Now, as this most remarkable truth is of universal application, it may not be deemed extraordinary that it should have applied to the amiable relict of alderman Thorn. While the alderman was living, he was not precisely all which that lady desired; he was nothing-very frequently, indeed, was he nothing at all like what she desired. She would sigh, she would be sorry-she would wish that if he were but-then she would think!-But oh! how awful is it to dive into the thoughts -the occasional secret thoughts-of those who unhappily conceive that they are too tightly bound about the legs in matrimony's soft silken cords, of which the gloss, like that of prematurely old bell-ropes, and indulgence in anger and an abuse of authority, not fair wear and tear, have worn off. We should there in the highest perfection behold the extreme wickedness of that which is termed the human heart-we should there discover wishes and conceptions of a character so startling and so vile, that even they who had cherished those wishes and conceptions endeavor to conceal from themselves. Without, therefore, going more minutely into the previous thoughts of the widow Thorn, who most certainly never wished them to be publicly known, it may perhaps be sufficient to state, that although she had treated the worthy alderman not fondly-although the practical illustrations, of domestic felicity she had induced were particularly hot-although, in short, she was continually at him, pointing out dreadful faults which he never could perceive, she began now to think that, after all, he was really a kind-hearted, generous, good dear sort of soul, and hence becarne absolutely inconsolable. She wept-very frequently she wept-and more especially on her pillow-and sighed, and wept again, and sometimes sobbed, and reproached herself bitterly for having previously inspected the faults only of him whose virtues now were in the ascendant. She had not felt it nearly so much before Stanley went to Eton; but he had no sooner left her than she began to feel very acutely the lamentable loneliness of her position. She was very wretched, and very disconsolate, and what, in her judgement, was far worse than all, albeit she had been no less than fifteen months a widow, not one of the late alderman's friends had proposed to convince her that the loss she had sustained was not absolutely irreparable! She gave dinners; she dressed with extreme elegance; she did all that she could with prudence to inspire those whom she conceived to be likely to propose with due courage. No! they were polite; they never refused an invitation; they were at all times particularly attentive and agreeable-but nothing more. She thought it strange--very strange; she really could not in any way account for it. She was rich, and she was tall; she felt that she was interesting, if not strictly handsome; yet not a single creature would propose! Such being the extraordinary state of things then, she began very deliberately and very serious y to turn the matter over in her mind; for although she had a son--a dear, darling son--who was, doubtless, a very great comfort in his way-she really felt that the comfort of a son, however great it might be, was not comparable, under the existing circumstances, with that of a husband--which was really very natural, and hence, very correct. Now, within the brilliant circle of her acquaintance there was a highly respectable individual named Ripstone, we m Stanley from his infancy had been accustomed to call his l'ppen. This gentleman held a deeply responsible situation in the treasury, and had, moreover, been a schoolfellow of the late worthy alderman, who had ever received and esteemed him as a friend. He had never been married: he had, therefore, no practical knowledge of the blessings with which matrimony teems; and it may be added as an extraordinary fact that he had never developed the slightest inclination to become conversant with that particular branch of human knowledge, which certainly does not precisely accord with the popular view of social excellence. Mr. Ripstone was, notwithstand ing, a very amiable man; and although he was not very rich, he had an annual salary of four hundred pounds, and with all the generosity in nature, spent each quarter's pay in advance. To this gentleman the widow had given very great encour agment; for, independently of his being a respectable looking man-though rather short for his circumference, which was not inconsiderable-he was a nice, kind, quiet, clever, excel lent creature, who would offend no one, and whom, moreover, no one could offend. He had been at every one of the widow's parties; he had never by any chance begged to be excused; he had always arrived with the strict punctuality of the sun, and had invariably made himself very agreeable. Nor had his visits been confined to those occasions-by no means. He frequently dined with her alone! She gave him every oppor tunity to declare himself; spoke warmly and eloquently on the subject of wedded life; marveled greatly that he should have no thought whatever of entering into the blissful marriage state; explained the utterly disconsolate character of her own position, and proved to demonstration that with all her wealth she could not in her state of extreme loneliness be happy. But no! it was all of no use. He was still as insensible as a block of Scotch granite, being one of those extraordinary creatures into whose thick heads of mortal adamant you cannot with a hammer drive even a hint. There would the poor widow sit, sighing, glancing, and fidgeting about, until she really became so provoked that she scarcely knew what on earth to do with herself, while he would be twiddling his thumbs, or mechanically twirling his watchchain, with a heart as dead to every sigh, look, smile, and sentiment of affection, as a stone. It was monstrous! The widow at times had no patience with the man. She herself felt it strongly and deeply to be monstrous; and that natural feeling at length prompted her boldly and resolutely to arrive at the conclusion that it would not do at all to go on any longer so. She held it to be a pity-a thousand pities-that Ripstone should be so excessively timid; but as she had done all in her power to inspire him with due courage, and as every effort had signally failed, she resolved, with surpassing firmness, to take one grand step, which, if it did nothing else, would at least put an end to that cruel suspense with which she was then so constantly tortured. Accordingly, on the morning of the very day on which Stan ley left Eton, she had forwarded a special invitation to Mr. Ripstone to dine with her alone, at the same time intimating clearly that she was anxious to have the benefit of his advice upon a subject in which the whole of her future felicity on earth was involved. This puzzled Mr. Ripstone. He thought it very odd; and it was in fact remarked by his colleagues that he looked most mysterious: nay, one of them with infinite delicacy suggested that if any thing of a pecuniary character disturbed him, he had a few pounds, which were quite at his service. But this was not what Ripstone wanted. It was kind of his friend-very kind: the motive was appreciated highly; but that which he wanted was simply to know the nature of that advice which the widow required. Perhaps it had reference to some particular purchase; perhaps she was anxious to sell out some stock, or perhaps it was something about something-yet how was her future felicity involved? That was the point; and his utter inability to guess even what it could be kept him up in a high state of fever until the clock struck four, when he hastened home to dress, and at five to a minute, he knocked at the door of the widow. The widow heard that knock. She well knew that it was his, and became extremely nervous as he ascended the stairs, and trembled-slightly trembled-as she held forth her hand to receive him. 66 My dear madam," said he, with a face of some considerable length," what on earth is the matter?" "Oh! nothing—at least nothing very-very particular.” The faltering voice of the widow, however, convinced him that there was something very particular. "You are looking very well," he continued; and this was a positive fact: she was looking very well. Her rouge had been established with great delicacy of touch, and she wore a richly figured satin dress, while her pearled heaving bosom, her turban and her waist were embellished with jewels of the most sparkling caste, so that really, as the rays of the chandelier fell with the most refined softness upon her, she shone altogether refulgent. It was hence by no means an inappropriate observation, and as it was not inappropriate, the widow felt pleased with it rather than not, and vouchsafed a reply, of which the purport was, Yes, thank Heaven!" "Well, co ne, tell me all," said Mr. Ripstone. "You really must and at once, for I shall not have a moment's peace of mind until I know what it is." The widow smiled sweetly, and glanced at the mirror playfully, and absolutely patted his cheek. Dinner was announced at this interesting moment: she therefore took his arm very promptly, and explained on the stairs that he really was a good, kind creature, and that if he would but wait with becoming patience, he should know all anon. Very well. This was highly satisfactory as far as it went, and they sat down together. The widow on that occasion had not much of an appetite. She managed the soup very fairly; Mr. Ripstone now looked unspeakably anxious, and said, My dear lady, proceed-pray proceed; it is something, I fear, of great moment." "It is something," rejoined the widow, who now felt that the ice had been broken,-"it is something of a character extremely delicate, which-really I cannot-indeed—indeed I cannot-I dare not explain even now." and on raising the first glass of wine to her lips, the glass it--in fact, of considerable-for it is to me of considerable im self touched her teeth only twice; but nothing bearing even portance-and yet-do you think that I can get my heart high the semblance of solid food could she manage; no, not even enough? Upon my word, a mere girl of fifteen would have the breast of a delicate chicken, presented by Ripstone him far more courage. I am but a poor, weak, simple creature, self! She really felt se confused! Even Simpson looked at after all." his mistress as if a slight explanation would have been a great relief to him; but of course he had nothing of the sort. She tried to chat with all her wonted point and eloquence; but that was a dead failure: it could not be done. Happily, however, this was not much perceived by her guest; for although his accustomed politeness induced him to expostulate with her on the popular subject of keeping up the stamina-to express his lively fears that she was not, after all, in the most robust health, and then to hint, with all the delicacy at his command, that it was probably attributable to the fact of her having then something on her mind-he himself never ate a more excellent dinner. For it happened singularly enough that every thing which he more especially favored had been prepared-a truly remarkable circumstance, and, moreover, so fortunate, being purely accidental! He therefore enjoyed himself exceedingly, and ate, drank, and chatted with infinite spirit, and was really very amiable-very! But the widow, whom he was thus so unconsciously killing all the time, and who, knowing that she had a geat duty to perform, wished ten thousand times that it were over, had a very unusual palpitation of the heart: it would flutter so! She therefore sighed deeply, while he chatted gaily, and thus this ever memorable dinner passed off. "Now-now, my dear madam," said Mr. Ripstone, when Simpson had left the room, "come, tell we what is this business, this serious matter?" Mr. Ripstone pressed her warmly, gazed upon her face very fervently, and her lily hand trembled in his very slightly, and she breathed very quickly, averting her smiling face gently, and looking upon the carpet very prudently, her pulse being one hundred and forty. "Come-come?" continued he, with surpassing amiability both of expression and of tone, "be calm, and tell me all -all about it." The widow at this moment, with a most emphatic sigh, observed, "Women are poor silly things." “Well-well; but, pray keep me no longer in suspense; it is really very painful to see you so so unhappy." "I know you to be a kind, sincere friend," said the widow; "but is it indeed true that my uneasiness can afflict you? "My dear creature! can you do me the injustice even to doubt it? You know-you have known me sufficiently long now to feel sure that there is nothing I could do to promote your happiness that I would not do with infinite pleasure." My friend!" said the widow, and smiled; and then looked at him earnestly, and warmly pressed his hand as she added, "Are you quite sure of that?" Mr. Ripstone himself now became much confused. He could not understand it. What-what could it meân ? He could not tell: he could not conceive: he could not even call up a rational conjecture on the subject. The widow saw his confusion. It somewhat relieved her. She became in proportion more calm; but, although she felt very considerably better, she did not then feel herself equal to the task. He presssd her with great warmth and eloquence again and again for an explanation; but her nerves still required composure. She would have coffee first: then, if possible, she would explain the whole affair. Accordingly, for another mortal hour was Ripstone tortured; for, although a great variety of inuendoes were shot like arrows, well feathered and pointed, not one hit the bull's eye of his comprehension; they all of them fell very wide of the mark. This was tiresome-particularly tiresome to both; but it really was not the widow's fault: it was Ripstone's and Ripstone's alone! Well, the widow rang for coffee, and retired to give some furtherinstructions. "Now," thought Ripstone, "for this most extraordinary disclosure!" He rose; and on her return the widow found him apparently lost in admiration of a Titian: but although his eyes were, his thoughts were not, on that. His thoughts were-but no matter: the coffee was produced, and he was again sweetly summoned. With all the elegance and grace at her command the widow sipped and sipped, alternately examining the countenance of Ripstone, and the delicate patern of her cup. At length feeling that this was not the way to make progress, as Ripstone would not understand, she breathed a sigh fiercely-one sigh, and took courage; and while still intently gazing upon her cup, as if she really had never noticed the pattern before, she smiled, and then said, "I'm very silly,-I am-really-like a child. I wished to have your advice upon a matter of some-slight The expression of Mr. Ripstone's round face now became very droll. Extremely delicate?" thought he. "It's very cdd." He scarcely knew that he should be justified in urging her to proceed. The phrase, "extremely delicate," really struck him as being very strong; and yet when he came to think of it, he found that his impression had been that that phrase really signified something extremely indelicate, which he now at a glance saw was extremely incorrect, and therefore said, with his characteristic firmness and force, "My dear lady, if you really have confidence in my honor and sincerity-" My friend," interrupted the widow, "I have-believe me, I have the greatest possible confidence in both; you are, fact, now the only soul in whom I can confide. I will, there fore, explain. A woman," she continued, with great deliberation, "is considered, of course, the weaker vessel. She is so naturally, and is recognised as being so socially; and hence it is, I presume, that society has prescribed the weaker shall be wooed by the stronger. I believe that view of the matter is correct? in "Oh! perfectly-perfectly-quite-quite correct, my dear lady proceed." "Well, a woman-upon my life, I scarcely know how to put it, but a man in the majority of cases having reference to marriage, is presumed to possess advantages-not merely of a moral and physical description, but in a pecuniary point of view he is presumed to possess advantages; and hence, I sp prehend, it is clearly understood that in all such cases the proposal should, of course, proceed from him. Am I right?" "Oh! quite decidedly-quite-quite right!" cried Rip stone, more puzzled than ever. The softest, the sweetest, and most delicate smile illumined her face as she resumed: "But, suppose-I will put it so-suppose-leaving out of the question all moral and physical superiority-suppose the pecuniary advantages of the lady to be infinitely superior te those of the person to whom she is really attached-do you consider that in such a case she would really be justified in proposing to him? Would you hold such an act to be india creet and improper?" "Not if he really were a man of honor," replied Ripstone, "and had proved himself worthy of that lady's choice. Most decidedly not. Were he as poor as Job himself, in such a case she would be justified, seeing that custom alone prescribes the contrary course.' "Well, that is indeed a remarkable coincidence," rejoined the widow archly. "It happens to be precisely my opinion. I was thinking the other day that in a case of that description the propriety of such a step could scarcely be impugned. But suppose-let us put it to ourselves, just by way of illus tration, for I really should like to be clear upon the pointsuppose, then, that I-being disengaged, of course-had, let me see, say some thousands a-year; and that you-being equally disengaged-had an income, we will say, of as many hundreds. Very well. Now, in the event of my proposing to you you know this is, of course, a mere suppositious case-but, in such an event, would you accept that proposal?'' "Why, that," replied Ripstone, "would mainly depend upon whether I had known you sufficiently long to be satisfied that the happiness of both would be thereby enhanced." "But, assuming all the facts having reference to knowledge and to feelings to be in every particular precisely as they are, if I were to offer this hand, would you accept it?" Decidedly. Without a moment's hesitation." "My friend-my dear friend!" said the widow, "it is yours!" Mr. Ripstone seemed absolutely lost in amazement; he seized her extended hand, however, and kissed and pressed it with affectionate fervor. They both felt so happy! They embraced. Their veins tingled with the drollest sensations. Again they embraced, and again! when Stanley dashed into the room. The lovers started. They were paralyzed. Had Satan himself at that moment appeared, they could not have been struck with more terror. They could not, or they would have sunk into the earth. "Good God!" exclaimed Stanley, whose eyes flashed with fiery indignation, "what-what is the meaning of this? Mother, what am I to understand?" The widow sank into a chair, overwhelmed with confusion. "Leave the room, sir!" continued Stanley, pointing fiercely to the door, and addressing Ripstone, who wished to explain. "Leave instantly! Stay another moment, at your peril!" Poor Ripstone, of course, was aware that he had done thing wrong; but, then, he happened to know Stanley too well to remain, and hence he quitted not only the room, but the house, as soon as possible. In its most comprehensive sense the widow was actuated by this love for Stanley. He was the pride of her heart; she idolized, adored him! Still she thought it hard that she should be so controlled, because-as she explained to herself again and again very pointedly-if there be one state of life in which a lady has the privilege of being more independent of family influences than in another, it is distinctly the state of widowno-hood: she therefore held control to be intolerable. She did not, she could not by any means recognize the right of a son to dictate to a mother at all under the peculiarly afflicting circumstances of the case; she thought it highly incorrect and very presumptuous, and the style in which she resolved to be thenceforth mistress of her own actions, as far, at least, as matrimonial matters were concerned, was so extremely energetic that it eventually sent her to sleep. "Mother!" cried Stanley, when Ripstone had departed, "you have vilely sacrificed your own honor and mine!" No, Stanley, my dearest love-no!" exclaimed the widow, extending her arms widely. The next moment she fell upon his neck, and instantly fainted. CHAPTER IV.-Stanley has an interview with Ripstone, and upsets his nerves altogether. When Stanley had summoned the servants with due promptitude and violence, he left the room, and such restoratives as were immediately available were applied with great delicacy and zeal to the temples, palms and nostrils of the overwhelmed widow. The attendants were, however, in an intellectual maze, out of which they could not see their way at all clearly, for their mistress had not been accustomed to faint; and then that Mr. Ripstone!-where was Mr. Ripstone? It really seemed to them, viewing the thing as they did in all its varied ramifications, to be very suspicious; and they looked at each other with an aspect which denoted that they absolutely felt it to be mysterious in the extreme. Surely Stanley had not pitched the man out of the window?-and yet it was thought extremely probable; and Simpson opened the window with a view to the immediate satisfaction of that thought; but Mr. Ripstone was not in the area!-nor was he impaled upon any one of the spikes! This had a direct tendency to render the mystery more dense, for who had let him out? As not one of them had had that honor, the impression became general that he was still in the room. They hence examined every place in which it was both most likely and most unlikely for a gentleman to be concealed, and the butler was just on the point of ascertaining whether the well-known hat and peculiar cloak of Mr. Ripstone were in the hall, when the widow developed striking symptoms of reanimation, and soon after retired for the night, without, however, imparting the slightest information as to the cause of the occurrence to her puzzled attendants, who, having created innumerable conjectures with the celebrated tact and ingenuity of their order, were by no means satisfied, but felt, strongly and most acutely felt, that there was something at the bottom of it. As soon as the widow had retired, the drawing-room bell was rung, in a style in which it never by any chance was rung save when Stanley was at home. There could not be two opinions about who had pulled the rope. It was therefore immediately answered by Simpson, who, while receiving orders for supper, looked curiously round and round the room. "What are you looking for?-what have you lost?" demanded Stanley, in a tone that was not extremely pleasing. 'Me, sir? Nothing, sir-nothing," mumbled Simpson. "I only thought, sir, that perhaps Mr. Ripstone-" "What!" exclaimed Stanley. To this natural interrogatory she felt unable to give a perfectly satisfactory answer, and hence really began to form a resolution to break the chains which she herself had forged to shackle her will. But then her fond love for Stanley! And what can be compared with the love of a mother? It is ardent, enduring and pure to the last. There is-there can on earth be-no love so devoted, so constant, so powerful. By its virtue a mother's soul seems centred in her child, in whom alone exists the power to fill her heart with pure joy or to Why, my love, the fact is-I feel that I must tell you-a proposal had just been made as you entered." "A proposal? What, a proposal of marriage?" exclaimed Stanley, knitting his brows, and pursing his lips into an expression which fluctuated finely between a smile and a sneer. I had no idea the fellow had so much impudence in him.— And of course you accepted that proposal? "Why, my dearest love, look at my present position. It is really very lonely, more especially-" "Mother! do you mean to tell me that you have promised to marry old Ripstone?" "Why, what could I do? He is a very old friend; and while conscious of his fondness for you, I well knew that you had ever been sincerely attached to him." "I!-I attached to him?" "What, not to your own Pippin ?" 'Pippin! Mother, are you mad? But the thing is too monstrously absurd. If you must marry, choose some one worthy of you. Why have you not a becoming degree of pride?-There are hundreds of men-men of influence and station!with whom you might form an alliance. For heaven's sake banish from your mind the idea of throwing yourself away upon so paltry a creature as this poor fool Pippin." The fact of Stanley arguing any point which he had made up his mind to carry was a species of condescension for which the widow was not prepared: it had therefore, alone, no inconsiderable weight; but when in addition to this he assailed her vanity, the consideration sank deep into her heart. What Stanley had suggested might occur! She might become the wife of a man of influence-perhaps, of a Baronet!-why not of a Peer? She could really see nothing to prevent it! Yet how on earth could she ever look in the face of Mr. Ripstone again? "Leave Pippin to me. Let him be invited here this evening. I will write to say that I am anxious to see him. I will make him feel that if he values his peace he had better not attempt to form an alliance with you." An invitation was accordingly sent to Mr. Ripstone immediately after breakfast. Stanley then explained-without, however, entering at all into particulars-that he had left Eaton. The widow, being of course utterly ignorant of the fact of his having been expelled, was amazed. And so was Mr. Ripstone. The night preceding he had not an hour's sleep. He had been racked with conflicting emotions. He had placed-with an eye to his own prospect of peace-the widow's love in juxta-position with Stanley's tyrannous spirit, and found the balance against the former to be so considerable, that he really began to think that his present state of life was, on the whole, to be preferred. But, when he received the invitation, his ideas on the subject were in an instant, as if by magic, metamorphosed. The matter then assumed a very different aspect. He saw at a glance, and with a distinctness which was absolutely marvellous in itself, that Stanley, having had the prominent features of the case explained, wished to acknowledge his error and to apologise for his abruptness, which Ripstone very naturally held to be very proper. "I always thought," he observed, with great point to himself, "that that youth was all right at the bottom, and this tends to confirm the correctness of that thought, for he evidently feels that he was wrong, Actuated by this extremely generous sentiment, he went with a light heart through those toils of the day which are notoriously inseparable from an official existence, and in the evening repaired to the mansion of his love. 66 stone, to believe that the feelings between your mother and me are mutual." "I care not for that," cried Stanley. "Do you flatter yours" self for one moment that I shall ever be sufficiently idiotic to recognise you in any shape as my father! But without conde scending to say another syllable on the subject,-for I will not exact from you any thing like a promise, seeing that that would be leading you to suppose that I doubt my own power, The widow was invisible. He found Stanley in the draw-be assured that if ever you dare to communicate, either by ing-room alone, and the coldness with which he received him not only contrasted very strongly with his own elastic bearing, but had the effect of inspiring him at once with the conviction that he had made a slight mistake. "Be seated, Mr. Ripstone," said Stanley, in a haughty tone. "I sent for you, sir," he continued, "to demand an explanation of your conduct last night." An explanation?" echoed Ripstone with great timidity. "Ay, sir! An explanation." Re-ally," observed Ripstone, who felt much confused, "I thought I hoped-that-all had been explained." "Sir! you have known me sufficiently long to know that I am a man not to be trifled with. Instantly, therefore, explain to me all that has reference to the disgraceful scene I witnessed last night, or you hear from me, sir, in the morning; and, if you will not go out, I'll post you as the vilest coward that ever crawled." word or by letter, with my mother, or ever presume again to enter this house,-(and if you have the temerity to do either, I shall be certain to know it,)-I will horsewhip you!" There are, questionless, some who would have spurned this menace, and who-the widow being willing-would have mar ried her at once, in defiance of all opposition; but Ripstone was not one of these. He was dreadfully alarmed; his whole nervous system had been utterly astonished. He knew the desperate characteristics of Stanley; he knew how fondly his mother loved him, and how zealous she had ever been in his cause: he also knew that even if they were to marry in epposition to him, he should never have a single moment's peace; and hence, as he held peace to be one of the greatest blessings of life, he rose, bowed, and, without giving audible utterance to another word, left the house, with the firm deter mination to enter it no more. characters than one. In this there was nothing which could by any process be misunderstood; all was perfectly candid, straightforward and CHAPTER V.—Illustrates how an ardent youth may assume more clear; but, then, what could Ripstone say? His gallantry forbade him to explain all, because that would have been most unfair towards the widow; and then the idea of going out!-why, he had never fired off a pistol in his life!-he had never even had one in his hand!-while the fact of his being posted, or brought before the public in any shape, would in all probability accomplish his ruin! He therefore knew not how to act in this extremity: he paused and was puzzled ; but at length he ventured to observe, that he "really could not in any honorable act see any thing disgraceful.” "Sir," exclaimed Stanley, "you are mistaken if you conceive that I am thus to be put off; I demand an explanation, and will have it, or the only alternative society prescribes." "But I have nothing to explain," said Mr. Ripstone, "save that just as you entered we were performing that which is, I believe, invariably the little playful, innocent prelude to the matrimonial bond." Here Ripstone ventured to smile, for he positively had an idea that he should thus be enabled to draw Stanley into a belief that it was nothing unusual after all. Stanley, however, was not to be propitiated, for, looking fiercely at Mr. Ripstone, he demanded in a loud voice, and with authoritative emphasis, how he dared to presume to propose to his mother. Why," said Mr. Ripstone, "I do not conceive that I have been very daring, or very presumptuous." 66 "Indeed!" rejoined Stanley, with an expression of contempt. Compare my mother's wealth with your own!" "As far as wealth is concerned," said Ripstone blandly, "love levels all distinctions." "Love!-bah!-an old fool like you talk about love!" "That's very discourteous," observed Mr. Ripstone: "but I'll not be offended, because I make it an invariable rule not to be offended by any one. I must, however, repeat, that the application of the the term 'old fool' is extremely discourteous." "I know it," said Stanley: "I meant it to be so; and I mean to say farther, what you may deem equally discourte ous, that if ever I again catch you beneath this roof, or ascertain that you hold even the slightest communication with my mother, in any shape, I'll blow your brains out." Ripstone pouted his lips, and looked at Stanley in a very straightforward manner. I'll blow your brains out were very strong words; in fact, it was on the whole a very sanguinary sentence. He did not approve of it at all, and therefore said with some spirit and point, "Really this, I must confess, is not exactly the sort of reception I might reasonably have anticipated; nor do I acknowledge your right to interfere with the domestic arrangements of your mother and myself." "Indeed!-do you not? Then, sir, let me tell you that I have such right, and will take special care that it is exercised fully. I am master here, and you shall know it.' But I have the strongest possible reason," urged Rip There is perhaps nothing so grateful to the feelings of mankind as the possession of power. From the wearer of the crown, through all the varied ramifications of society, even down to the vilest beggar that ever blistered his leg to excite sympathy, however much may be said of the power of love, the love of power reigns supreme over all. Without, however, dwelling upon a subject so deep, for it really is not essential to the progress of this history, it may in all probability be sufficient for the present to state, that as Stanley fondly cherished this universal love, and was ardent ly enamoured of its developement, he derived no inconsider able amount of pleasure from the fact of his having broken off the match between his mother and Ripstone; and as each successful exercise of his power increased it, it soon became abundantly clear that he required but the scope to be one of the most absolute tyrants that ever breathed. The widow, who, in her innocence, had imagined that as his years increased he would become more subdued, now had an ample cause to feel that the spirit she had fostered in his infancy was each succeeding year gaining strength. He would be supreme; he would be consulted on every domestic matter, however foreign to him it might be, from the most important to the most trivial. She could no longer dress as she pleased. Her taste was impugned, and denounced by him as vulgar in the extreme. you. "When will you learn to dress in a becoming style!" he would exclaim. "Upon my honor I'll not go out with Look at that thing, how it hangs!-there's a fit! You really have no taste. Upon my life, unless you choose to dress a little near the mark, I'll not go out with you at all." And this was decidedly the most potent threat he could pos sibly hold out; for although she very frequently felt mortified, the pleasure she derived from appearing with him in the public was sufficient to heal all the wounds which his tyranny inflicted at home. No mother could have been more proud of her son. The highest delight she had the power to conceive was that which she experienced on being driven round the park by Stanley. He was so handsome, so elegant, so aristocractic in his bearing; he drove with so much grace: his cab was so attractive, his horse beautiful; while Bob looked so much like the groom of a peer, that really it was such pleasure to be with him!-nothing could surpass it. And it was a very stylish turn-out. His horse was full of blood and pride; and while his cab was of the modern build, Bob was one of the most undeniable tigers that ever sprang. Of course it was not long before he was surrounded by associates: but however extraordinary to some it may appear, it is nevertheless true that he was free from the most preva lent vice. He had given dinners to dozens of high-spirited fellows, and had accepted invitations in return; still in this particular point had he escaped contamination. The family he visited most frequenly at this period was that of Captain Juliffe, the father of his friend Albert, whose cause he had espoused at Eton, and who still entertained for him feelings of the warmest friendship; and here he soon became a favorite. The captain himself, although he could not but feel that he was somewhat too inflexible, highly esteemed him, and even applauded him privately for the part he had taken in the rebellion, invariably addressing him as General in honor of his having been the leader on that occasion; for he, like every liberal-minded man, strongly felt that the practice of of flogging young men in precisely the same fashion as that in which infants are flogged, was, to say the least of it, extremely indelicate. Whether Albert was at home or not, therefore, the captain was invariably pleased to see the General, and as the pleasure was reciprocal, his visits were very frequent. There was, however, one member of the family who derived peculiar pleasure from the visits, and this was Amelia the daughter of the captain, and one of the most elegant, interesting loveable creatures that ever fascinated man. Amelia, at the period of Stanley's introduction, had just completed her twentieth year. She was, not strictly beautiful, although her features were regular, and peculiarly expressive; but she was so graceful, so elegant, so intelligent, yet so gentle, that he who, having conversed with her for an hour, could perceive that she really lacked absolute beauty, must have been dull and cold. She became attached to Stanley, not indeed from the very moment she saw him; for having associated his expulsion from Eton with the idea of recklessness, she of course had that prejudice to overcome, albeit she was even then struck with the extreme manliness of his bearing, his fine tenance, and bold expressive eye,—but before she had been long in his society, she regarded him with a love so intense, that her heart absolutely seemed centered in his. open coun Stanley at once perceived this, for in such a case no prompter is required. No preliminary education is essential to the perfect knowledge of that, for a man becomes master of the language of love at once. No woman who really loves need employ any other. Give her but a moment's opportunity to let her eyes meet those of the object of her love, and their souls seem at once to commune with surpassing eloquence. Of course the practice of "making eyes" is a very different thing altogether. They who resort to the practice are fraudulent bankrupts in love. The timid, soft, involuntarily glance alone is entitled to claim an alliance with nature,-a glance which even the eyelids would, but cannot conceal. Such a glance Stanley did receive from Amelia as she drew on her glove to retire after dinner on the day of his first introduction, -by that glance he knew that she loved him. And Stanley loved her. She was the first for whom he had ever entertained an affectionate feeling apart form that which is engendered by consanguinity; and as of female society he had known absolutely nothing, it will not be deemed strange that he should have become at once enamored of one so amiable, so innocent, so unaffected as Amelia. Had he seen more, or known more, of the influence either of the virtuous or of the abandoned, he might not, and would not have been so immediately susceptible of that sentiment which had taken full possession of his soul; but being, as he was, uncontaminated and inexperienced, his heart was taken by storm. He did love her: he felt even that he loved her; and although that feeling did not subdue his spirit, it appeared to have completely changed its course Her appearance, moreover, at once forbade him to suppose that she had not those intellectual qualities which are essential to the permanency of affec tion, and the conversation which he subsequently held with her that evening had the effect of confirming the belief he had inspired, that she was as inteiligent as she was gentle: as confiding as she was guileless. From that day Stanley's visits became constant: and as Albert was then at home, the lovers had opportunities of conversing with each other almost daily without exciting the suspicions of the Captain, from whom Albert advised Stanley to keep the affair at present a secret. Things, however, were not permitted to go on long thus. Albert was soon to go to Cambridge, when the affair could be kept secret no longer, seeing that Stanley could not then go down, day after day, to the Captain's residence at Richmond without rendering his object apparent. He therefore proposed to himself, first to convince Albert that delay was altogether unnecessary, secondly, to declare himself to Amelia; and, thirdly, to break the subject to the Captain, which he natural ly held to be the most dificult of all. The first was soon accomplished, and the next day afforded an opportunity for the achievement of the second. Amelia was sitting at the piano: she, Stanley, and Albert only were in the room; and when Albert had received the silent cue, he very correctly went to the door which opened into the lawn, and left the lovers together. For Stanley this was a most anxious moment, and even Amelia felt rather confused and awkward, and ran over the keys with a tremulous hand, and struck an infinite variety of imperfect chords, and played really in the most unscientific manner possible; for it is a striking fact that she absolutely anticipated something bearing the semblance of a declaration at that very moment. "Miss Joliffe," said Stanley, after a pause which created a powerful sensation, and he stuck at this point for a second or two, and then resumed, "That is a very sweet air you were playing." "Yes-it-you have heard it before, I believe?" And as she spoke, her eyes involuntarily met his; and she turned very pale, and slightly trembled. 'Amelia," said Stanley, and their eyes again met, "I cannot be mistaken. We love-yes, I feel that we love each other fondly. Am I not correct? That look renders me happy in the conviction of my proudest anticipations being realised." And he kissed her fair brow, which in an instant behad the happiness to see you," he continued, pressing her still came crimson, as if by magic. "From the moment I first tremulous hand with all the fervor of affection, "I have loved may I not now say my own dear Amelia? I am impatient -you will say that I am; but, Amelia, you will consent to my speaking upon this subject to your father?-I knew that you would!" he continued, as she slightly-or, as he thought she slightly-pressed the hand which held hers, and he fervently kissed the hand he held, and said, "Bless you, my Amelia!" as Albert, without any strict regard unto the correctness of the tune, but with electric effect, sang, "And I'm coming; and I'm coming!" which in itself was strictly proper, inasmuch as the Captain at that very instant appeared upon the lawn. Stanley therefore retired from the piano with all the ease at his command, while Amelia attempted to play a favorite fantasia: but as she really made very sad havoc of the first dozen bars, she very naturally thought that if she turned over the leaves of her music-book rapidly instead, it would be, under the circumstances, perhaps quite as well. "Well, General," said the Captain, as he entered with Albert, "we think about going for a ride: will you join us?" With pleasure," replied Stanley, being anxious to relieve Amelia. "My girl," cried the Captain, addressing Amelia, come; the air will brace you." "Not this morning, papa," said Amelia, tremulously. "You are not well," said the Captain, as he kissed her."There, there, run away to your mother; she will make you more cheerful." Amelia was but too happy to leave the room, which she did very promptly, when, the horses having been ordered, the General, with the Captain and Albert, mounted at once. Stanley, in Amelia's view, never looked so clegant as he did on passing the window of the chamber to which she had re tired. After riding pretty smartly for nearly an hour, the Captain, as usual, pulled up, with the view of talking, while his horse was in a short jolting trot, which he held, had a more direct tendency not only to strengthen a man's lungs, but to reduce every corporeal exuberance, than any other description of exercise. To prove this position, whether disputed or not, he invariably put forth himself as an example; and certainly while he had no superabundance of flesh, his lungs were of an order the most powerful. Stanley, however, paid little attention to these distinguishing characteristics at the moment; but Captain, embracing the first opportunity that offered, said, will you allow me to have five minutes' conversation in the library with you after dinner?" 66 "Of course! But what is it, General? Out with it now. It'll strengthen your lungs." "I wish," said Stanley, "to speak quietly on a subject of some importance." 66 Ay, I see; and that you can't very comfortably do in a trot. No; very few can: but I have had five-and-twenty years' practice." And the Captain then commenced a long tale, which reached from Richmond to Seringapatam and buck, after lashing the Peninsula, the great object of which was to demonstrate that had he not practised the art of talk |