with events that you well know must be most painful, I write to undeceive you. They had been known to me, my dear Cooper, for some months, and I was only waiting till I could write or speak of them to impart them to you. But they came upon me so suddenly and unpleasantly as to overcome me, so that I could not, even to you, have introduced or borne any discussion on the subject. Now, that I can speak freely, I am glad to do so; and the first use I make of my liberty is to ask you, in the name of that friendship which I am persuaded you feel for me, never again to allude to Isabella Cressingham but as to a sister whom I am bound by every tie of nature and good feeling to pity and to love. I go yet farther: I ask you fully and firmly to believe me when I tell you, that the hour which revealed to me our sad relationship to each other was not given up to selfish considerations, or confined to exclusive regret for her. No, my dear Cooper; the shock was too rude for selfishness :-—a mother, a once-adored mother, was violently displaced from my heart; a father's bright example was tarnished, and his influence shaken to the base; and the two dear sisters, whose characters you will now have an opportunity of studying, were become as feeble reeds, exposed to the fickle breath of opinion.

"It was perhaps fortunate for me that my thoughts were thus divided; for, whenever I did think of Miss Cressingham, a sickness and tremor came over me, that seemed like the forerunners of death. I suffered what those suffer who, having escaped without injury some great but unsuspected danger, are shown how imminent had been their peril. Many have died under such circumstances. I was only ill for a time, and have been long better; but the stain is a wound! and one that will not close. No, Cooper; argument is of no avail the kindness of friendship can in this case do nothing. "Ever yours," &c.

Hamond pursued his journey, and rejoiced when he was within view of Canterbury, where the Dragoon Guards were then stationed. "Here, at least," he said, " I shall be at peace till I have acquired more self-command, and recovered my former self-possession." With this pleasing anticipation in his mind, as he bent forward to reconnoitre, he saw Colonel Hawkins and Captain Lindsay Bathurst watchVOL. I.-5

ing his approach, and he was soon made to feel that his selfcominand was indeed to be acquired. For, while he returned the salutations of his colonel as warmly and affectionately as they were given; to Captain Bathurst's equally friendly greeting he first bowed stiffly, then blushed, and finally held out his hand, as if ashamed of his manner, and anxious to do away the impression it might have made. But Lindsay Bathurst was not of a temperament to wait the afterthought of any man to whom he had offered a civility, and had turned away with a mingled feeling of indignation and disgust.

Hamond tried to laugh as he drew back his unaccepted hand, and said to Col. Hawkins :

"It is awkward to be disappointed."

66

Yes; and so Bathurst perhaps felt, when he bowed as stiffly as a dancing-master, while his hand was held out to you.

"Was it? Upon my honour I never saw it."

"Then follow him double-quick for two minutes, and overtake him." And in a louder key: "Captain Bathurst, the young cornet complains that you have not shaken hands with him."

But Captain Bathurst either did not or would not hear, and the regular strokes of his retreating heels on the pavement of the barrack-yard were the only sounds that met the ears of Hamond and Colonel Hawkins as they stood by each other in somewhat embarrassed silence. Hamond felt it the most, and therefore broke it.

"We shall meet at dinner, I hope, colonel."

“Yes; and remember, your first glass of wine is to be drunk with me, your second with Bathurst."

Hamond bowed assent, and retired to his own apartment, where he had ample leisure and solitude to lament the unfortunate contretemps of the morning, to execrate his own folly, sigh bitterly as he did so, and resolve that nothing of the kind should ever again occur. He was determined that his conduct at dinner should be unexceptionable! Captain Bathurst unhappily did not dine at the mess, and the next morning quitted the regiment on leave of absence for three weeks. Hamond was not usually superstitious, but on this occasion he felt inclined to believe that the fates had really conspired against him.

CHAPTER XVII.

I have found

That outward forms, the loftiest, still receive
Their finer influence from the mind within.

COLERIDGE.

"I AM Sorry Bathurst is gone," said Major Barnard, in his mock-heroic and monotonous manner, "for he is quite a credit to the regiment. He makes the best devil of any gentleman who wears a coat to fight for his king and country;-sings well, for a man who is not a field-officer,—and dances quite as respectably as one could expect a man to do, who looks so much too dignified to dance at all. I like Bathurst."

Every body present laughed, not only because they habitually did so at every thing uttered by the major (whose manner was always diverting, however inferior might be the matter of his discourse), but at the strange list of recommendations which he had adduced in favour of his absent friend; for Captain Bathurst, although he did possess a rich and melodious voice, seldom sang, never danced but in cases of necessity, and was no epicure. It is therefore necessary that he should be more truly delineated.

Lindsay Bathurst was one of those beings who gain a quick and supreme ascendency over all with whom they come in contact. And this influence was acquired without any evident effort or anxiety to obtain it. Always refined and elegant in his manners, as it was his nature to be, he was yet on first acquaintance distant, and silent, and almost cold. Like Shakspeare's Wolsey, he was

"Lofty and sour to those that loved him not;
But to those hearts that sought him,

Sweet as summer."

His early reserve rendered this sweetness not only more remarkable, but more valued. The persons to whom it was displayed considered themselves favoured, or, what was still

better, favourites; and self-love thus construed the natura. consequence of greater intimacy into an especial mark of condescension or partiality. For Lindsay Bathurst was of high descent, and had both pedigree and family sufficient to justify (if any thing in so imperfect a being as man could justify) as much hauteur of character and manner as envy, malignity, or disappointed vanity ever brought against him. But the fault complained of—for it was a fault-sprang rather from a shrinking sensitiveness of character than any undue degree of what is called pride. Still, as he was precisely the sort of person whom the unestablished (no inconsiderable portion of society) think entitled to the possession of this unloveable property, the accusation was often fastened on him without being removed. Nor was this to be wondered at; for to many he never unbent, and to some of these, his commanding manner and lofty carriage were more than sufficient confirmations of their worst suspicions. Others drew yet more satisfactory and convincing evidence from the undazzled gaze which he sometimes threw around him, as if careless (because unconscious) of those he looked on. For it is a truth, and a singular one, that uncommon personal advantages, where they do not excite generous admiration, create a degree of awe.

But none who had really listened to his conversation ever spoke, even of his pride, with unmingled ill-will; for none, undeprived of the sense of hearing, could resist the magic of his voice. And his voice! to say that it was like that of Ossian's heroes, "Loud as the storm;" or "soft as the summer breeze;" or "like the wind that plays among the reeds;" or, to find similes of one's own, and declare, that it was deep as the sound of the ocean, yet at times playful and tender as that of a loving child, might seem contradictory, and be pronounced hyperbolical. It would nevertheless be true. No ear that ever listened with delight to the almost endless variety of a perfect human voice could be insensible to his tones.

Such were the personal qualifications of the man whose absence all, save Hamond, very sincerely regretted; for Captain Bathurst was much beloved and respected by his brother officers. And it may be observed, en passant, that wherever this is the case, there must be a tolerable fund of goodness in the heart.

As for his mind: he who influences the thoughts and actions of other men may be supposed in some degree to soar and keep above them. But this is no more true, than that men are what they seem. Lindsay Bathurst was by no means a hypocrite, had no assumptions, yet was he really far from being as independent in thought and action as he appeared to others to be.

He could give his little senate laws, yet there was not one of those over whose minds he had the mastery but would have better borne the reprobation of the whole earth than he a passing censure from that portion of it called "par excellence" the world.

Opinion was to him an "omnipotence,”—and on its shrine not only was reason sometimes extinguished, but justice and benevolence were added to the sacrifice. It was his misfortune to value it beyond its worth. He had never been able to say to himself "The world is but a word."

He pitied Hamond Langham from his inmost soul; but unfortunately before he had become acquainted with his history, before Hamond himself knew that there was any thing remarkable in it, Captain Bathurst had given such free and unequivocal utterance to sentiments in the presence of Hamond, as were now galling to his memory. He sincerely regretted having uttered words which he was now well aware must be remembered, but delicacy forbade any attempt at explanation.

CHAPTER XVIII.

-A thousand fantasies

Begin to throng into my memory.-COMUS.

Ir was an oversight in Mr. Langham to let his son leave his home in ignorance of his mother's former name, and uninformed of her connexions. Allusion has been already made to his having in consequence associated frequently with a daughter of his mother by Mr. Cressingham. He