to me! The flowers of the east, that vary their colour as they are seen in sunshine or in shade, change not their hue more suddenly than do my own wild thoughts and recollections. Chameleon-like, they vary perpetually; but, alas! like the tints of departing day, they change and change, but to end in a deep, deep night. "Mr. Lyndon at length joined us, and I had every reason to be satisfied with his reception of me; still, I did not like him. More worldly than his wife and daughter, his approbation seemed to me wholly dependent on my fortune, and the advantages which it commanded. His wife, on the contrary, seemed to say, I would give my daughter to such a man with a bare competence, in preference to the highest rank, or most splendid fortune. Nothing excites so much gratitude as good opinion; mine for Mrs. Lyndon knew no bounds. I was conscious that she estimated me far too highly; but then I meant to become all that she then considered me. "It might be supposed that Mrs. Lyndon's affectionate regard would have more than compensated for any supposed deficiency on the part of her husband. It was, on the contrary, a powerful stimulant to the pride that suffered from his indifference. I could ill brook his cold, unpleasant manner; and Amelia at length complained that I was reserved and unlike myself in the presence of her father. I made the best excuse the case would admit, and pleaded short acquaintBut the happy life I had led, seemed altogether changed by the arrival of Mr. Lyndon at Sidmouth, and a chilling and distant formality banished the delightful freedom that had reigned among us. ance. "I resolved therefore on marrying immediately, and, in order the more securely to gain Amelia's consent, prevailed on the grateful Mary to be my advocate. Inwardly persuaded that if our marriage were much longer deferred she should not live to witness it, Mary gladly undertook my cause, Without once betraying her fears, she talked with so much animation of the pleasure she promised herself in the coasting tour I had projected, and of her wish that the season should not be much farther advanced, that Amelia yielded to my persuasions, and at the expiration of a month promised to be mine. "I immediately wrote to my father and brother to request their presence at my marriage. The one declined on account of his advanced age and the great distance, the other promised to be with me. But my brother's letter, after his congratulations and good wishes were concluded, contained the following startling paragraph.-'Strange reports are now afloat concerning our new neighbours the Cressinghams : he is pronounced tyrannical, and she something worse. In consideration, however, of their being friends of yours, we visit them occasionally. But not being quite satisfied that these rumours are unfounded, I do not lament that the English reserve of my Emily has hitherto resisted Mrs. Cressingham's fascinations. Ours at present is mese formal acquaintance.' Painful sensations arose in my mind, as I read this part of my brother's letter. I longed to know the positive nature of the reports alluded to, and felt much selfish anxiety lest my name should have been mixed up with any of them. But it passed away as soon as felt. I was reposing in the very heart of happiness, and my fears were soon silenced. In supine security, without taking one step towards ascertaining the truth, I easily persuaded myself that Mrs. Cressingham's affections had found another object, and that the odium would fall on him. "Alas! I wronged her as much as I deceived myself! But most fortunately I was undeceived in time!—for, all miserable as I have been, miserable as I must still be, my sufferings have been nothing compared to what they would have been, had the shock so fatal to my then blissful prospects been deferred but for one week. Yes, it was just one week from the day that was to have made Amelia irrevocably mine, that the letter was put into my hands, which hurled me from the height of human happiness, to the lowest depth of human wretchedness. I can conceive none deeper than mine; for wo is, and ever must be, comparative." VOL. I.-3 CHAPTER IX. Let me not to the marriage of true minds SHAKSPEARE. MR. LANGHAM'S MS. CONTINUED. "It would be difficult to imagine a greater degree of dismay than I experienced on first opening the letter I have mentioned. My astonishment was as great on seeing your mother's handwriting, Hamond, as if a miracle had been effected to produce it, and astonishment was for many seconds my only feeling. Next came the stupefaction of presentiment. Before I read its contents, my heart sickened with the certainty of evil. Yet the words-- All is discovered, I have denied nothing; I am what I have long deserved to be, an outcast from my husband's house,' long swam before my eyes, without my comprehending their meaning. "It is always difficult, often impossible, to recall what we have felt but I do most distinctly remember the acute and sudden anguish that succeeded the temporary suspension of my mind in this memorable hour. A thousand instruments of torture applied to a body just awaking from sleep, would but feebly image the dreadful vitality of nerve, the cruel activity of thought, which I at that moment suffered. Every faculty of my soul seemed endued with an increased and simultaneous energy. Recollection followed recollection in agonizing tumult. Plan succeeded plan with fearful and maddening celerity. Every creature I had ever thought of, with even a common interest, seemed crowding around me. All the chief events of my life rushed forcibly to my brain. Every affection I had ever known returned restlessly to my heart. Such excitation could not long endure. Mind and body both sank under it, and the mind first. As I grew more calm, I strove to think, and could not. Oh the pain of that sad conviction! The violence of contention within was over; and I had just consciousness enough remaining to be aware that my faculties had lost their power. I am ignorant of all that immediately followed, till I found myself in bed, and saw Mrs. Lyndon by my side. A medical attendant was also near me, who, as I appeared to revive, administered medicines, which I swallowed mechanically. I was soon pronounced better; I called myself so, and so I was. I had not now to complain that I could not think, or knew not how to act. A clear perception of my position rendered my line of conduct but too palpable. Amelia could never be mine! "I attempted to explain myself to Mrs. Lyndon; but she would not hear me speak. Quietness had been recommended for me; and she tried, by turns, to sooth and chide me into silence. And oh! amid all, how she wept! The engagement between Amelia and myself had rendered me so much a child of her love, that evil could not approach me as mere bodily indisposition, but it was an affliction to her. At length, finding her exhortations useless, she left me, promising to return in two hours. "The necessity, however, for immediate exertion pressed too strongly on my conscience for me to remain inactive; I exerted myself to rise, and having ordered that my carriage should be sent after me to Mr. Lyndon's, and desired that my servant would remain at Sidmouth till he heard from me, I set out for the dwelling of Amelia, neither considering how I ought, nor knowing how I meant to act, but determined that no obstacle should operate to prevent the necessary disclosure of my situation. "I was soon in the presence of Mrs. Lyndon and her daughters. She had apparently been relating to them all she knew of my illness, for Amelia had evidently been weeping; I marked that as I entered, great as was my perturbation and distress, but I paused not to reflect upon her tears. Throwing myself at the feet of Mrs. Lyndon, in a few words I made known to her and the woman I adored, all that was necessary to be exposed of my disgraceful history. In many cases, we complain of language as inadequate to our purposes; in others, how willingly must we all subscribe to its sufficiency! On this occasion, brief and poor, and simple, was that which I made use of, but it conveyed to Amelia Lyndon tidings that were to be a sorrow to her for her life. Yet she was the first to break silence, and her eye kindled as she spoke. Rising from her seat, she approached me, and putting her hand in mine, she said,- Let us rejoice that it is in your power to make reparation.' "Even her mother was astonished, and murmured aloud, as if unconsciously, Thank Heaven! my child is true to herself!' My poor Amelia could not bear this praise: the colour faded from her cheek, the light of her eye declined, and the tremour of her frame became momentarily more violent. I strove to speak, but her name, her dear name, was all I could utter: there seemed a charm in it to draw forth her tears; for, as I pronounced it, she bent her head over the hand I had retained, and wept without control. 66 Mary, with that blessed kindness which always distinguished her, persuaded her mother at this moment to leave us a few minutes alone. At such a time, how came she to judge so wisely and intuitively to lead to the only measure that could give even momentary relief to two broken-hearted creatures, too much absorbed by misery to form a wish for themselves? Yet so it was, that interview did more for the reconcilement of both our hearts, than the lapse of years could have done without it. In that interview how nobly did my high-souled Amelia exhort me to firmness, if but for her sake! how repeatedly did she assure me that she could and would conquer all that ought to die, but that her friend. ship for me should never cease. No shade of anger or reproach mingled with what she said or what she felt. She saw the sincerity of my sorrow, and sought, even amid her own fast-falling tears, to sooth and comfort me. Her last words were, (well remembered, because they were the last), Be comforted! let the memory of our friendship be a blessing to us, by exalting our minds to a stricter fulfilment of our duties.' "Mrs. Lyndon and Mary returned to us, and my carriage at the same time drove to the door. It was well, for I could have borne no more. Another instant and the settled purpose of my soul would have fled for ever. Even now I could almost wonder that it remained unshaken. Mankind have blamed, and justly blamed, my conduct. All know what I |