had not been peculiarly 
 terrible and severe, would it have 
 been selected as the punishment of 
 man's principal transgression ? It is 
 not a little to quit for ever the bloom- 
 ing charities of life, to inhabit the cold, 
 dark, cheerless grave; to lose per- 
 ception ; to know that this wonderful 
 structure will crumble into dust ; that 
 the many avenues of felicity formed 
 by our organization are closed for 
 ever ; that we are about to enter on a 
 world unknown, which even the most
 
 IN WOMAN. 167 
 
 comprehensive imagination cannot de- 
 fine ; that we shall be no longer sus- 
 ceptible of those affections which con- 
 stitute so much of our happiness here ; 
 that we shall have arrived at the point 
 where all pursuit must terminate, 
 where the possibility of amendment 
 is withdrawn : these are dreadful 
 considerations, Catherine. I question 
 if our escape from the greatest misery 
 that can oppress mortality, can dis- 
 perse the terrors of such a prospect ! 
 
 You suffer : I know it. I can enter 
 into your feelings. You have told me 
 a thousand times that when you loved, 
 the passion became incorporated in 
 your nature ; that your whole system 
 was changed ; that you seemed to 
 have acquired a new existence ; in 
 short, that you lived through St. 
 Clair. — He married ! 
 
 Oh, Catherine, that one word de-
 
 168 VARIETIES 
 
 scribes all your sufferings. His love^ 
 his life, his vows were given to ano- 
 ther ! another was publicly selected, 
 the object of his wishes, the hope, the 
 star of his life ! and the world was to 
 point you out deserted and humi- 
 liated ! to insult you by its pity, or 
 to revenge itself for the sense of its 
 inferiority to you, by open exultation ! 
 I know your situation in your family ; 
 you were alone; an impassable line 
 separated you from the beings amongst 
 whom you lived. You lost St. Clair, 
 and were desolate ! 
 
 How I congratulate myself on the 
 possession of your friendship, when I 
 recollect the honest pride which ena- 
 bled you to assume that appearance 
 of haughty indifference which re- 
 pelled, at once, the pity and the 
 exultation of the world! You conti- 
 nued yourself, — you put on the sem-
 
 IN WOMAN* 169 
 
 blance of happiness, — and rendered 
 both the one and the other needless. 
 It was a triumph worthy of you. — 
 You deluded the cold, the heartless, 
 the formal, and, above all, your be- 
 trayer, into a belief of your felicity. 
 A thousand-fold increase of real agony 
 would be amply compensated by this 
 conviction. Whatever you suffer, — 
 whatever torture wrings you, — one 
 thought may elevate your head, and 
 quicken your pulse with joy — " the 
 world knows it not !" 
 
 This \$ a species of enjoyment which 
 will never be mine. In such a case 
 I should have no misery to conceal. 
 The moment of desertion would be 
 the last of love. The man who, for 
 an instant prefers another, can be 
 nothing to me. 
 
 *' Ce corps n'enferme pas une ame si commune; 
 *' Je n'ai jamais «ouffert qu'elle me fit la loi, 
 «< Et toujours ma fortune a dependu de moi.'* 
 
 Vol. I. I
 
 170 VARIETIES 
 
 *' L'ame doit se roidir plus elle est menaeeey 
 
 " Et centre la fortune, alier tete baissee, 
 
 " La chequer hardiment, et, sans craindre la 
 
 <' mort, 
 " Se presenter de front a son plus rude effort." 
 
 Dearest Catherine, rouse yourself; 
 think only that St. Clair has married, 
 — that his wife is a woman who drags^ 
 him from the elevated circle of su- 
 perior minds, to the level of the mass. 
 — You never loved this man as he 
 really is ; — on the contrary, you have 
 been devoted to an imaginary excel- 
 lence which he does not possess, but 
 which is yet to be found. — Suffer 
 your mind to exert itself, and rise 
 superior to your fortune. 
 
 I rejoice in the expected arrival of 
 the chevalier Balermo. I read ac- 
 counts, in every periodical work, of 
 the progress he has made in his dis- 
 coveries. I am extremely desirous
 
 IN WOMAN. 171 
 
 of seeing him. Do not suspect that 
 this desire will influence my visit to 
 you. Believe me, no additional mo- 
 tive is wanting, when I have the 
 prospect of seeing you. 
 
 As to Lockhart, — ha il capo a grilli, 
 as the Italians say; and I think I 
 may defy his utmost ingenuity in the 
 art of tormenting. 
 
 Sir Albert will precede my letter. 
 You are still under an injunction of 
 silence. 
 
 Ella Grafton. 
 
 1 2
 
 172 VARIETIES 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CATHERINE LOCKHART ^as 
 
 not changed. She was precisely the 
 same brilliant, restless, beautiful wo- 
 man that had captivated Sir Albert 
 Beverley. 
 
 Daily he became more devoted to 
 her. Her eccentricities ceased to 
 annoy him. He had overcome the 
 first painful emotion they excited ; 
 and in the same manner as the eye be- 
 comes accustomed to the personal de- 
 fects continually presented to it, so he 
 ceased to regard them as deformities. 
 
 Perhaps even they gave her an 
 additional interest. There was so 
 much apparent carelessness about her ; 
 such an indifference to opinion ; an
 
 IN WOMAN. 173 
 
 open defiance of the world, and an 
 independence of action peculiar to 
 herself. Yet this position of mind 
 was so totally distinct from any thing 
 7nasciili)ie; it was an intrepidity pro- 
 duced by circumstances, — not the 
 rough offspring of a rude and boister- 
 ous nature. Her very levity differed 
 from that of others ; sometimes it 
 seemed a mockery of herself; the 
 produce of contempt for the world, 
 and of herself who permitted any 
 thing in such a world to affect her. 
 Her wit, in its most playful character, 
 retained the stamp of a despairing 
 heart. Compared with that of people 
 in general, it was the sombre, splendid 
 grandeur of Sicilian amber, contrasted 
 with the flashy gaudiness of the 
 Prussian. The sudden bursts — the 
 breaks — in her countenance, were like 
 flashes of lightning over a murky, yet
 
 1:74 V ARIDITIES 
 
 gjrapd inass (Qf clouds. — Perhaps this 
 ^culiarity — this originality — were, 
 ,i^ regftrd to Sir Albert Beverley, her 
 greate&t fascination. 
 
 His observation of her became every 
 day rmore minute. He began fully to 
 JMnderstand her weaknesses and defi- 
 jciencies. These rendered her ^ore 
 interesting rath.er than otherw^ise; 
 ^Thd pejrhaps such a feeling is natural. 
 I^ seemed to imply a dependance-— ^ 
 .hfC^plessness, which was ine;?£:pressibly 
 e»,(}e^iAg. Her sense of her own 
 fpiblesoipeirated forcibly, and appealed 
 continually to his teart. He desired 
 U) Jj^e fcer protector, and his feelings 
 toward§> her had more tenderness 
 wljien he considered his relation to 
 her in that character, than if there 
 had been a perfect equality between 
 
 S^Hiietimes he deluded himself with
 
 IN WOMAN. 175 
 
 the hope that the former quiet friend- 
 liness of her manner to him, no longer 
 existed, and that her reserved and 
 guarded expressions proceeded from 
 dawning partiality. He was mis- 
 taken. It had not escaped her pene- 
 tration, that he attended assiduously 
 to her slightest indications of emotion; 
 and, conscious of the state of her own 
 mind, she carefully evaded his obser- 
 vations. 
 
 Once or twice Beverley had intro- 
 duced the mention of the St. Clairs. 
 He looked at her intently as he did 
 so. He observed the smothered sigh, 
 and the compression of the lips ; the 
 sudden trembling of her form, and 
 the deathly paleness of her counte- 
 nance. But she soon recovered her- 
 self, and in the delight of her conver- 
 sation, he forgot that he had reason 
 to be dissatisfied with her.
 
 176 VARIETIES 
 
 Five months had elapsed since the 
 comiTiencement of his acquaintance 
 with her. To the termination of the 
 next, he looked forward with increas- 
 ing hope. He desired to offer him- 
 self unequivocally to her, and to end 
 his uncertainty by her decision. 
 Lockhart evidently exulted in the 
 conviction of Sir Albert's partiality 
 to his sister, and Lady Mary encou- 
 raged it by every means in her 
 power. 
 
 During the period that had yet to 
 elapse, his attentions to Catherine 
 became more decided. She was not 
 in the habit of analyzing the motive of 
 that which appeared to her merely 
 the result of the intimacy that ex- 
 isted between Sir Albert and her 
 brother. Her conduct to him scarcely 
 ever suffered the slightest variation : 
 it was distinguished by a desire of
 
 IN WOMAN. 177 
 
 enjoying his society, naturally pro- 
 duced by the pleasure an intercourse 
 with a highly cultivated mind must, 
 give. « 
 
 At this period, — so interesting and 
 so important to Beverley, — he was 
 one morning, as usual, seated by 
 Catherine in her boudoir. They 
 were conversing on Italy and Rome 
 particularly, when the entrance of a 
 servant interrupted them. 
 
 He brought a note to each. They 
 were cards of invitation from Mr. and 
 Mrs. St. Clair to an entertainment at 
 the petites Thuilleries, which was 
 the name of their residence, in cele- 
 bration of the anniversary of their 
 wedding day. 
 
 Beverley fixed his eyes on Cathe- 
 rine. 
 
 Hers were fixed and glassy. There 
 was not a single roseate tint that 
 I 5
 
 178 yAflJETI£$ 
 
 dispersed the marble hue of her coun- 
 tenance. Her lips were glightjy 
 opened, pale and parched. She ap- 
 peared to breathe with difficulty. 
 She endeavoured to smile, but it 
 seemed the effort of convulsion. 
 ^cSir Albert affected not to notice 
 her agitation. He continued the 
 conversation which the arrival of these 
 cards had interrupted. Catherine's 
 emotion prevented her observing that 
 his sentences were hurried, and in- 
 terrupted, — and that his thoughts 
 often appeared to wander. 
 
 Hie evening came. It was the ninth 
 of June. The setting of a brilliant 
 sun shed its radiance on the face of 
 nature, as the Lockhart family pro- 
 ceeded to the seat of Mr. St. Clair. 
 Beverley sat directly opposite to
 
 IN WOMAN. 179 
 
 Catherine in the carriage. There 
 was an exuberant vivacity in her 
 manner that pained him even more 
 than composed sadness could have 
 done. Her eyes were unusually bril- 
 liant, and the settled bloom of her 
 cheek was evidently artificial. 
 
 When Beverley assisted her out of 
 the carriage, he felt her hand tremble 
 exceedingly. Suspicion of the cause 
 prevented his noticing it. A feeling 
 allied to indignation affected him. 
 He was jealous of her sentiments. 
 He desired to possess her confidence. 
 He felt that the person who loves, 
 although he may not be able to se- 
 cure a return of affection, deserves, 
 at least, this indulgence ; he ought 
 to be told the reason that prevents 
 his attaining happiness. 
 
 They entered the rooms, and Ca-^ 
 therine appeared to have regained 
 composure.
 
 180 VARIETIES 
 
 Beverley,notwithstanding his anger^ 
 could not but admire the lirmness of 
 her step, and the erect and even 
 haughty dignity of her figure. He 
 understood the sentiment of exul- 
 tation that thrilled through her. She 
 rejoiced in the complete mastery she 
 had gained over her feelings, and she 
 felt her superiority to the beings that 
 fluttered around her, in the invisible 
 line that separated her from them. 
 
 To Mrs. St. Clair her manner was 
 coldly and proudly polite. She de- 
 clined dancing, and wandered with Sir 
 Albert about the rooms. 
 
 The gardens were beautifully de- 
 corated as a scene of amusement to 
 those who preferred the coolness of 
 the open air. Many rambled over 
 the singularly magnificent grounds. 
 Beverley accompanied Catherine. 
 The night was delicious. Scarcely a
 
 IN WOMAN. 181 
 
 breath stirred in the heavens, and the 
 mournful notes of the nightingale 
 were sometimes distinguishable above 
 the noise of the revellers. The 
 music from within was improved by 
 the distance, and by the dispersion of 
 the sounds. Every thing conspired 
 to soften the soul. Beverley was 
 softened ; he looked at Catherine ; a 
 tear, a tear trickled down her cheek. 
 
 It was the first he had ever seen 
 her shed. It inexpressibly affected 
 him. There wanted but this com- 
 pletely to subdue him. Never had 
 she appeared to him so entirely 
 feminine, a soft, tender, attaching 
 woman. He forgot her eccentricities, 
 her brilliant genius, his own suspi-r 
 cions; he felt only her beauty and 
 her tears. 
 
 " Catherine!" he whispered gently, 
 for it seemed to him that the moment
 
 182 VARIETIES 
 
 on which his future happiness hung, 
 was arrived. 
 
 '' Dearest Catherine!" 
 
 She started; — he felt her trembling 
 arm as it leaned on his. He himself 
 was powerfully agitated. She ap- 
 peared desirous of speaking ; but the 
 tenderness of his voice unnerved her ; 
 perhaps, it awakened recollections; 
 her tears flowed faster. 
 
 A gay group, at this instant, rushed 
 from the po7^te fenStres of the saloon; 
 they were desirous of dancing in the 
 grounds; Beverley and Catherine 
 were separated by their tumultuous 
 approach. When they had passed. 
 Sir Albert looked around for her. 
 He saw her not. He concluded that 
 the dancers had borne her along with 
 them, and he followed their steps. 
 
 The path branched into innumer- 
 a,ble directions. He believed they
 
 IN WOMAN. 183 
 
 had taken that nearest him, and it was 
 not until he had traversed it some 
 minutes, that he detected his mistake. 
 
 It terminated at a small temple, 
 a miniature of some Grecian model. 
 It was splendidly illuminated, and 
 Sir Albert, lured by the beauty of the 
 building, entered. 
 
 The interior corresponded with the 
 elegance of its external appearance. 
 Musical instruments were arranged in 
 different parts of it. Grecian figures, 
 of inimitable workmanship, supported 
 splendid candelabras, which illumi- 
 nated one part of the edifice, whilst the 
 other was thrown into complete shade. 
 Here various aromatic shrubs were 
 disposed, dispensing delightful per- 
 fumes, and from their position imper- 
 ceptible. A conservatory commenced 
 at this spot. 
 
 Beverley was about to enter it. A
 
 184 VARIETIES 
 
 voice, he paused ; Catherine the next 
 moment was in the temple.- ^^^^^, ; -* 
 
 Catherine with St. Clair!— ^ '"' 
 
 He lost all power of motion. He 
 leaned against the colonnade. A cold 
 dew burst on his temples. A sudden 
 oppression on his chest threatened 
 suffocation. It is impossible to de- 
 scribe the thousand maddening sensa- 
 tions that rapidly succeeded each 
 other. 
 
 ** Why do you bring me here?" 
 demanded Catherine ; *' what would 
 you have ? I desire not to listen to 
 you ; there can be, there ought to be, 
 nothing pass between us, that the 
 whole world may not hear." 
 
 St. Clair groaned; Catherine's emo- 
 tion was perceptible ; she placed her 
 hand on her temple for a moment y 
 she removed it, and continued. — ^- 
 
 '* Do you wish to revive recollec-
 
 IN WOMAN. 185 
 
 tions — to call remembrance into life — 
 and to bid my memory remind me 
 what a very wretch I am ? Listen to 
 me, St. Clair ; I forget nothing, 
 nothing; it is two years, two whole 
 years, since you married; and I — I 
 live !" 
 
 She clasped her hands, and burst 
 into a horrid, convulsive laugh. 
 
 " Yes, yes, this is the very day, 
 that separated us — that placed an 
 eternal bar between us. You gave 
 your vows to another !" she continued, 
 with an unnatural tranquillity of 
 voice. *' I remember all this, and 
 yet I am calm. Nothing disturbs 
 me. We will have no scene, St. Clair. 
 It is true, that I planned this place, 
 that I watched the progress of the 
 building, that I celebrated its comple- 
 tion in this very spot here with you. 
 Here, a thousand times has Heaven
 
 1S6 VARIETIES 
 
 heard our vows ; here we projected 
 schemes of future felicity ; here we 
 parted, and have met again — thus /" 
 
 Her calmness deserted her. She 
 shook in agony, and leaned against the 
 wall for support. 
 
 " Thus! — thusT — he exclaimed, 
 throwing himself on his? knees before 
 her ; " that I may renew my vows ; 
 that I may swear, never, never, for 
 one moment, has the tortured heart 
 that throbs so wildly here, — beat for 
 another than for you ; that I live only 
 because we sometimes meet, because 
 my eye may rest on yours, and read 
 there what to doubt would be dis- 
 traction : you love me, Catherine ; do 
 not deny it ; you da7^e not ; you dare 
 not drive me to madness ; you dare 
 not forswear yourself. I deserve your 
 love, you know that I deserve it. 
 You know that I have adored you
 
 IN WOMAN. 187 
 
 with a fidelity beyond example. 
 Was it I, Catherine, who made wretches 
 of us both ? Was it I, who pronounced 
 the fiat of our separation? Exiled 
 from you, would not I have traversed 
 the wildest deserts on earth, never 
 tracked by the foot of man, and you 
 commanded me to plunge into that 
 gulf which has undone us? Cursed 
 be the hour when I obeyed you!— 
 cursed be the infatuation, the desperate 
 infatuation that subdued me. 1 had 
 loH you ! this conviction drowned my 
 reason, and rendered me a passive 
 too], without thought or reflection. 
 I had lost you! you, you, decreed our 
 separation; careless of every thing, I 
 did as you commanded, and we are 
 both undone !" 
 
 " Spare me, spare me, St. Clair, 
 dmr St. Clair !" 
 
 *' Dear St. Clair!" he repeated,
 
 188 VARIETIES 
 
 suddenly rising, and seizing her 
 hands, — the most beautiful hands 
 nature ever formed. " Catherine, 
 beloved Catherine, I ought to be dear 
 to you! Spare you? Had j/ow mercy on 
 me ? By plunging us into one com- 
 mon ruin, did you not double des- 
 pair ? Spare you? Perhaps, I might 
 have the heart to torture you, to heap 
 back on you the weight of misery 
 you have brought on me ; but — but — 
 Catherine, what distresses you that I 
 do not feel doubly ? Spai^e you ? 
 alas! what can I inflict on you, that 
 you do not already feel ? Two years 
 have passed away, and during that 
 interval, that long, long interval, we 
 have had no moment worth living for 
 but this, this one, this diamond burn- 
 ing in a sable shroud ! But they 
 have brought to us some comfort ; 
 yes, we have one mighty consolation I
 
 IN WOMAN. 189 
 
 Catherine, we may defy the malice of 
 fortune, we have lost aUf 
 
 '* All !" she repeated, in a voice 
 half stifled by the violence of her 
 emotions. 
 
 *' No, no, no," he exclaimed with 
 frantic earnestness ; " not all ! We 
 still love each other, and this convic- 
 tion is bliss, is rapture. How poor is 
 the relation that woman whom the 
 law calls my wife, bears to me, when 
 compared with the indissoluble, the 
 immortal tie, that unites my soul to 
 your's ! We want no vulgar bonds to 
 unite us ; you are mine, mine by a 
 thousand vows attested by heaven ; 
 mine by the choice of a heart that 
 disdained to be fettered ; mine by an 
 union, such as we may not blush to 
 own through eternity! Catherine, 
 we are innocent ; that love cannot 
 be guilty which prevents us from
 
 190 VARIETIES 
 
 performing no one duty ; we are un- 
 fortunate but uncontaminated by one 
 thought we must blush to avow. 
 Catherine, Catherine, if we would 
 wrestle with our sufferings, and our 
 hearts burst in the struggle, are we 
 therefore criminal ? No, no ; I will 
 not believe it. These wasted forms, 
 these feverish hands meeting now, 
 perhaps for the last time, bear witness 
 for us, that we have struggled ! The 
 future, we have nothing to do with 
 the future of this life ; it cannot bring 
 an evil on us which the past has not 
 rendered familiar. I wanted to speak 
 with you, Catherine ; listen to me 
 with patience ; observe, I do not 
 believe it ; it must not, cannot be ; 
 report— what a vile lying thing the 
 world is! report gives you to Sir 
 Albert Beverley. Be patient ; think 
 yxSM I knew you so ill to credit it ?
 
 IN WOMAN. 191 
 
 You dare not, it would be sacrilege 
 against the noblest, the purest flame 
 that ever bound mortals to each other. 
 My bonds are example for you ; here 
 is nothing to compel you ; you, at 
 least are free, and there is no power 
 which should forbid your disposing of 
 yourself as you please." 
 
 " You overwhelm me, I am faint, 
 the heat is too great. Sir Albert 
 Beverley, noble, excellent, unequalled, 
 is elevated far, far above Catherine 
 Lockhart ! And if he did, for a mo- 
 ment, delude himself into the belief 
 that he loved a wretched, inconsistent^ 
 half-distracted being like myself, be 
 sure, St. Clair, that I, at least, am 
 guiltless of all endeavour to attract 
 him. No, no, it is sufficient that one 
 of us"— 
 
 " Is mad, trammeled, bound, and 
 to such — but I will not curse, I will
 
 1^2 VARIETIES 
 
 riot ! Farewell, Catherine ; my friend, 
 my companion, my first, last, only 
 love — farewell !" 
 
 He staggered from the temple. 
 Catherine seated herself. She sat 
 with her eyes fixed, in a state of 
 silent agony. Beverley, scarcely less 
 wretched, stood in all the quietude 
 of utter hopelessness. He was affected 
 by sentiments of the most powerful 
 compassion for the unfortunate St. 
 Clair, and for the no less unfortunate 
 Catherine. He did not intrude on 
 her, and when she quitted the temple, 
 he rejoined the party by a route dif- 
 ferent from that which she had taken.
 
 IN WOMAN. 193 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TO MISS LOCKHART. 
 
 lOth of July. 
 
 I KNOW not how to address you, 
 Catherine, — I know not how to con- 
 vince you of the sincerity of that 
 friendship to which I am about to 
 pledge myself: still less can I dis- 
 cover in what manner I should best 
 relate to you that event, which has 
 given me some claim on your confi- 
 dence, or that accident which has al- 
 ready afforded half the solution of the 
 mystery which so perceptibly — to me, 
 at least, perceptibly, — hangs over you. 
 
 I have loved you, Catherine. There 
 was nothing on earth that I desired 
 but you. I began to value rank and 
 
 Vol. I. K
 
 194 VARIETIES 
 
 fortune, because they gave me the 
 means of elevating you. I anticipated 
 the period when I should lay both at 
 your feet with triumph. I thought 
 with extasy on the prospect of afford- 
 ing your genius, your talents a more 
 enlarged sphere of action. Life be- 
 came dear, because I considered you 
 my future companion through it. In 
 one word, Catherine, I loved you. 
 
 Let me detail to you, as concisely 
 as I can, those events which have 
 convinced me of the necessity of our 
 separation. 
 
 From the commencement of our 
 acquaintance, Catherine, I observed 
 you with no common interest. Inde- 
 pendent of every other consideration, 
 your genius rendered you an object 
 of curious speculation. By the con- 
 stant habit of scrutinizing your ac- 
 tions, and endeavouring to penetrate
 
 IN WOMAN. 195 
 
 their motive, I detected that the veil 
 of levity and indifference which you 
 threw over your manner, was but as- 
 sumed. I discovered also, that you 
 were not happy. 
 
 From this moment my vigilance 
 was redoubled. I looked on all sides 
 to discover the cloud which obscured 
 the brilliancy of your horizon. At 
 length, my eye rested on St. Clair. 
 
 I observed you both, — my attention 
 was never diverted from you. I be- 
 lieved that you loved him, and I 
 durst no longer trust myself near 
 you. 
 
 During my absence my passion in- 
 creased. My memory dwelt fondly 
 on your perfections, and very slightly 
 presented to me my former suspicions. 
 A history of your attachment to St. 
 Clair at this time reached my ears. 
 It but increased my pity for your 
 K 2
 
 196 VARIETIES 
 
 sufferings, your misfortunes ; and if 
 sometimes I was jealous that another 
 had inspired you with that passion 
 which I ardently desired you should 
 feel for me, — perhaps this very jea- 
 lousy did but increase my love for 
 you. 
 
 I returned to you, — I became more 
 devotedly attached to you than ever ; 
 sometimes I forgot the existence of 
 St. Clair, or remembered him with 
 indifference. 
 
 We were invited to celebrate the 
 anniversary of his marriage. 
 
 It is impossible to convey to you, 
 Catherine, any idea of the intenseness 
 with which I watched every motion 
 of your countenance. I saw the ill- 
 suppressed agony that tortured you ; 
 I saw your haughty endurance of ex- 
 treme suffering; and I felt that he 
 was beloved.
 
 IN WOMAN. 197 
 
 What a conviction ! It involved the 
 ruin of those delightful plans of fu- 
 ture felicity, which I had been so 
 ambitious of realizing : yet I preserved 
 my calmness ; and, still calm, I ac- 
 companied you to this gala. 
 
 I cannot describe — I wish not to 
 recall — the emotions that affected me, 
 when I witnessed your noble endur- 
 ance of extreme pain. We walked 
 into the garden ; the music, the scene, 
 the stillness of the night, your pre- 
 sence, and more than all, your tear, 
 subdued me. I forgot suspicion, St. 
 Clair, and the shade that obscured 
 you,— I saw you only, — beautiful, 
 brilliant, and tender ; I felt that the 
 moment on which hung my destiny, 
 was already in being, ~ I spoke to 
 you. 
 
 Let me dwell on this moment. Not- 
 withstanding the doubt, the suspense.
 
 198 VARIETIES 
 
 that were naturally connected with 
 it, it teemed with inexpressible feli- 
 city. I spoke to you, — I called you 
 Catherine — dearest Catherine ! 
 
 These words must never again be 
 united by me. The sight of them 
 pleases me. You have listened to 
 them from me, — henceforth they are 
 sacred, — dear as the ashes of departed 
 friends. 
 
 They had scarcely passed my lips, 
 when the impetus of the rushing 
 crowd separated us. In seeking you 
 again, by a mistake in the path, I 
 strolled to an illuminated temple. Its 
 elegance tempted me to enter. I was 
 pleased with its decorations, and the 
 classic associations which it com- 
 bined. I approached the conservatory. 
 This part lay in strong shade. I 
 listened, — Catherine, you entered. 
 
 I cannot recall what I felt at the
 
 IN WOMAN. 199 
 
 moment when I discovered that you 
 were attended, and by St. Clair ! A 
 terrible sensation, resembling mad- 
 ness, chained me to the spot. I saw 
 your emotions — his uncontrollable 
 agony, — I heard the expressions of 
 passion, so long restrained, and now 
 breaking out, in " thoughts that 
 breathe, and words that burn." I 
 need not recall to you what passed 
 there. Such a scene must live in 
 your memory for ever. It will never 
 quit mine. 
 
 Jealousy, suspicion, vanished ; pity, 
 admiration, surprise, engrossed the 
 place these had hitherto occupied. I 
 could not even conjecture what fatal 
 circumstance had had power to sepa- 
 rate two so equally, so devotedly at- 
 tached. A love so pure, and that con- 
 templated the prospect of an union only 
 beyond the grave, became sacred to me.
 
 200 VARIETIES 
 
 Worlds should not have tempted me 
 to aim at occupying that place which 
 belonged to the unfortunate St. Clair. 
 I desired to show myself to you, but 
 I feared to alarm you, without having 
 it in my power to convince you how 
 ardently I desired to alleviate, if pos- 
 sible, your mutual sufferings, by the 
 most disinterested friendship, — the 
 most unaffected participation of them. 
 Catherine, — once again let me call 
 you dearest Catherine, — do you think 
 that I deserve your confidence? do 
 you think that I deserve to be your 
 friend, the friend of St. Clair ? I shall 
 be far from you, Catherine, when you 
 are called on to answer this question ; 
 \ shall no longer be tempted to the 
 dangerous indulgence of your society. 
 For the present, I shall leave Eng- 
 land : — I would relieve you from the 
 embarrassment which I am convinced
 
 IN WOMAN, r^l 
 
 iny presence must occasion you. I 
 desire only, that in those moments of 
 distress which must be yours, you 
 will remember the existence of Al- 
 bert Beverley. When you are a 
 little composed, Catherine, recollect 
 that he is awaiting some communica- 
 tion from you, at the hotel, 
 
 Dover. — Your confidence in him will 
 console, at least, the disappointment of 
 dearer hopes. 
 
 Albert Beverley. 
 
 TO SIR A;LBERT BEVERLEY. 
 
 22nd of July, 
 
 You have penetrated my secret !— - 
 you have discovered that which I 
 would have hidden from all the world ! 
 You know that I am wretched, and 
 that I am continually under the ne- 
 cessity of appearing undey a feigned 
 K 5
 
 202 VARIETIES 
 
 character ! — Is it possible that I sup- 
 port the consciousness of being pitied, 
 not only with patience, but even with 
 gratitude to you who pity me ? 
 
 Yes, most generous of men ! I am 
 grateful to you, — inexpressibly grate- 
 ful for the invaluable friendship you 
 offer to me ; regretting only, that 
 your noble nature ever condescended 
 to love a being who could not return 
 it, whose heart had already been im- 
 pressed by another. 
 
 I cannot believe myself degraded, 
 humbled, debased from my original 
 height, since you have desired to 
 elevate me to yourself. And why 
 should I ? — To love with inextin- 
 guishable passion a man, not inferior 
 to Sir Albert Beverley himself, is not, 
 cannot be humiliating. To conceal 
 that passion from the eyes of the 
 world, because it is unfortunate, and
 
 IN WOMAN. 203 
 
 shrinks from observation, is the result 
 of a sentiment which you at least will 
 not misunderstand. 
 
 You desire my confidence, and I 
 yield it to you. Do not think that 
 the delay which has hitherto pre- 
 vented my noticing your letter, pro- 
 ceeded from a cowardly hesitation. I 
 resolved instantly to trust to you the 
 whole. But I had many papers to 
 arrange, many recollections to recall, 
 many bitter remembrances to dwell 
 on, before I could detail to you all 
 the circumstances connected with 
 myself and St. Clair. 
 
 I confess that my task has subdued 
 me. I am not myself. I am agitated 
 and depressed. Suffer me to assure 
 you that I prize your friendship as I 
 value life itself. God bless you. Sir 
 Albert Beverley ; wherever you go, 
 you will have the satisfaction of find-
 
 204 rARI^TIESr 
 
 ihg iamongst the best and mdst illus^ 
 
 tfrious, none superior to yourself. t 
 
 Catherine Lockha^t. 
 
 '^ THE CONFESSIONS OF CATHERINE." 
 
 Paper the First. 
 
 '*' Canova returned from England. 
 This was an event in Rome. In Italy, 
 where the arts flourish as in a native 
 soil, the arrival of this great master was 
 a more triumphant occurrence than 
 the entry of a victorious general. All 
 Rome desired to testify their admi- 
 ration for this illustrious artist by 
 'entertainments^ of which he was the 
 avowed object. Hitherto Lady Maxy 
 Lockhart had associated principally 
 Vith those whose chief occupation 
 Svas pleasure. But at Rome, every 
 nobleman, however dissipated, is a
 
 IN WOMAN. 205 
 
 connoisseur in the fine arts, and an 
 admirer of Canova. Consequently 
 all flocked to his abode, and Lady 
 Mary Lockhart was amongst the 
 number. 
 
 I cannot describe the rapture with 
 which I anticipated an introduction 
 to this distinguished man. Of all the 
 arts, his had always exerted my 
 highest admiration, I was an enthu- 
 siast in every thing ; and I contem- 
 plated Canova as already half a divi^ 
 nity. I had fancied a hundred apo- 
 theoses of him. I cannot express to 
 how high a pitch the mind of a young 
 and inexperienced girl, with habits and 
 dispositions like mine, maybe wrought 
 by a feeling of this nature. I was 
 nineteen, and devoted to poetry and 
 romance. Until I went to Italy, I 
 had been educated in a retirement 
 almost monastic. There my imagi-
 
 206 VARIETIES 
 
 nation was excited, not by the trite 
 and uninteresting fictions of common- 
 place authors, but by the narratives of 
 classic writers, and the descriptions 
 of epic poetry. I was introduced to 
 the world at Rome; and human 
 nature appears in a light infinitely 
 imposing when contemplated in the 
 midst of the superb monuments of 
 man's genius and grandeur. Even 
 the modern Romans are more inter- 
 esting than any other people. They 
 live in the centre of the arts, — in the 
 school where they are the most suc- 
 cessfully cultivated, — and their souls 
 seem endowed with a nice tact 
 of discriminating excellence, superior 
 to that of any other nation. 
 
 Perhaps the Italians were attracted 
 by me, because I understood their 
 language perfectly. My genius, also, 
 was precisely of that stamp which
 
 IN WOMAN. 207 
 
 they most appreciate. I had a par- 
 ticular facility in the improvisdnte. 
 They had imagined it a talent pecu- 
 liar to their country, and my possess- 
 ing it seemed almost to naturalize me 
 at Rome. The exertion of it, — lis- 
 tening to, and practising the most 
 delightful airs in the world, — the 
 classic monuments all recalling ideas 
 of glorious events, and recording the 
 triumphs of genius, combined to 
 render me exquisitely susceptible of 
 the pleasures of the imagination, and 
 to increase my sensibility to the 
 highest pitch. 
 
 We went to Canova s. I saw the 
 sublime productions of his genius. I 
 conversed with this extraordinary 
 man, and he readily accepted Lady 
 Mary's invitation to her first conver- 
 sazione. She had given innumerable 
 galas, but never before an entertain-
 
 208 VARIETIES 
 
 ment of this sort. It is impossible I 
 can describe the feelings with which 
 I awaited the evening ; — they were in- 
 definable. It is so different to assemble 
 a crowd of people who can be amused 
 by dancing and mirth, and a select 
 number of persons distinguished and 
 illustrious. :, 
 
 In effect the evening came. They 
 who possess extraordinary talents 
 are frequently the most condescend- 
 ing. Canova brought with him two 
 friends, — the chevalier Balermo and 
 St. Clair. 
 
 Paper the Second. 
 
 Yes, I saw St. Clair for the first 
 time. — I saw him under circumstajices 
 in which any other man would have 
 attracted my attention. He w^ the
 
 IN WOMAN. 209 
 
 friend of Canova and of the chevalier 
 Balermo. He was introduced to me 
 in this character, and he instantly 
 became interesting to me. 
 
 I thought when I commenced this 
 task, that I would relate every event 
 with clearness. — Alas, Sir Albert 
 Beverley, it is impossible ! — I break 
 off suddenly, unable to proceed. 
 You will forgive my incoherences. 
 You know what a wretched incon- 
 sistent being I am. 
 
 I do not think that I was so power- 
 fully impressed by St. Clair this 
 evening as my subsequent attachment 
 to him might lead you to expect. 
 He had great talents ; he spoke on a 
 variety of subjects, and was listened 
 to with the applause he merited. I 
 admired him, it is true, but at the 
 same time I admired Canova and the 
 chevalier Balermo, much more, be-
 
 210 VARIETIES 
 
 cause fame had fixed her seal on 
 them. If I had never seen St. Clair 
 after this evening, I should not have 
 regretted him, I should not have been 
 wretched : — alas ! do I wish that it 
 had been otherwise ? — do I desire to 
 exchange those sufferings connected 
 with him, for happiness derived from 
 another ? 
 
 It is memory that renders this in- 
 terview so dear to me. It was the 
 moment in which I first knew the 
 existence of St. Clair. It was the 
 commencement of a series of love, 
 passion, which he alone had power to 
 excite in me. It was the step that 
 led to our attachment. Unimportant 
 in itself, when I consider it in this 
 manner, it appears the most interest- 
 ing moment of my life. Alas ! it was 
 certainly the last of my tranquillity ! 
 
 The manner in which St. Clair had
 
 IN WOMAN. 211 
 
 been introduced, did not authorize 
 his repeating his visit without invita- 
 tion. Canova was too much engrossed 
 by princes and distinguished charac- 
 ters to visit private individuals fre- 
 quently. The Chevalier Balermo 
 was less engaged, but St. Clair was 
 not very intimate with him. His 
 manners were polished, and his con- 
 versation interesting by the variety 
 of his life. As all our ideas are 
 derived from perceptions of sense, 
 the man who has travelled most, and 
 seen the greatest diversity of objects, 
 acquires an extraordinary ascendancy 
 in society, by the power his mind has 
 of multiplying its reflections. Balermo 
 had this ascendancy in a high degree. 
 My situation in my own family at 
 this time was particularly unfortunate 
 to me. Lady Mary Lockhart is a 
 woman of fashion, and of the world ; 
 in Rome she retained the same cha-
 
 212 VARIETIES 
 
 racter as in London. The splendid 
 ruins that attract the attention of the 
 traveller at every step, were admired 
 by her, because the cognoscenti led 
 the fashion, and they admired them. 
 Her common-place expressions of 
 admiration restrained always the ex- 
 hibition of my feelings. I believe, 
 that enthusiasm, like love, is nou- 
 rished by concealment. I acquired 
 the habit of appearing unaffected by 
 emotion, whilst my heart was swell- 
 ing with an accumulation of triumph. 
 Perhaps this method of restraint in- 
 creased the ardour of my nature. I 
 have often longed to pour my feel- 
 ings into the heart of my companions, 
 but I was deterred by the dread of 
 encountering their apathetic remarks. 
 I was therefore obliged, as it were, 
 to sympathize with myself, and the 
 passion of my nature redoubled. 
 I wish, Sir Albert, that you should
 
 IN WOMAN. 213 
 
 understand exactly the state of my 
 mind at this period. I would parti- 
 cularize every feeling that increased 
 my susceptibility. It is impossible 
 not to recollect them. Alas, how im- 
 portant have their consequences ren- 
 dered them to me ! — 
 
 Paper the Third. 
 
 After having declined repeated in- 
 vitations to Lady Mary Lockhart's, 
 Canova at length found leisure to ac- 
 cept one. 
 
 St. Clair accompanied him. 
 
 On this evening, the guests were 
 dressed in characters, each strictly 
 classic, without masks. Italy is 
 particularly favourable to this species 
 of entertainment, because situation, 
 memory, the sacred relics of what
 
 214 VARIETIES 
 
 has been, combine to render the illusion 
 perfect. The language too, abounding 
 in classical allusions, and its near affi- 
 nity to the latin, considerably heightens 
 the effect. The delicious softness of 
 the climate is equally appropriate, 
 and gives a charming grace to the 
 glowing beauty of Italian women. A 
 scene such as I witnessed this even- 
 ing, I had never before imagined. It 
 was so admirably adapted to my en- 
 thusiasm and my genius ! It was en- 
 chantment ! — 
 
 I chose the character of Aspasia. 
 Canova had a very fine painting of 
 her which he had shown to me, and I 
 arranged my costume by this model. 
 Perhaps this habit was well adapted 
 to my figure, and as I had studied the 
 particular talents which distinguished 
 this remarkable woman, I imitated 
 her with greater accuracy. It was
 
 IN WOMAN". 215 
 
 that genius which drew philosophers 
 and warriors to her feet, that was to 
 be delineated. It would be ridiculous 
 affectation in me to deny that I feel 
 myself the possessor of powers of 
 mind, infinitely above the generality. 
 I exerted them all in supporting the 
 character, and I was applauded. 
 
 St. Clair, by some fatality, ap- 
 peared as Alcibiades. By this name 
 he attached himself to me during the 
 evening. The genius, the fire, the 
 rapturous enjouissance, of the Grecian 
 general, could not have found a better 
 delineator. I cannot describe the 
 pleasure with which I listened to his 
 conversation, so admirably adapted 
 to make his auditors forget the pre- 
 sent, and to exist, in imagination, 
 amidst the talents, the wisdom, the 
 military glory, and the magnificence 
 of Greece.
 
 216 VARIETIES 
 
 I know not how others were affected 
 by the entertainments of the evening. 
 I know only, that it was, perhaps* 
 the most triumphant period of my life. 
 Surrounded by persons who were the 
 admiration of Europe, applauded by 
 them, my talents heightened by that 
 applause, my imagination excited, 
 my enthusiasm increased, followed, 
 addressed, distinguished by St. Clair, 
 I imbibed amidst all that can gratify 
 taste, and elicit genius, the first seeds 
 of that fatal passion, which became, 
 at once, my felicity and my bane. 
 
 Paper the Fourth. 
 
 A few days after this eventful 
 evening, I was surprised by a visit 
 from Canova himself. 
 
 The purpose of it was highly flat°
 
 IN WOMAN. ^17 
 
 tering to me. It could not be other- 
 wise. He repeated his approbation 
 of the picturesque gi*ace I had con- 
 trived to throw into the character 
 which I had supported, and he re- 
 quested me to sit as the model of a 
 miniature statue of Aspasia, which he 
 had in contemplation. 
 
 After many studies, he at length 
 succeeded in selecting an attitude 
 and a turn of countenance which 
 pleased him. The statue was com- 
 pleted, and he himself told me, that 
 the execution of it exceeded even 
 his hopes. 
 
 It was exhibited to all the cognos- 
 centi in Rome. I became known by 
 the appellation of Aspasia only. The 
 fame of Canova shed a beam of its 
 brilliancy on me. Our names were 
 constantly united ; I was a woman— ^ 
 young — a foreigner — and in each of 
 
 Vol. I. L
 
 218 VARIETIES 
 
 these characters interesting. The 
 Italians, so enthusiastically desirous 
 of encouraging the least appearance 
 of talent, sometimes ascribed the 
 merit of this inimitable piece of sculp- 
 ture to the original from which it was 
 taken. Their courteous extravagance 
 was even encouraged by Canova. 
 He was conscious that it could not 
 diminish his reputation in the 
 slightest degree, whilst it added 
 materially to my consideration, of 
 which, perhaps, he discovered that I 
 was fond. 
 
 As nothing else was talked of 
 
 at Rome, the Duca di , the 
 
 earliest patron of Canova, heard of 
 his new statue. The noise it made, 
 perhaps, inspired the desire of pos- 
 sessing it. He contrived that this 
 desire should be hinted to Canova. 
 
 Whether Canova designed to pre-
 
 IN WOMAN. 219 
 
 sent it to him, remains unknown. 
 Rome became interested in an ex- 
 traordinary event. Canova went to 
 Frescati for a few days ; many of the 
 nobility witnessed his depositing the 
 Aspasia in his cabinet, and his imme- 
 diate departure. Notwithstanding 
 its apparent security, on his return 
 he discovered that he possessed it no 
 longer. 
 
 He affected to consider the loss as 
 trifling. The cognoscenti were not 
 of the same opinion. They were in- 
 defatigable in their inquiries after it, 
 and were always successless. The 
 public heard of it no more. 
 
 Read in this place, Sir Albert, the 
 parcel of letters which is inclosed in 
 the packet as far as No. 6. They 
 will sufficiently elucidate the progress 
 of my attachment. 
 
 l2
 
 220 VARIETIES 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 TO ASPASIA, 
 
 The statue has disappeared ! — Per- 
 haps some divinity, envious that 
 such skill found equal dignity and 
 grace on which to exert itself, is now- 
 displaying his stolen treasure to the 
 Olympian synod;— or perhaps, the 
 shade of Aspasia, fearing that h^r 
 name should be lost in that of her 
 charming substitute, has contrived 
 the theft, and would say, in excuse, 
 as Themistocles did of Miltiades, 
 " her trophies will not suffer me to 
 sleep." 
 
 Praxiteles contemplates the theft 
 with calmness, and projects another 
 chef d'ceuvi^e. He may prose- 
 cute his work with security, for^
 
 IN WOMAN. 221 
 
 unless he chooses the same subject, 
 there will never again be the same 
 temptation. Alcibiades, meanwhile 
 — can you divine, fair Aspasia, what 
 are the feelings of Alcibiades ? 
 
 I do not think he takes any part in 
 the regret which the cognoscenti are 
 displaying on this subject. Is not 
 this extraordinary, because when we 
 consider the devotion with which he 
 regards Aspasia, we suppose that his 
 attachment extends to every-thing 
 that resembles her? How much 
 more, then, to this portrait, which 
 wants only the power of motion to 
 be her very self. Is not this sus- 
 picious ? And if we reject as im- 
 probable the suppositions I before 
 insinuated, on whom shall our con- 
 jectures rest ? 
 
 Perhaps his rank in society shields 
 him from the public expression of
 
 222 VARIETIES 
 
 those feelings which, doubtless, are 
 excited against him. Or, perhaps, 
 the generous Italians penetrate the 
 motive, and affect ignorance of the 
 crime. Or, it is possible, that 
 Praxiteles himself contrived the rob- 
 bery, that he might have the power 
 of obliging his friend. 
 
 What are your sentiments on this 
 occasion, charming Aspasia? — Do 
 you incline to agree with me ? I hope 
 so. Lest you should not think my 
 allusions perfectly satisfactory, I shall 
 endeavour to ensure your concurrence 
 in them, by a personal conference, if 
 you will permit me the pleasure of 
 seeing you this evening. 
 
 Alcibiades.
 
 IN WOMAN. 223 
 
 LETTER IL 
 
 TO ASPASIA. 
 
 During our delightful conversation 
 last evening, I imagined that you 
 pardoned my presumption. When I 
 came to reflect on it, alone, I could 
 not credit the excess of your con- 
 descension. I visited my incompara- 
 ble statue. I had just left you, and 
 I confess this scarcely appeared to 
 me so charming as usual. As I con- 
 templated it, however, I discovered a 
 thousand traits that more forcibly 
 reminded me of you, and in the end, 
 I became perfectly satisfied with it. 
 
 I was not so satisfied with my own 
 reflections. I believed that I owed 
 your pardon rather to politeness than 
 a persuasion how much my presump- 
 tion was to be excused. Whilst I 
 was with you, it was impossible not
 
 224 VARIETIES 
 
 to be delighted and content with 
 every thing you wished to impress 
 on me. It is only in your absence, 
 that I discover you might have said 
 more, and have expressed your for- 
 giveness in more satisfactory terms. 
 
 Perhaps, at this moment, I am of- 
 fending by my presumption in ad- 
 dressing you. In truth, I am asto- 
 nished at my own rashness. After 
 all, I know not whether you can 
 arraign me before a tribunal, whilst 
 you yourself are more criminal. It 
 is the graceful sweetness with which 
 you accepted my apologies, that em- 
 boldens me to hazard incurring your 
 displeasure a second time. I am 
 only the tempted, — you the tempter. 
 This will certainly sooth your dis- 
 pleasure, fair Aspasia, if I am so un- 
 fortunate as to inspire it. 
 
 Fascinated by the enchantment you 
 were pleased to throw over me last
 
 IN WOMAN. 225 
 
 evening, I forgot, in the delight of 
 conversing with you, that I most ar- 
 dently desired to hear again that 
 music which was so delicious on the 
 evening of your gala. Perhaps, you 
 hesitated to touch your harp because 
 you recollected that Alcibiades intro- 
 duced the fashion of despising the 
 flute. Remember, beautiful Aspasia, 
 that this sentiment was confined to 
 his own sex alone. Music is doubly 
 charming when produced by a lovely 
 woman, — and she, infinitely more 
 lovely in producing it. 
 
 I am astonished at my courage. I 
 find I have really urged the request 
 which it has cost me so much trouble 
 to make. Can you forgive it ? It will 
 be difficult to convince me. The only 
 means of doing so are in your power: 
 write and assure me of it. 
 
 Alcibiades* 
 L 5
 
 226 VARIETIES 
 
 LETTER III. 
 TO ALCIBIADES. 
 
 You seem always to dread my 
 anger. I believe, therefore, it would 
 be extremely proper, that I should 
 feel it. Of these nice points of eti- 
 quette, I confess my extreme igno- 
 rance. You will condescend to re- 
 mind me when I am wrong ; I do not 
 remember that Socrates ever made 
 the 7XS gestus the subject of conversa- 
 tion between us. 
 
 Perhaps it would be well that we 
 should forget the affair of the statue. 
 Surely a peccadillo of this sort might, 
 if known, somewhat tarnish the glory 
 even of Alcibiades, and implicate 
 Praxiteles in the censure. 
 
 This evening the Marchesa di 
 
 has a conversazione ; I cannot there-
 
 IN ^yoMAN■, . 227 
 
 fore have the pleasure of seeing you. 
 All the world will be at her palazzo. 
 Your proposal of visiting us, informs 
 me that you do not intend to join her 
 society. Perhaps she will regret 
 your absence. 
 
 To-morrow we have no engage- 
 ment. If you are inclined to sacrifice 
 an hour on trifles, I shall practise on 
 the harp in the evening. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 TO ASPASIA. 
 
 The chevalier Balermo has always 
 appeared to me a very elevated cha- 
 racter. I think I never observed this 
 more forcibly than last evening, when 
 he suffered himself to be entirely en- 
 grossed by our extraordinary and
 
 228 VARIETIES 
 
 talented countrywoman. I am not 
 going to argue concerning his taste 
 from such principles. His judgment 
 and discernment were never more 
 highly appreciated by me. He saw 
 that I envied him his seat near you, 
 and he had the politeness to vacate it 
 immediately. He is a delightful cha- 
 racter. 
 
 The book of which the Marchesa was 
 inquiring, and which you expressed 
 a wish of seeing, I have. I did not 
 choose to say so last night, because 
 etiquette prescribed that I should offer 
 it to her, and inclination imperatively 
 dictated that I should present it to 
 you, I shall bring it with me this 
 evening. You cannot doubt with 
 what pleasure I accept your invita- 
 tion. 
 
 Why do you employ initials by 
 way of signature ? I assure you my
 
 IN WOMAN. 229 
 
 ingenuity was in action some time 
 before I could discover what name 
 belonged to them. I have been ac- 
 customed to consider you, so ex- 
 clusively as Aspasia, that any other 
 appellation appears to me assumed, 
 and I never can annex your idea to it. 
 Whatever you may be in England, in 
 Italy and to me you must always be 
 Aspasia. 
 
 I am sure it appears to me that I 
 find a very poor substitute for Alci- 
 biades, in 
 
 V. St. c. 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 TO ASPASIA, 
 
 I dreamed, last night, that the 
 loveliest woman imagination can pour- 
 tray " lapt me in soft lydian airs,'^
 
 230 VARIETIES 
 
 and wafted my soul on the wings of 
 harmony to Elysium. When I awoke, 
 I saw my beautiful statue, and I re- 
 collected immediately all the delight- 
 ful images fancy had presented to me 
 during my sleep, and the impressions 
 my mind had previously received 
 from realities. I perceived imme- 
 diately how desirable it is to be 
 within the sphere of a benevolent en- 
 chantress, whose power influences 
 even our visions. The imagination 
 once occupied by her image is con- 
 tinually employed in recalling it, and 
 retains its power even in slumber. 
 
 Reason may afford excellent causes 
 of enjoyment, but it is imagination 
 alone which presents the means of 
 enjoying. Italy is the spot where 
 this faculty is exercised to its utmost 
 extent. Here it flourishes in its na- 
 tive soil. In England it is an exotic.
 
 IN WOSIAN. 231 
 
 which does not thrive in the humid 
 atmosphere. Is not this your opi- 
 nion ? I confess that you are the archi- 
 magus of my philosophy, and I desire 
 always to understand your sentiments 
 before I adopt my own. 
 
 You spoke to me last night of Made- 
 moiselle Victorine de Bouviers. From 
 what you said, I incline to think, that 
 you imagine I consider her vivacity 
 quite adorable. Is it possible that 
 the penetrating Aspasia has not dis- 
 covered, that her cheerfulness amuses 
 only because it is unaflfected, and that 
 her bon-mots would doubtless be very 
 clever and very brilliant, but unfortu- 
 nately like the swords of the ancient 
 Gauls, they have no point ? 
 
 I am sorry that I am obliged to 
 leave Rome for some days, because I 
 shall lose the pleasure of your society. 
 What increases my misfortune, I can-
 
 232 VARIETIES 
 
 not take my inimitable statue with 
 me. It pleases me infinitely more 
 now than it did when I saw it in 
 Canova's apartment. Then I visited 
 it in common with all the world ; 7iow 
 I alone of all the world am certain of 
 its existence. It is so delightful to 
 possess a treasure which no one sus- 
 pects! I keep it carefully from the 
 profane eyes of the vulgar. The veil 
 that covered the countenance of the 
 prophet of Khorasan, was not more 
 impenetrable. 
 
 I anticipate the pleasure of seeing 
 you again with impatience. Absence 
 will at least give me an opportunity 
 of exercising that delightful faculty 
 of the mind, the power of recalling 
 past felicity, and even of heightening 
 it at will. 
 
 Adieu, charming Aspasia ! — Some- 
 times imagine that I am with you.
 
 IN WOMAN. 233 
 
 Remember what Cato the Censor 
 used to say, *' the soul of a lover 
 lives in the body of another." 
 
 Alcibiades. 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 TO ASPASIA. 
 
 I am delighted again to address 
 you for two reasons : First, because 
 I am always glad of ^Ve opportunity 
 of communicating my sentiments to 
 you; and secondly, because it en- 
 forces the conviction of my immediate 
 vicinity, and enables me to say 1 ill 
 returned. 
 
 I wish this conviction may inspire 
 you with the smallest portion of that 
 pleasure which I receive from it. I 
 find I never estimated exactly the 
 value of your society until I was pre- 
 vented from enjoying it.
 
 234 VARIETIES 
 
 And my absence has been so much 
 longer than I intended ! I wish you 
 may have discovered this, fair As- 
 pasia. Notwithstanding the impa- 
 tience I have felt during its lapse, I 
 am not sure that I am not repaid by 
 the heightened pleasure I anticipate 
 in seeing you. 
 
 Do not, however, ijnagine that a 
 farther procrastjnatj-on would be ren- 
 dered end;ara])j^> by this reflection. 
 The nearer am to felicity, the less 
 can I support delay with patience. 
 
 "Write to me, if it be only a single 
 ou - This, however, will not content 
 ^-Vie unless it expresses, — 
 
 " / shall be glad to see you^' 
 
 Alcibiades.
 
 IN WOMAN. 235 
 
 Paper the Fifth. 
 
 You perceive by these letters, Sir 
 Albert Beverley, in what manner the 
 attachment of St. Clair and myself 
 proceeded in its gradual rise. The 
 lengthened absence of which he 
 speaks, had, in truth, been endured 
 by me with feelings very much re- 
 sembling indig7iation. I believe, this 
 appeared in my reception of him, and 
 he immediately deprecated my anger 
 by a thousand plausible excuses. I 
 received them, perhaps, with an ill 
 grace ; but this petite brouillei^ie pro- 
 duced one effect on which I had not 
 calculated, — it rendered us imme- 
 diately more intimate. 
 
 Afterwards, we were always as- 
 sociated in every party. Farther 
 acquaintance endeared us inexpressi-
 
 236 VARIETIES 
 
 bly to each other. Similarity of 
 tastes, of feelings, of pursuits, 
 strengthened the bond. His superior 
 knowledge of the world gave him that 
 ascendancy over me, without which I 
 never could have loved. He became 
 the very sun of my existence. 
 
 You have said. Sir Albert Beverley, 
 that " you have observed me with no 
 common interest ?" You have there- 
 fore discovered the unrestrained en- 
 thusiasm of my nature, and you may 
 imagine with what absorbing passion 
 I loved 1 — 
 
 It seemed to me, that St. Clair and 
 I, of all the world, alone existed; 
 that the people who were moving 
 about us, were mere automata affect- 
 ed by certain springs, without any 
 material stake in life. Sometimes, in 
 the height of my madness, I have 
 thought, that to insure Ids felicity.
 
 IN WOMAN. 237 
 
 the sacrifice of the whole world would 
 scarcely be too high a prize. I 
 desired nothing for myself; I would 
 willingly have given my existence, if 
 by that means I could have procure 
 him greater happiness, honour, or 
 eminence. I believe that not one 
 selfish feeling animated me. I loved 
 him to the exclusion of every other 
 sentiment of partiality either for my- 
 self or for others. My imagination, 
 genius, energy, passion, were all ab- 
 sorbed by him, to be acted on as he 
 pleased. When he was absent, I 
 wandered about those places which 
 he had visited, regarding even the 
 inanimate objects that had been con- 
 secrated by his touch, with fondness ; 
 or I sat in the seat he had occupied, 
 absorbed in thought, reflecting on all 
 that had passed when he was with 
 me, until he returned t-
 
 238 VARIETIES 
 
 Paper the Sixth. 
 
 We had been two years in Italy. I 
 had known St. Clair nearly the whole 
 of that time. I had tasted the ex- 
 quisite happiness of loving and of 
 being beloved; it was a felicity too 
 perfect to last ! 
 
 Lockhart had been greatly attracted 
 by a countrywoman of ours, to whom 
 St. Clair alludes in one of his letters. 
 Her sudden departure from Italy, 
 deprived the country of all interest to 
 him, and he ardently desired to re- 
 turn to England. 
 
 Lady Mary complied immediately. 
 Neither St, Clair nor myself were 
 pleased with the arrangement. We 
 were delighted with Rome, and we 
 had left no friends at home to regret, 
 or to desire to meet. We submitted
 
 ly WOMAN. 239 
 
 to necessity in silence, and we soon 
 forgot that we had reason to be dis- 
 satisfied, for we were still together. 
 
 We arrived in England. I still re- 
 gretted Italy, but St. Clair's society 
 reconciled me to the change. The 
 seat of which he was the actual 
 master, although it in fact belonged 
 to the uncle, whose heir he was, was 
 within a short distance of us. You 
 know it. It is the petites Thuilleines. 
 
 I cannot recall this period with 
 calmness. I contemplated it as my 
 future residence. The alterations it 
 underwent were completed by my 
 direction. We endeavoured to revive 
 Italy here. The temple — it was in 
 such a temple that St. Clair and I had 
 met in Rome as Alcibiades and Aspa- 
 sia! — 
 
 The letters will explain how all our 
 projects of happiness became empty
 
 240 VARIETIES 
 
 air. I cannot trust myself to write of 
 this part of my life. Would that my 
 tears could blot it from memory ! 
 How quickly did it chase those 
 delightful visions, which had so long 
 engrossed us ! — what a dark reverse ! 
 
 We had been six short months in 
 England. We had celebrated the 
 completion of the petites Thuilleries, in 
 that fated temple. Every thing 
 smiled on us. We loved, oh, how 
 ardently! — St. Clair was summoned 
 to the residence of his uncle. 
 
 I refer you to the letters. 
 
 LETTER Vli. 
 
 TO MISS LOCKHART. 
 
 I am separated from you! — this 
 thought pursues me everywhere ! — I 
 cannot lose sight of it ; — I no longer
 
 I'N WOMAN. 241 
 
 isfee you, — no longer speak to you ! — 
 The sun rises and sets and rises 
 again, and still you are absent ! — How 
 insupportaJ)le would this conviction 
 be, if I were not certain of your 
 love ! 
 
 After having once lived with you, I 
 feel how impossible it is to live with- 
 out you. It is imagination alone, 
 that renders our separation tolerable. 
 i choose solitude as much as pos- 
 sible, because I would not have my 
 thoughts intruded on. This is not 
 always practicable. My uncle is, at 
 present, confined to his couch, and 
 requires my frequent attendance. 
 Miss Castleton, to whom he is 
 guardian, is also at the Abbey, and 
 I am compelled to endure the ennui 
 of her society. She is terribly com- 
 mon-place ; when the early bloom of 
 youth is fled, we are disgusted with 
 
 Vol. I. M
 
 242 VARIETIES 
 
 that inanity of mind, which is endur- 
 able, only in the extremely young 
 and beautiful. Miss Castleton never 
 was the latter, and she has long 
 ceased to be the former. She has a 
 certain coarseness of feeling, from 
 which I suffer daily all the horrors of 
 purgatory. Mr. Vivian is exceedingly 
 attached to her, and insists that I 
 should be frequently with her. 
 
 Why should I talk of her to you ? — 
 Perhaps, because I wish you to mi- 
 derstand how fondly my memory 
 recurs to you, how lovely is that 
 image which imagination presents to 
 me, when contrasted with Miss 
 Castleton ! 
 
 I am continually asking myself, 
 when can I return to you, and I 
 calculate, with the minutest accuracy, 
 the probabilities. It must depend 
 entirely on Mr. Vivian. — I owe every-
 
 IN WOMAN. 243 
 
 thing to him, even my Catherine. It 
 was he, who sent me to the continent, 
 — to Italy, — to Aspasia, — Aspasia /-— 
 what delightful associations are con- 
 nected with that name ! 
 
 I imagine I see you in the Temple 
 when the sun sets, watching the 
 shadows of departing day, and think- 
 ing on him, whose mind is continually 
 with you. I catch the strains of the 
 JEolian harps, and I hear your voice 
 imitating the sound. We ought to 
 have called o?ir petites Thuilleries, ks 
 champs elyskes. 
 
 Write to me immediately. When 
 I read your letters, I shall imagine 
 that I am listening to yourself. 
 
 Adieu, dearest Catherine ! my heart 
 is with you, 
 
 Vivian St. Clair. 
 
 M 2
 
 244 VARIETIES 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 TO MISS LOCKHART. 
 
 I am disturbed and agitated almost 
 beyond endurance. I have much to 
 communicate, and I cannot discover 
 in what manner I ought to tell it. 
 
 I informed you in my last, my 
 Catherine, that the ward of my uncle 
 Miss Castleton, was at the Abbey. 
 
 I know not, — I cannot imagine, — 
 what infatuation possesses him. He 
 believes her all that is amiable and 
 lovely. — He desires to see her the 
 wife of his nephew ! 
 
 What answer could I return to a 
 proposal of this nature? — I was 
 already engaged, and on the point of 
 visiting Mr. Vivian for the purpose of 
 detailing to him the particulars of my 
 engagement, when I received his
 
 IN WOMAN. 245 
 
 summons. I cannot — will not — des- 
 cribe his anger. — That I should reject 
 the heiress of immense wealth, his 
 ward — Miss Castleton — for a com- 
 parative stranger, seemed to him 
 incomprehensible ! 
 
 On these terms only am I to con- 
 sider myself his heir. He threatens 
 me with every thing that can disturb 
 my felicity. Until I knew you, 
 Catherine, his menaces would have 
 been disregarded. — Now, they in- 
 volve the destruction of my fondest 
 hopes. 
 
 I have represented to him, the age 
 of Miss Castleton. — She is three and 
 thirty. A man may love a woman at 
 this, or a much older period, as his 
 wife — his companion from youth, who 
 recalls perpetually the most endear- 
 ing recollections. — But it is abso- 
 lutely impossible, that he should
 
 246 VAHIETIES 
 
 endure a mistress of this age, devoid 
 of all the fascinations of wit and 
 genius, — uninteresting in manner, 
 unlovely in person,- especially if he 
 is younger than she is. A woman of 
 three and thirty ought never — never 
 — to hazard every chance of happi- 
 ness by becoming the wife of a man 
 five years younger than herself. 
 
 But what of this ? — If she had been 
 all that can fascinate and delight, she 
 must have been nothing to me. The 
 Jieart that is devoted to Catherine, is 
 too fully occupied to admit any other 
 impression. 
 
 Mr. Vivian must dispose of his 
 wealth as he pleases. At the same 
 time, I claim equal authority over my 
 affections. They are devotedly, and 
 exclusively, my Catherine's. 
 
 Vivian St. Clair.
 
 IN WOMAN. 247 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 TO MISS LOCKHART. 
 
 It is all over. Mr. Vivian died last 
 Thursday. To-day, I am a beggar. 
 
 In reading his will, I found that his 
 estates were bequeathed to me, on 
 condition that I married Miss Castle- 
 ton within three months after his 
 decease. My non-compliance was to 
 put her in immediate possession of 
 this fortune. 
 
 I am a beggar then, my Catherine. 
 These estates are her's indisputably. 
 I would rather pioneer for my daily 
 bread than fulfil these detestable con- 
 ditions. 
 
 And the petites Thuilleries — that 
 temple so endeared to us by a thou- 
 sand inexpressible felicities ; those 
 grounds where we have wandered so
 
 248 VARIETIES 
 
 often, and projected plans of future 
 happiness — are no longer mine. 
 
 Is it possible, my Catherine, that 
 a period so short as this can have 
 effected such complete ruin ? — A 
 month since, and you weve mine by 
 love — by promise — by a thousand 
 bonds. To-day, we are eternally 
 separated. 
 
 I am a beggar. For my very sub- 
 sistence, I must labour. I cannot 
 even claim a roof to shelter me. Of 
 all my possessions but one is left to 
 me, — I am still the master of myself. 
 
 I shall never, never cease to love 
 you. Wherever I go, I shall carry 
 your image with me. I shall be 
 happy when I lose the present in the 
 past, — when I recollect the inesti- 
 mable proofs of your love. 
 
 We must part. The fiat is immu- 
 table. Surely one more interview
 
 IN WOMAN. 249 
 
 will not be too much. — Many, many 
 years of subsequent sorrows will re- 
 quire to be soothed by as numerous 
 remembrances of happy hours. That 
 moment in which I see you, even 
 though it be to say farewell, cannot 
 be entirci to m&r^hle. 
 
 Catherine — • and an epved Cathe- 
 rine — is it possipificino- \ I resign 
 you — voluntarily res.^^nd your . ^^ 
 no! — I am compelled by t«qgiQi^ ^3^ 
 cruel necessity. Is it true that I keci^ 
 my senses ? — that I endure this con- 
 viction, and live ? 
 
 A beggar must not woo you, Ca- 
 therine. But you may smile even 
 on a beggar. 
 
 Vivian St. Clair. 
 
 M 5
 
 250 VARIETIES 
 
 LETTER X. 
 TO VIVIAN ST. CLAIR, ESQ. 
 
 A beggar 1 no, St. Clair you are 
 not a beggar. Nature never intended 
 you for a beggar. Yr the heir 
 
 of immense^ ,. your uncle's 
 
 wealth. ^ rank amongst the 
 
 ^^^S^' a begga-^^^^^ ^^^^^^^ ''^^^^ 
 sistenr^ -where genius, and energy, 
 ^sa learning, are appreciated. 
 
 Marry Miss Castleton. It is I — 
 Catherine — who command you to do 
 so. Do you think I could exist under 
 the conviction, that for me you had 
 sacrificed distinction and rank ? that 
 for me you were dependant — a beggar ! 
 Never ! I must first lose the power 
 of separating the evil from the good. 
 I must become unworthy of your 
 love.
 
 IN WOMAX. 251 
 
 What do you gain by persisting in 
 your refusal ? In either case we are 
 separated. If you quit the kingdom, 
 years may elapse before we meet 
 again. And what will console me 
 during that interval ? Will it be 
 soothing to me, that you are wander- 
 ing a beggar and an fxile for me ? 
 that you are sacrificing your youth, 
 your independance, and your happi- 
 ness to an unfortunate passion of 
 which I am the object ? 
 
 Marry ; — I am still your friend. 
 No power can prevent my being in- 
 terested in every thing that relates to 
 you. I shall never cease to love you 
 too well to desire the sacrifice of 
 your happiness to my passion. Re- 
 collect, how seldom it is that we can 
 choose felicity in the way we would 
 prefer it. A philosopher and a 
 christian should be grateful for the
 
 252 VARIETIES. 
 
 good within his reach, without re- 
 gretting that of which he is deprived. 
 
 Miss Castleton must have some 
 amiable qualities. Be it your care 
 to discover them. She may —-she 
 will — -inspire you with esteem. If 
 perfect happiness is not in your 
 power, you may, at least, be tranquil. 
 
 I shall be her friend. I shall have 
 pleasure in teaching her by what 
 manner she may augment your feli- 
 city. Your children shall be my 
 children. I shall be the affectionate 
 sister of a beloved brother. All will 
 be well. 
 
 Yes, St. Clair, you must marry 
 Miss Castleton. To your habits 
 fortune is absolutely necessary. I 
 have none, and there is but one means 
 by which you can possess it. 
 
 > Catherine Lockhart.
 
 IN WOMAN. 253 
 
 Paper the Seventh. 
 
 I cannot describe. Sir Albert Be- 
 verley, the pain, the struggles, I 
 endured before I could write this 
 letter. The blow had been so sudden 
 — so unexpected ! — I had one conso- 
 lation,— only one — I was sacrificing 
 myself to St. Clair's happiness. 
 
 He came to me. — I never shall 
 forget his appearance ; — so wild, — so 
 disordered, — so changed. I was 
 alone when he entered . 
 
 *' Did you bwrite that letter, Ca~ 
 therine ?" 
 
 " Yes, certainly. Did you think 
 I had not courage ?" 
 
 I cannot describe this interview. — 
 The most frantic expostulations on 
 his side, — the most unyielding firm- 
 ness on mine. I am even now asto-
 
 254 VARIETIES 
 
 nished at the recollection. I had 
 indeed one powerful support. I was 
 ofivinsr St. Clair the most decisive 
 proofs of the sincerity of my passion 
 for him,, by sacrificing myself to his 
 felicity. 
 
 I know not how I conquered ! I 
 remember only, that if I had been 
 pleading for the happiness of my 
 whole life, I could not have suppli- 
 cated more vehemently. He pro- 
 mised ! 
 
 He left me. — I know not what 
 strange sentiment of C iultation ele- 
 vated me. I triumphed in a convic- 
 tion of the immense sacrifice I had 
 made to him. I appeared to have 
 passed into a new and higher state, 
 of existence. I looked on the world 
 around, and something in my inner- 
 most heart seemed to say, — " how
 
 IN WOMAN. 255 
 
 superior I am to you all !" Many had 
 sacrificed fortune, friends, country 
 to the being they loved ; I had sacri- 
 ficed even Jiope to him ! Hov^^ 
 mighty, how immense, was the 
 offering ! 
 
 This was not our last interview. I 
 saw him again and again. I received 
 letters from him. My resolution did 
 not desert me. Energy, of which I 
 had never believed myself the pos- 
 sessor, started into action. I was a 
 new being. The former softness and 
 pliability of my disposition was no 
 more. In place of it I had acquired a 
 firmness and a heroism to which I had 
 hitherto been a stranger. It is true 
 my health was somewhat affected, 
 but I repeated to myself continually, 
 '' malgre ses infirmit^s, une ame nohk
 
 256 VARIETIES 
 
 est maitresse du corps quelle 
 anime." — I was inflexible. I exacted 
 from St. Clair the performance of his 
 promise. — He redeemed his pledge ! 
 
 Yes, he married ! He was indeed 
 bound indissolubly. I heard the 
 bells celebrate his nuptials. I do not 
 believe that his funeral knell would 
 have smitten my heart with such 
 intense agony. It was torture, mad- 
 ness ! I hid myself in the most re- 
 mote spot I could find, and I shrieked 
 his name in all the wildness of deli- 
 rium. It seemed as if a dreadful 
 weight oppressed my brain, my 
 heart, from which I could not release 
 myself. Around me there was chaos, 
 an insupportable mass of burning 
 light, or worse than Egyptian dark- 
 ness. I was in a state that defies
 
 IN WOMAN. 257 
 
 alike description and imagination. 
 And yet, Sir Albert Beverley, I lived 
 
 to recover 
 
 I was deprived of the little hap- 
 piness on which I had calculated. 
 The wife of St. Clair exhibited a 
 contraction of soul, an incapacity of 
 anything ennobling. She shrunk 
 from my proffered friendship. That 
 despicable class of trifiers, who feed 
 the ear with slanderous aspersions 
 of elevated characters, were more 
 consonant to her, — that class whom 
 Blair has so well described : '' A 
 tale, perhaps, which the idle have in- 
 vented, the inquisitive have listened 
 to, and the credulous have propa- 
 gated, or a real incident which 
 rumour, in carrying it along, has 
 exaggerated and disguised, supplies
 
 258 VARIETIES 
 
 them with materials of contident as- 
 sertion, and decisive judgment. From 
 an action they presently look into 
 the heart, and infer the motive. 
 This supposed motive they conclude 
 to be the ruling principle ; and pro- 
 nounce at once concerning the whole 
 character." 
 
 Oh, she knew not what a spirit she 
 raised within me, when she dared to 
 repel my cordiality by the most in- 
 sulting suspicions ! I would have 
 loved, aided, counselled, the wife of 
 St. Clair! — She rejected my friend- 
 ship — with marked indignity she re- 
 jected it ! I could not forget, I could 
 not forgive, the bitter pangs her 
 haughty contempt of me inflicted. 
 Yes, Sir Albert Beverley, yes, that 
 person lives who dared to regard me
 
 IN WOMAN. 259 
 
 with contempt! Sh6 thought not 
 what she was preparing for herself. 
 Proud of having, as she imagined, 
 rendered my lover faithless, she looked 
 on me with the haughty exultation of 
 a triumphant rival !^ — 
 
 '' She did not know how pride can stoop, 
 
 " When baffled feelings withering droop ; 
 
 " She did not know how hate can burn 
 
 " In hearts once changed from soft to stern ; 
 
 *' Nor all the false and fatal zeal, 
 
 " The convert of revenge can feel.'*— 
 
 Have you not seen how she dreads 
 me, that she avoids my glance as if it 
 were the eye of a basilisk ? She has 
 ambition, and she aims at distinction. 
 She has felt her nothmg72ess in the 
 midst of the circle that surrounds me. 
 She does not detect that it is her con- 
 sciousness of inferiority that op- 
 presses her. She imagines, on the 
 contrary, that my influence has been
 
 260 VARIETIES 
 
 exerted to debase her. Such a con- 
 test would remind one of the Roman 
 Emperors Hadrian and Trajan, who 
 condescended to engage in trials of 
 strength with the most inexperienced 
 of their soldiers. 
 
 One effort on my part would com- 
 pletely have crushed this woman; — 
 she was the wife of St. Clair, and I 
 did not exert my power. I spared 
 her, but she feels, at the same time, 
 that she is indebted to forbearance 
 only. This is a sufficient humiliation. 
 
 I am not going to detail to you. Sir 
 Albert Beverley, what is the present 
 state of my mind. You have ob- 
 served me; and what was formerly 
 obscure, these papers will enable you 
 to penetrate. Of the future of this 
 life I think not. I am now occupied 
 entirely in contemplations of another 
 stage of existence. The world knows
 
 IN WOMAN. 261 
 
 not that I am unhappy, the world 
 suspects it not. It believes that the 
 admired idol of those whom itself 
 most admires, must be an enviable 
 being! — I rejoice that it is thus 
 deceived. And now, come what 
 may, 
 
 " Firm as that flint I face my end, 
 
 " My heart may burst, but cannot bend !'* 
 
 END OF VOL. I,
 
 Printed by T. C. Hansard, Peterborough-ceurt, Fleet-street, London.
 
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