who have described the passion ardently, without being | had touched, and impelled by a vague feeling of curilove-sick or parting from common sense." "I have often thought so," said Walter; "hackneyed as the theme now is, it can only borrow originality from the talents of the writer. But you must not flatter me, Ernest, by placing these feeble productions above those which will last when my name shall be a forgotten sound." osity, Alice continued: "I knew Ernest Gordon before I was married, and he has been on the continent ever since; do you think him handsome ?” "The handsomest man I ever saw!" said Lucy warmly; "I never saw a more intellectual face, and its melancholy expression only makes his smile the brighter." Alice felt pleased, she scarcely knew why; this very person that the world admired so much, she had discarded, and his praise sounded sweetly in her ear, for it ministered to her vanity. There are some persons who have no thought or feeling beyond themselves, who care for companions "I am very anxious to see your sister, Walter," said Gordon: "I have had but a passing glimpse of her, and I wish you to go with me to the countess of Lysle's." "Do you know the countess ?" asked Walter eagerly. "I am one of her earliest friends," said Ernest, a shade of sadness passing over his brow as he spoke. "Her ladyship,” he continned, "sees visitors this eve-only as contributors to their own pleasure, who are ning, and I have the privilege of old acquaintanceship to introduce my favorite companion. You must go, Walter-I will not let you hide your light any longer; you ought indeed to mingle in the society for which your education and talents fit you so well." linked to the world by ties of selfishness, and who even when appearing most amiable, act from unworthy motives. Alice was one of these. She looked on Ernest Gordon, not as the high spirited and intellectual man, but as her admirer; for wealth she cared only as it contributed to her enjoyment, while the refined and gentle Lucy she regarded solely as the tool which was to work Walter hesitated, but the repeated entreaties of his friend at length forced him to consent. When Ernest left him, Walter almost repented his engagement: de-out the fabric of her own caprice. lightful as it would be even to look unchecked on the loveliness of his idol, he felt that repugnance to entering a strange circle, common to those who feel the superior advantages of the persons they meet. Although qualified by appearance and acquirements to adorn any society, the poet could not shake off his disagreeable feelings; and he thought of the coming evening till the whole affair seemed the deception of a dream. But Ernest had taken the precaution to prepare the countess for receiving him graciously, and as she knew he was the fashion, she expressed her anxiety to see him. This was one of the countess' most amiable days, as it had been marked by a conquest of more than usual worth. Alice had received proposals from one of the handsomest men in London, and the offering, though declined, proved her attraction and put her in a good humor. Alice did not remember that her wealth was among her greatest charms, for when did a woman ever believe she was courted for her money? To Lucy, the changes in her lady's feelings were often subjects of real anxiety, dependent as she was on her caprices. But on this day her conduct to her companion was kinder than common, and as Lucy finished the notes of invitation she had been answering, Alice said, "you must look your prettiest this evening, Lucy, for I expect a large party, and Mr. Gordon has asked permission to introduce your brother." "Walter coming here!" exclaimed Lucy, her cheek crimsoning with pleasure. Let the situation of such persons be what it may, even when surrounded by pride and luxury, they are to be pitied; they are apart from their kind in the solitude of self, exiles from all the sweet commune of kindred thought, and alone in that weary desert of the heart that knows no end. The light of worldly advantages cannot atone for the soul's darkness, and the purple mantle of rank and pride is valueless compared to the white robe of kind and tender feeling. CHAPTER VI. He sought a glory that could not save; He toiled for fame, and gained-the grave! The evening approached, and Alice was dressed in the rich, brilliant style that became her so well. Lucy too spent more time at her toilette than usual, and she had never valued the splendid dresses given her by the countess so much as now. One after another was tried and discarded before a choice could be made, and Lucy was arrayed for the evening. The guests arrived at the fashionable hour, and the rooms were thronged by the wit, the beauty, and the talent of the day. Ernest and Walter were among the latest who entered, and the graceful affability of the hostess' reception soon relieved the poet from his embarrassment. Introduced by his friend to the most conspicuous among the visitors, Walter speedily lost his slight empressement, and the kind encouragement which true nobility of mind always gives to youthful genius, was amply awarded to the poet. "I thought it would surprise you," returned Alice; "but Mr. Gordon seemed so anxious, I could not refuse; besides, his poetry has made him the fashion just now, and I suppose will introduce him into society." "Who is that gentleman with dark eyes, who ap"Is Mr. Gordon a relation of your ladyship's?" asked pears so great an admirer of beauty? I have noticed Lucy. him looking at lady Alice for the last half hour." "No," replied Alice, "but a very old friend;" and "I will introduce you," was Ernest's reply, and adshe looked at Lucy as if she feared to trace some sus-vancing, Walter was presented to Sir Godfrey Kneller. picion of the truth, but she saw only the calm look of unsuspecting innocence. Alice was conscious she had played a heartless part towards Ernest, and she did not like to have it known, even by Lucy. Still the theme was an agrecable one on which her companion "I should perhaps apologise," said Walter, "for forcing you to withdraw your attention from a face that is beautiful to all, but must be doubly so to one who has made loveliness the study of his life." "I should rather thank you," replied the painter with VOL. V.-26 a smile, "for interrupting a reverie so dangerous, and | with a cordiality which his intimacy with her brother I assure you it could not have been more agreeably authorized, and his easy, intelligent style of addressbroken." ing her made him a welcome companion. He now Walter was charmed with the natural yet polished came from the countess to demand Lucy's attendance, manner of his new acquaintance, and the long conver- and offered his arm to escort her to the other apartsation which followed mutually produced favorable im-ment. Alice was surrounded by her guests, Walter pressions. When they parted, Sir Godfrey said, among them, and as Ernest and Lucy approached, she said, "I see you are an admirer of the fine arts, and as we are worshippers of sister deities, I hope we shall often meet. If you will come to my room to-morrow morning I think I can promise you a circle of agreeable friends." Walter accepted eagerly an invitation given with so much kindness, and from that night the star of his destiny shone brighter. In the meantime Lucy had excited no little admiration among the fashionable young men, who always give preference to a new face. Lord Derwood was of the number, and now that he saw Lucy in society, he resolved to win from her the favor his rank and manners generally claimed. "I scarcely know how to address you, Miss Vere," were his first words, uttered with an air of graceful embarrassment, after my rudeness in venturing to offer you my assistance when not authorized to do so by a formal introduction. May I hope that Miss Vere will pardon an act which a look in her mirror will amply justify ?" Lucy blushed, she knew not why, at the open flattery so unfamiliar to her ear, and not knowing what to say, merely bowed to the compliment, while his lordship continued: "I really cannot believe we are such new acquaintances, for I have thought of you so constantly since my transgression of that morning, that I feel more as an old friend than the worshipper of an hour." Wishing to rouse her from her silence, Lord Derwood asked if the talented poet, Walter Vere, was a relation of her's. "He is my brother," replied Lucy, while the pride of affection colored her cheek; "does your lordship know him?" "Only through his poetry," said lord Derwood, who had never read a line of it; "but I intend this evening to solicit the honor of his acquaintance; you will not, I hope, by relating my offence to you, prejudice him against me!" "I never pretend, Lord Derwood, to influence my brother's judgment; and the offence of which you speak I really never thought of until you mentioned it." Lord Derwood bit his lip; it was certainly very mortifying to be entirely forgotten by a girl he had tried to fascinate; he had much rather she should have been seriously angry. "I sent for you, Lucy, to scold you for not telling me of your talents as a musician, which I have now accidentally learned from your brother. At the request of all this circle you will atone for your long silence by a song." Lucy in vain endeavored to escape-the countess would not be denied. "Let me add my entreaties, Miss Vere," whispered lord Derwood; but Lucy pretended not to hear him— and Alice, observing her protegée's unwillingness, laughingly said, "Lead her to the harp--we will not be denied!" Lord Derwood eagerly offered his arm, but Ernest had proffered his, and Lucy took it. From a heap of the fashionable music of the day, she selected the following song: THE DISCARDED. Nay, spare those words of haughtiness, I will not offer now the love, Thy scornful tones inflict no pain, Unheeded they shall fall; They only serve to erase the vow That acknowledg'd thee dear'st of all! That very scorn has blotted out The worship I had felt, Of the altar where I knelt. The gentlemen applauded warmly, and the unaffected admiration of Ernest atoned to the songstress for the unpleasantness of singing before a crowd. Alice was delighted, yet at the same time half angry at Lucy's having concealed an accomplishment which might have amused some of her moments of ennui. Thus it ever was with the countess; every thought ended in those words of selfishness, "mine" and "myself." Alice was in the highest spirits, and her laugh rang as merrily as if she had not crushed hope in a heart that had loved her, "not wisely, but too well!" Ernest had in some measure learned to look calmly on the idol of the past as the friend of the present. There is rarely a medium between passion and dislike, "I find I was not mistaken," he said, as these thoughts where love has been violent-and it requires a strong passed over him, "in attributing to Miss Vere, a kind-mind to pass from adoration to indifference. To indifness equalled only by her beauty; I trust our friend-ference, Ernest had not yet schooled his feelings; he still ship, commenced so unpropitiously, will in 'the future contradict the past,' as those days are often brightest whose mornings rose in clouds." The approach of Ernest Gordon terminated a conversation which Lucy disliked, because she did not know how to receive it, and the more agreeable society of Gordon was a happy relief. From the time of his first acquaintance with Lucy, Ernest had treated her felt that a word from Alice could rule him more than he liked to acknowledge, but the fire and fervor of devotion were gone. If the remembrance of that vision was ever with him, it served not to revive the dream, but to guard him from a similar one. He knew he could never cherish for another the sentiments he had nourished for Alice, and on the gay beauties around him he scarcely threw a glance-most certainly never gave a thought. Towards Lucy his manner was kind as a brother's, and he conversed with a freedom to her, which he did not use to any one else but Walter. Her gentle, confiding manners, sweet beauty and dependent situation, claimed at once his admiration as a man, and his kindness as a friend. His long acquaintance with her brother, and the services rendered him, gave him a right to her friendship, and while she gave that, he did not dream of any other sentiment. Friendship between a handsome, talented man, and a beautiful girl, is a miracle which never yet has been on one side or the other, there will be a warmer feeling, and in this case that feeling was with Lucy. Without a suspicion of Lucy's interest in him, his manner served to heighten it, and ignorant of his love for Alice, she might perhaps be pardoned for attributing his solicitude to warmer motives than those of kindness. The next morning, Walter repaired to Sir Godfrey Kneller's. He was shown into a room where the painter was seated at his easel: near him was a young man who was also painting. 1 "I am glad you have come," said Sir Godfrey, offering his hand, "I shall have an opportunity of improving our acquaintance before the arrival of other visitors; but first I must present you to my young friend, a pupil who bids fair to rival his master. Ludovic, this is Mr. Vere!" The painter started as if roused from a dream, and the calm, sad smile that greeted his new acquaintance, faded rapidly away, as he returned to the task before him. period, I regard them with the admiration of a stranger, and almost wonder at the inspiration which enabled me to perform them so well!" The entrance of visitors prevented their further conversation. During his frequent visits to Sir Godfrey, Walter saw the best society of the metropolis, and the kind patronage of his friend was of the greatest service to him. Sir Godfrey advised him when he needed the counsel of experience, and through Ernest Gordon and the artist, Walter soon acquired both independence and celebrity by his writings. With the young pupil of Sir Godfrey the poet could never sustain any conversation; he was always silent, except when addressed, and always after such an interruption would return with redoubled ardor to his task. As he seemed to dislike being taken from his painting even for an instant, Walter forbore, after a few attempts, to force an acquaintance who greeted him so reluctantly. He noticed one day for the first time the young artist was missing from his accustomed place, and as he was alone with Sir Godfrey, he ventured to ask the history of the silent pupil. "Poor Ludovic!" said the painter, "he is prevented by illness from being here to-day, and I fear it will never be his lot to finish the work he has commenced. He is an Italian by birth and his circumstances are independent. He came to England for the purpose of receiving my instruction, as I was once intimately acquainted with his father. He has been with me seve "If you are an admirer of painting," said Sir God-ral months, and the progress he has made in his art, frey, "you may perhaps find some entertainment among those pictures, the heroines of Shakspeare." Walter approached the portraits which were enclosed in rich frames, and gazed on them in mute admiration. There was Cordelia, with her mild, affectionate eyes, and lips parted as if uttering words of gentleness; lady Macbeth, with her look of stern and haughty pride, and there too was Juliet, the child of the south, whose soft, graceful and voluptuous beauty, realized the bard's ideal. "There is nothing," said Walter at last, after looking long on the loveliness before him-" there is nothing that makes us so intimately acquainted with a writer, as to see in reality the faces he has pictured in his dreams. While I look on those features, I can fancy the feelings of Shakspeare, as in the visions of his genius those same lines of beauty flitted before him." "And yet," said the painter, "those may be very different faces from the imaginary ones of the poet, though they realize in a faint degree my conceptions of the characters. Many who have seen those pictures, say the portraits they had fancied of the same heroines were very different. But as we have no regular description of the beauties, and therefore can have no certain standard, we must each have our own peculiar ideas concerning them; mine are embodied, but not perfected in the features before you." "Not perfected!" repeated Walter; "surely nothing can be more beautiful." "Have you yet to learn, my young friend," asked the artist smiling, "that in painting as well as poetry, the reality ever falls below the ideal? There are times when I am tempted to destroy the works which are so far from fulfilling the conception, while at another is really astonishing; but his health is so delicate, he is often forced by illness to leave his easel. This climate is too severe for his southern constitution, and I fear he will soon fall a victim to his ambition." "Has he no friends in his own country?" asked Walter, who was deeply interested in the tale; "none to love him at home?" "Not one!" replied the painter; "he is bound to Italy by no ties but those which link the exile to his childhood's home. He sometimes talks of returning there when he has gained celebrity-but I do not think he is aware of the dangerous state of his health, and his unwearying devotion to his art is hastening his disease." "What is he painting now ?" asked Walter. "His first original piece," answered the artist, "and its correctness amazes me in one so young." He removed the covering which protected the picture and displayed the still unfinished outlines of a group from Italian history. "Poor Ludovic!" said Sir Godfrey with a sigh, as he replaced the veil, "so young, so gifted, and so early doomed!" The next day, and the next, Ludovic was still absent from his picture; on the third he sent to ask Sir Godfrey to have his painting brought to his room. His request was complied with, and whenever his strength would permit, Ludovic labored at his work. About a week after, Sir Godfrey went to see his poor pupil. The curtains were all closed but one, and the light which that admitted streamed full on the finished picture of the dying artist. It was hung in a splendid frame, where the eyes of its creator first fell when he waked, and the last thing he saw at night was the idol he had made. The artist was asleep when Sir Godfrey entered, but on awaking he warmly thanked his friend for his visit. scarcely less presumptuous than Tasso's. From the first moment I saw her who is the starlight of my life, she has been with me in my dreams as a light from "I long to show you my picture," he said, "for it is Heaven. I have looked on her when she knew it not, finished at last!" "I have been looking at it while you were sleeping, Ludovic," said Sir Godfrey; "it does you honor." The cheek of the young artist brightened at the praise, though he expected it, and a tear shone on his lashes. "I shall do better even than that," he said, "when I am well; and you shall have cause, my best friend, to glory in your pupil. There is but one thing on earth I value more than that picture—it is this miniature of my mother." He handed Sir Godfrey a miniature set in diamonds: the face was a sweet and mild one, with the dark hair and lustrous eyes of an Italian. and I have cared for wealth, for rank, for fame, only to merit her; she has been the inspirer of my sweetest thoughts, the idol of every hour!" "You are enthusiastic," said Alice, half smiling, "and the lady of your love is-" "Yourself!" and Walter knelt before her as he spoke. Amazed beyond the power of utterance, Alice answered not, and Walter continued: "I have loved you, lady Alice, as you may never be loved again by the heartless beings around you; oh! let me hope, that when my name shall be a proud one, when the poet's wreath shall win me greatness, let me then hope I may not have loved vainly." "Mr. Vere!" said Alice, and she rose from her seat in lofty pride-" Mr. Vere, you have strangely forgotten to whom you speak." "That face," he continued, "was the first to shine on me in love, and it was the last. I have looked at it a great deal lately, and its sweet beauty has brought me hope. When I am better I intend to copy it. Remember, my dear friend," he said, pressing Sir God- "I know but too well," interrupted Walter, “the rank frey's hand as he spoke-" remember, that if any thing and the loftiness of her I address; but that knowledge should happen to me in future years, that picture and only shows me more plainly the value of what I would this miniature are your's. They are dearer to me gain. Lady Alice, you compared an instant since, my than any thing else on earth, and while I live they shall love to Tasso's; will you not, like the princess Leonora, be with me, but when I am gone, they will serve to look kindly on the one who has dared to love you?" remind you of one who owes much to your kindness." Alice proudly drew her figure to its full height, as A few days after, the picture hung in Sir Godfrey's | she said, “I could almost smile, Mr. Vere, at your madroom, and the miniature was enshrined among his dear-ness, were it not too insulting to be passed thus lightly est treasures. Poor Ludovic! CHAPTER VII. Youth's sweetest hopes may not come again, Walter was now a frequent visitor at many noble houses, and among them at the countess of Lysle's. He called one morning and found the countess alone, apparently reading. She looked beautiful, and Walter might almost have been pardoned his idolatry for so much loveliness. "I am glad to see you, Mr. Vere," said Alice, as he entered, "for Lucy has gone to see her mother, and I long for somebody to talk to. Can't you tell me something amusing? Come, relate a few of your own adventures!" "I fear your ladyship would find little amusing in them," ," said Walter, smiling. "I don't think I ever met with a real adventure in my life!" "Impossible!" cried Alice," and a poet too! Now I am sure you have saved some body's life, or attempted the release of some imprisoned beauty!" "Neither, on my honor!" replied Walter: "you know such deeds belonged only to the days of chivalry, and they are past." "Well at least," persisted the countess, "you have been in love; pray was it with some fair and lowly maiden, or, like Tasso, with a beautiful princess?" Walter's cheek became deadly pale and then flushed like crimson, "I have been in love, lady Alice!" he said, "if that hackneyed phrase can express the madness of a passion over; your own mind should have told you that a poor and lowly poet, is no lover for the countess of Lysle!" With a look proud as her own, Walter gazed on the eyes that sunk beneath his. "It is well," he said calmly and bitterly, "I do see, though too late, that we have nothing in common. Had I known this a little sooner, I should not have intruded so often on the countess of Lysle. We shall meet no more!" and his voice faltered. "May the peace you have taken from me forever, be with you still. Farewell!" And before Alice could answer, Walter was gone. While Walter was with the lady Alice, Ernest Gordon entered the poet's room. He found Walter absent, and Lucy alone. She said she expected her brother in a few moments, and Ernest seated himself to wait for his return. "I believe you are not often absent from lady Alice," he said. "No," said Lucy, "I can rarely find a moment even to come here. I have been looking over Walter's late writings," she continued; "one would really think from their style that he is desperately in love ;" and she placed one of the sonnets before Ernest. "I expect," said the latter, with a smile, "that this is merely for the rhyme's sake. I believe many people are cradled into poetry by love; but as Walter has never mentioned his amour to me, I fancy his heroine is an imaginary one. I do not know either, whose beauty could merit such enthusiastic admiration. I never met such loveliness but in one." He spoke without looking at Lucy, or he would have seen by her deep blush, that she had appropriated to herself a compliment intended for another. How often does woman's vanity make her misery! "Was it in Italy, you saw such beauty ?" asked Lucy, though she fancied she could foretel his an- I have made arrangements which will enable me to send swer. "No," replied Ernest, "I never found abroad the loveliness of the one at home; and I believe it would be impossible now, for even the dark eyes of Spain or Italy to win a share of my admiration." As he spoke Ernest looked at Lucy; her cheek flushed the hue of the ruby, and that blush told Ernest the secret of her feelings. After a few moments light conversation he took leave, saying he would call again on Walter. He left Lucy in a vision of happiness. Ernest she imagined had alluded to no beauty but her's; and she fancied so warm an admiration might soon be changed to as warm a love. Poor Lucy! her dream was a brief one! Ernest was startled at the knowledge acquired so accidentally, and without a shade of the vanity so many would have felt, he regretted it sincerely. His own disappointments taught him sympathy for a passion that must be hopeless. To offer to another the heart filled by Alice, he could not, and he determined on a course which he thought would break, before too late, the tissue of Lucy's affection. When Lucy returned to the countess, her lady received her coldly. Incensed at Walter's boldness, and with her usual selfishness, making no allowance for his feelings, Alice's anger was still unabated, and she harshly told Lucy to go to her room. When alone, Alice vented her wrath in broken exclamations, and at last, as if a bright idea had come over her, she wrote a few lines on a card, and ringing for a servant, sent the note to Miss Vere. Lucy had been surprised at the countess' manner, but thinking it arose from caprice, she thought no more of it, and was quietly reading when she received the note. It was as follows: "The countess of Lysle presents her compliments to Miss Vere, and informs her that her future attendance will be dispensed with." Astonished beyond measure at this message, Lucy could scarcely realize the change. The certainty came but too soon, and tears of mortified pride and wounded feeling sprung to her eyes. "And all ends in this!" she exclaimed passionately; "I am dismissed with this haughty coldness; I, who have devoted every moment to her pleasure-who have even dreamed she loved me!" When she became calm, Lucy made her preparations to return to her mother. The articles given her by the countess she selected and put aside, and with her simpler wardrobe, she left her splendid home. The amazement of Mrs. Vere equalled that of Lucy; and though Walter could have explained away their as tonishment, he did not do it. Soon after her return, a servant from the countess brought the dresses Lucy had left, and a note. It contained these words, with a sum of money: my writings to my publisher. Ernest Gordon, too, is going again to the continent, and he told me to bid you both his affectionate farewell." "Is he not coming to see us?" asked Mrs. Vere. "He will not have time," answered Walter; and glancing at Lucy, who though silent, was cold and pale as marble, he added, "perhaps it is better thus." The mother had outlived her days of intenser feeling, and while thinking of the change in their prospects she did not observe Lucy's emotion. Walter knew her sensations by his own, and approaching her, he imprinted a kiss on her forehead, and whispered, "You must not be sad, Lucy, for there are many still to love you!" Lucy pressed his hand in silence, and without a word of explanation: Walter knew all. The poet left London with his mother and sister. Sir Godfrey wrote to him, kindly inviting him to return, but he declined, though with many thanks for the painter's interest. Lord Derwood was very much disappointed, when, on his next visit to the countess, he learned Lucy's dismissal; but the new face of a pretty actress consoled him for her loss. Surrounded by other admirers, Alice soon forgot both Walter and his love, and among his many friends, Sir Godfrey Kneller was the only one who remembered the existence of the once flattered poet. TO THE ROSE. J. T. L. Child of the morning! I love thy uprearing, The sun casts his glorious effulgence around thee. Child of the sunbeam! I love to behold thee Wet with the kisses impress'd by that dew, When soft thou art seen 'mid the leaves that enfold thee, Blooming and blushing with loveliest hue. Raise up thy bosom, fair daughter of morning, Spread forth thy breast to the amorous breeze; See how it speeds through the mists of the morning, Whistling regardless o'er spice laden trees. Where must I look for thy rival, fair flow'ret? Where the home of the Peri its sweet garden rears! When they weave a rich zone of their locks to embower it, Watered with nectar and nursed by their tears? "The enclosed is the amount due Miss Vere for Or shall I look in the depths of the waters, attendance on the countess of Lysle." "You must not keep it, Lucy!" said Walter; and with the returning of the dresses and the money, ended all communication with the countess. The next day Walter announced his intended departure from London. "There is nothing to detain us here now," he said, sadly. "Lucy is released from her engagement, and I When forests of coral a shelter outspreads? Shall I search in the bowers of ocean's dark daughters, When clusters of pearls are encircling their heads? Sweetest of flowers! I need not endeavor Can I wish one more blooming or od'rous to see. |