them to the utmost; and this Emmeline, who had been far more educated than her sisters, had herself sufficient knowledge to appreciate.

at it-at others, it very nearly makes me cry-and, at all, now that I really believe it seriously to be the case, it perplexes me beyond measure. Know, The effect of such intercourse upon then, that my father has bred up in the unhappy boy was first to dissipate his house a distant kinsman, whose the degree of dread which still remain- father was killed by his side at Naseed when he approached her—and next, by-who is deaf and dumb. This to condense, to strengthen, and to ren- boy, for he is no more, is at present der fervent the admiration he had al- somewhat under sixteen-and bears ways felt for her, till he could no the sobriquet of the Page, which my longer mistake the name it more pro- father somewhat fantastically invested perly deserved to bear. But yet, him with in his childhood. But you according to one axiom on the subject must not, from this title, take your of love, it did not deserve the name idea of Everard Delaval (such is his for, if love cannot exist without hope, name) from the gay court-pages then this was not love. Hope there whom the King has brought with was none he loved, indeed, as the him from abroad ;' he—though I must Indian worships the sun, without the say it, he is handsome enough to shine remotest idea of participation. This amongst them, be they what they may gave him a startling frankness of man--has none of the gaillardise of such ner towards the object of his passion gentry. I am told that he was wont, which could not have existed under notwithstanding his fearful infirmity, any other circumstances-and which first bewildered and afterwards still amazed Emmeline herself. But what her ideas and feelings on the subject at this period were, will be best explained by a letter which she addressed to a friend, some three years older than herself, with whom, at her aunt's, she had been in habits of the closest intimacy. This lady had written to her a long and glowing account of the ceremonies and sights attending the Restoration, which had just taken place and it was in answer to this that Emmeline now wrote. After commenting upon some of the accounts given by her friend, she proceeded thus:

"You tell me that I ought to be with you in London, were it only for the swarm of gay gallants the King has brought with him from abroad, some of whom would not fail to become the votaries of mes beaux yeux. Alas! dear Mary, this expression made me think of one, most different, indeed, from these gay gallants, who is, here, exactly that votary of which you speak-for suitor, in any degree, he is not. It is altogether the strangest thing in the world-sometimes I am inclined most exceedingly to laugh

to be gay and playful enough-and truly I remember me that, when I first came hither, he seemed to be so towards all but me, whom he rather shunned than otherwise. If so, it probably is the effect of the beautiful eyes you say are so powerful that has wrought a change-for now, undoubtedly, he is as melancholy as any description of a lover in all Shakspeare. Poor fellow !-it is cruel to speak thus lightly of him and his passion-for I believe it is sad earnest with him after all!

"You, who never saw him, will, I doubt not, laugh much at my speaking seriously, even for a moment, of a lover of sixteen, who cannot even speak to me. But I do not, mark me, speak in the least seriously of it, as regards myself-but merely from its effects upon the unhappy boy, which I cannot but see daily—and that, I believe, even more plainly than he does himself. He speaks to me so plainly of some instances of these effects, without in the least alluding to their cause, that I know not whether to laugh, to blush, or to be angry. I will tell you one of them, as he told it to me and you will judge how curiously I am placed with

regard to him. The extraordinary her superior sharp-sightedness. I must confess I think the letter bespeaks real knowledge of the esteemed science of which she treats :

appear to me the very reverse of months will do an infinity. Accord'childish,' prove sufficiently how much ingly, when Emmeline read her they are condensed and profound. I friend's answer, she blushed, then understand you also to say that he has wept, to find how truly her forebodtalents and cultivation little common. ings had been accomplished. Yes, Now, in despite of his being only six- she wept; for, though her feelings teen while you are three years older were now fondly, and, perhaps, warm-in despite of his melancholy infir- ly, interested towards Everard, she mity-in despite of his moderate posi- still felt not anxiety only, but in some tion in life,-I am convinced that it is degree shame also, for the position in impossible for you constantly to be- which she stood. In the first place, hold an unbounded and overwhelming he was a boy, much younger than herpassion for you devouring the very vi- self; occasionally she felt this unpleatals of such a person as this, without santly moreover, he was far beneath your becoming most sensibly touched her in station, and a daughter of the by it. And, by degrees, from the un- Meynells could not be supposed to be interrupted contemplation of all that quite indifferent to this; and, lastly, he uninterruptedly feels, your pity will she looked back to the time when she warm into that love to which it is so had laughed to herself at the idea of near akin. Of all this I am, from the possibility of such an attachment, some little experience, fully con- and this sometimes gave her a twinge vinced; and, therefore, I very seri- of shame at her having so speedily ously wish that you would come and falsified her predictions. But, on the pass some time with me. All that other hand, there was, first and foreyou will see here will speedily drive most, what had undoubtedly given from your head any childish ideas rise to the feeling on her part, the you may have imbibed at Arlescot; spectacle of the deep, strong, intense, and really your absence, before worse all-engrossing passion, which he felt comes of it, is the most charitable for her. This, beyond question, had thing for the poor lad himself. Be- been the cause of her affection, and it fore you have been absent many now continued to feed it. Then, there weeks, he will eat his dinner, and go was sympathy for his terrible misforto his bed regularly enough, take my tune, borne so nobly till his love for word for it." her had made him feel its full misery; there was admiration of his person, talents, and acquirements; there were, at once, respect and fondness for his excellent heart. "Yes!" she ex

Those were days long before Mr. Palmer's invention: mail-coaches did not whirl along at the rate of eleven miles and a half an hour, to convey, the "epistolary correspondence," whether of minister or merchant-of

Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid. Indeed, such letters as those I have copied above, were ordinarily sent by private hand, or by some trustworthy carrier, equally slow and uncertain; accordingly, what from their delays, and what from some others of the nature indicated in Lady Faulkner's letter, the said letter did not reach Emmeline till upwards of two months after hers was written. Starting from the point at which the reader must (as well as Lady Faulkner) have perceived her to be at that period, two

claimed, as she sat, thinking, with Lady Faulkner's letter open in her hand; "Yes! Mary is quite right— I do love him, there is no denying it even to myself. Love him!--yesand he knows it now-and, oh! the joy, the ecstacy, the confession gave him!-If Mary had seen him at that moment, she would have forgiven me all-she would have felt that no human heart could resist such affection as that." And she pondered with deep pleasure upon the picture her memory had placed before her. "And yet," she continued after a pause, "what is all this to lead to? my father would never listen for a moment

And what did he feel-the boy, who had thus forestalled, as it were, the course of time, and called forth the first affections of a woman like this? The

to such a marriage-and besides, he the scenes he beheld crowded upon is so young-it is impossible!"-And his mind, the first, the last object to she sank into one of those reveries of which every thing, in some shape or perplexity and pain under which she other, was referred-the standard by now suffered so often. which the value of every thing was measured-was Emmeline Meynell. What she would think of such a picture-how their hearts would draw closer to each other under the influence of such a noble prospect-how infinitely more he should enjoy any contemplation that delighted him, if she were there to share and reflect back his thoughts and feelings,-such was the manner in which the novelties, beauties, and wonders, whether of Art or Nature, throughout his travels, affected the mind of Everard. They were not able to have much communication-a kind, yet open message from her in a letter to her brother-some indirect allusion which he knew well Emmeline alone would really understand, in his letters to Sir Richard,-such was the limited extent to which their correspondence was confined. Yet no shadow of doubt ever crossed Everard's imagination-he felt, however, how little absence altered him, or rather how totally it left his affections the sameand he judged by himself of Emmeline. He painted her, in his mind, as frequenting their favorite haunts at Arlescot, and recalling all that they had felt as they had been in them together. He knew that thus he should have felt, and he fancied her feelings as his own.

strong intensity of his joy was almost too keen-I had nearly said too severe -for it not to be long before it subsided into happiness. The constant repetition of the fact that she loved him scarcely sufficed to feed the burning consciousness that so indeed it was. And oh! how his heart would swell, as he thought of the thousand feelings which he longed to pour forth to her, and could not-when he felt the check which stopped the passionate words which sprang in myriads from his heart, and chilled and thinned them by the circuitous modes of communication to which he was obliged to have recourse. "But still she loves me"-that was the comfort with which he always re-assured his soul-he felt that, in despite of all else, that made him worthy of envy.

Time passed on, and carried with it very little sensible alteration in the condition and feelings of our lovers. They felt the impossibility of yet, for a considerable time, taking any steps to bring about their union; and they, at present, contented themselves with letting matters take their course, only being especially careful that no suspicion of their attachment should arise. At length extraneous causes brought about their separation for a time. Sir Richard's eldest son was sent to travel, and it was determined that Everard should accompany him. The pain of parting was extreme-but the necessity of the parting was obvious and inevitable-and each trusted the other so fully that the regret was, in some degree, diminished by the certainty they both felt of their affection continuing unimpaired by absence.

Two years had elapsed, and Everard still remained abroad. In all he saw-amid all the new ideas which

And so, in fact, they were. She did love him fondly, ardently—and if she saw more clearly than he the difficulties which lay in their path, this served only to add to her anxiety, and to cause her pain-not to diminish her love. His admiration of her was, doubtless, of an unbounded nature, which she could not fully reciprocate

but the deep and fond pity which his misfortune caused, probably drew her heart towards him with more real tenderness than she would have felt in any other event. The unceasing intercourse, also, in which they had lived so long, caused a blank and dismal