owned, some of them rather tremulously-their choral hymn, the nuns closely veiled, knelt on each side,--but for their sweet voices, like figures carved, rather than life. The prioress alone was unveiled, and standing on the steps of the altar, which, added to her long flowing garments, gave her the appearance of almost preternatural height. In one hand, even as her forefathers had grasped the sword, not less boldly did she hold a torch; in the other, even as they had held their shield, she held the cross. For a moment even Sir John Arundel quailed before the dark eye that met his own so fearlessly. She saw her advantage, and seized it. At a glance, her nuns ceased their hymn, and a deep silence succeeded the voice of singing, and the clanging steps of armed men. "Not for pity, nor even for time, cruel and grasping man! do I now speak;" and her clear distinct voice sounded unnaturally loud, from the echoes of the arched roof and hollow tombs. "Turn the golden vessels sacred to thy God to purposes of vain riot and thankless feasting, even as did the Babylonian monarch;-take the fair lands, from whose growth the pilgrim has been fed and the poor relieved-take them, as the unrighteous king of Israel took the vineyard of his neighbor, by force;-but take also the curse that clings to the ungodly. I curse the father who shall possess the race who are to inherit. Thy young men shall be cut off by the sword; and sickness, worse than an armed man, shall take thy maidens in the bower. In the name of the faith thou hast deserted-the God thou hast outraged the curse shall be on thy race, till it be extinguished, even as this light." She dashed down the torch she held, descended from the altar steps, and left the chapel before any of her opponents were sufficiently recovered from their dismay to stop or molest her passage. All the nuns were either not so fortunate or so resolute. Certain it is, that one of them, and a namesake too, Bertha de Neville, a few weeks after, married this very Sir John Arundel. The legend went on to state that the nuptial merriment was disturbed by the sudden appearance of a pale spectral figure, who entered, as it contrived to depart from the bauquet hall unobserved, and denounced the most awful curses on bridegroom and bride. A similar appearance was said to have attended the christening of their first child. Years passed away; and the story of the White Prior ess was one of those which belong of right to all ancient families. A ghost only pays an old house a proper attention by an occasional visit. And now that Arundel Hall was, for the time at least, deserted-and Emily was the last of her race, just, too, on the eve of her departure for foreign parts, together with the apparition seen by the gardener such an opportunity for aught of superstitious record might never occur again. Traditions, omens, appearances, prophecies, came thick and threefold; till, what with inventions and remembrances, not a grandfather or grandmother, not an uncle or aunt, of her race, had ever, by common report, remained quiet in their graves. Early as it was next morning, not a cottage door but sent forth its inhabitants to take a farewell look at Miss Emily. Many a little sunburnt face ran beside the carriage, and many a little hand, which had since sunrise been busily employed in selecting her favorite flowers, threw nosegays in at the window. Emily eagerly caught them, and her eyes filled with tears, as, at a turning in the road which hid the village, she threw herself back on the seat. How many years of youth and of happiness-how many ties of those small kindnesses, stronger than steel to bindhow many memories of early affection, was she leaving behind! At that moment the beautiful answer of the Shunamite woman seemed to her the very morality of happiness and certainty of content-"I dwell among mine own people." How many familiar faces, rejoicing in our joy, sorrowing with our sorrow-how many cares, pleasant from habitsickness, whose suffering gave a tenderer character to love-mirth, the mirth of the cheerful hearth or the daily meal—mirth, like homemade bread, sweeter from its very homeliness-the sleep, sound from exercise-the waking buoyant with health and the consciousness of necessary toil-the friends to whom our childhood was a delight, because it recalled their own! "I dwell among mine own people :" a whole life of domestic duty, and the happiness which springs from that fulfilment which is of affection, are in those words. Emily might have revolved all this in her own exaggerated feelings, till she had convinced herself that it was her duty to have staid in her native village and solitary home, but for Lady Mandeville, who, though very willing to make all due allowance for her young compaVOL. II.-2 nion's depressed spirits during the first ten miles, was not prepared to extend the said allowance to twenty. Our sympathy is never very deep unless founded on our own feelings;-we pity, but do not enter into the grief we have never known: and if her ladyship had expressed her thoughts aloud, they would have taken pretty much this form: "I really cannot see so much to regret in an empty house, a village where there is not a creature to speak to, some old trees, and dirty children." our Politeness, however, acts the lady's maid to thoughts; and they are washed, dressed, curled, rouged, and perfumed, before they are presented to the public; so that an unexpressed idea might often say to the spoken one, what the African woman said to the European lady, after surveying the sweep of her huge bonnet and the extent of her skirt, “Oh, tell me, white woman, if this is all you!" It is amazing how much a thought expands and refines by being put into speech: I should think it could hardly know itself. We have already recorded Lady Mandeville's thoughts; but she spoke as follows :-" When at Rome, Emily, you must get a set of cameos. You are among the few persons I could permit to wear them. It quite affects my feelings to see them strung round some short thick throat of an heiress to some alderman who died of apoplexy; clasped round an arm red as if the frost of a whole winter had settled in the elbow; or stuck among bristling curls, as if to caricature, by contrast, the short, silly, simpering face below. 'The intelligible forms of ancient poets'-'the fair humanities of old religion'-the power, the beauty, and the majesty, 'That had their haunts in dale or piny mountain, it is enough to bring them back to our unworthy earth in the shape of furies, to see their images put to such base use. None but a classical countenance should venture on cameos." I am," replied Emily-personal adornment is the true spell that would almost wake the dead-" so very fond of emeralds there is something so spiritual in their pure green light, and one associates with them the romantic fiction of mysterious virtue being in their mystic stone."" "My sweetest Emily," returned Lady Mandeville, a little alarmed, "never be picturesque or poetical at your toilette;-in matters of grave import, never allow vain and foolish fancies to interfere ;-never sit at your looking glass as if you were sitting for a picture ;-indulge in no vagrant creations of your own. What Pope said of fate is still truer of fashion 'Whatever is, is right." "But suppose any prevailing fashion is to me peculiarly unbecoming?" "It will be less unbecoming than singularity. A peculiar style, especially if that style suit you, will make a whole room your enemies: independence is an affront to your acquaintance. Of all deferences, be most implicit in that you pay to opinion." "How little liberty, even in the affair of a ringlet, does a woman possess !" 66 66 Liberty and power," said Lord Mandeville, who, after riding the first stage on horseback, now entered the carriage, are in the hands of women, what they are in the hands of a mob—always misused. Ah! the Salic law is the true code, whether in morals or monarchies." "He cannot forgive," said his wife," the turnip fields and the three covies which he has left behind. But I will not have your murderous propensities interfere with Emily's welldoing. While we are travelling, the mirror of the Graces may remain partially covered; but, on our return, it must be unveiled in its own peculiar temple, Paris. Be assiduous in your studies for a few weeks, and you may lay in a stock of good principles for life." 66 Nothing," said Lord Mandeville, "can be more perfect than a Frenchwoman when she is finished. From the Cinderellalike slipper to the glove delicate as the hand it covers the shawl, whose drapery a sculptor might envy-the perfumes-the fan, so gracefully carried--the bijouterie, which none employ with such effect-all is in such exquisite keeping. I always admire their management of their bonnet. A young Frenchwoman will come in, the said bonnet put on as if a morning had been devoted to its becoming position: she will take it off, and not a curl will be displaced-put it on again with all apparent carelessness, but as gracefully as ever." "Remember," said Lady Mandeville, "the previous study. I recollect, when we were last in Paris, I expressed to that pretty Mde. de St. Elve the very same admiration. Truly it was 'the carelessness, yet the most studied to kill.' We were at that time quite confidential.— 'You see,' said she, the result of my morning.'' "It is a pity," replied her husband, "but a fair exchange could be effected-that the Englishwoman could give her general neatness, and the Frenchwoman her particular taste." "Ah," observed Lady Mandeville, "but the strength of a feeling lies in its concentration. The Englishwoman diffuses over a whole day what the French reserves for a few hours. Effect, there is the summing up. In great, as in little things, the French are a nation of actors-life is to them a great melodrame. I remember some verses written by one of their gens d'esprit et de societe, an hour before his death, in which he calls on the Loves and Graces to surround his couch, that he may die with the murmur of their kisses in his ears! This is something more than adjusting the mantle before they fall.' It is also taking care that the trimmings are not tumbled.'” Mile after mile flew rapidly; and soon came upon the traveller's ear that deep murmur, like the roar of the mighty ocean, which, even at such a distance, tells us that we approach London. Gradually the hedges and fields give way before long rows of houses; and a few single domiciles, with plats of turf cut into patterns, and bunches of daisies dusty and dry as if just dropped from the wreath figurante, are what the orientals call so pleasant and rural, so convenient for stages and Sunday. Soon one straight line succeeds another; and we know the wilderness of streets is begun, which, in half a century, will end Heaven knows where. The entrance to London by the great north road, is the one by which I would bring a stranger. First, the road winding through the fertile country, rich in old trees and bright green fields, and here and there a substantial brick house, well closed in with wall and hedge ;—a few miles farther, the dislocating town of Brentford, driven through at the risk of the joints of your frame and the springs of your carriage, which George II. pronounced |