Ma quando io avrò durata l'éroica fatica di trascrivere questa storia da questo dilavato e graffiato autografo, e l'avrò data, come suol dirsi, alla luce, si troverà egli poi chi duri fatica di leggerla?-MANZONI. THE HEIRESS. CHAPTER I. SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light, Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Or softly lightens o'er her face; And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, A heart where all is innocent! BYRON. It was towards the end of May; not sufficiently warm to occasion a dislike to motion; not one of those still and noiseless evenings, whose almost death-like silence fills the mind with a feeling resembling awe, if not awe itself; when the heart, ashamed of its own emotion amid such an unearthly calm, yields to the dreamy softness of the scene-or, wretched and repining itself, quarrels with the rebuking calm, and "To stillness gives The cold, harsh names of brutal apathy." No!-it was an evening the very reverse of such an one. It was, like life, all change-half hopehalf fear-mingling and mixing, till it would have been difficult to tell which had the mastery. It seemed formed to delight: "Who would not view True it was an azure sky; but then there were clouds of fantastic shape, careering o'er its sea of blue, and changing the shadows and the shades of all beneath. It was warm, but then there was a light fresh breeze playing around, and rustling the bright green leaves. The bustle of the day was over, but the birds were not yet weary of singing; the labourer whistled as he sought his humble but happy home; the mother sat at her cottage door, singing to the crowing baby in her lap; and the merry children laughed and shouted as they joined in the animated game of cricket, or chased each other across the common. Perhaps I should coax few to agree with me, were I to say I consider this scene of childish merriment to be in strict accordance with the shifting shade and sunshine on the surrounding woods and fields; and yet to my mind such is the fact. I dote on children, but I never see them playing, that the thought of their future trials and sorrows does not cause the sigh to mingle with the smile, and shadow the brightness of that which is, by anticipating the gloom of what may be. I might, were I so inclined, appeal to the frowns and sullen looks of more than one urchin, as proofs that even the dawn of life is not without its storms, and that the infant of seven may, comparatively speaking, suffer as much from wounded pride and disappointed ambition as the elder of seventy :-but I am not so inclined. The hours of childhood are, perhaps, the brightest portions of our existence, and in most minds the season of purer thoughts and more generous feelings than our after-lives exhibit. Jack may frown, and Jane may look sullen; the one may cry to lose his top, the other to break her doll; but the frown, and the sullen look, and the grief for the lost plaything, will pass away, and be seen no more; even as yon tiny dark cloud, gliding across the azure sky, will disappear in the west, "and leave not a shadow behind." Alas! alas! it is not so in after-life; and it is this that makes the chief difference between the sorrows of childhood and the sorrows of manhood; the sorrows of the child are fleeting, the grief of a moment!-the sorrows of the man are lasting, the grief of years! The storm of an hour, though furious, may be forgotten, and its trace effaced; for the storm of years there is no Lethe! it is the constant dripping that wears the stone; it is the last feather that breaks the camel's back. But why pursue the subject? We shall meet with enough of sorrow in our way through life, without stepping out of our path to seek it. If men and children look happy, let us believe them to be so; and if we know them to be not happy, then let us think: "Earth has its pangs for all; its happiest breast, Not his who meets them least. but bears them best." For my part, I mean to write as merry a book as my own rather gloomy temperament and the fashion of the times will allow; that is, like the evening I have tried to describe, a tale made up "Of hopes and fears, and gloom and shine." What can have happened? There is neither a shout nor a laugh to be heard. The labourer has ceased to whistle in the middle of a bar; the mother forgets to play with her infant, and heeds not its wailing cry; the curs bark unchidden; the ball, 66 discharged by a careless hand, bowls down the The carriage approached; bats and balls were flung down, and all sought to gain a distinct view of the travellers. Two of the boys, encouraged by the smiles of one of the ladies, and the good-natured looks of the servant, clung to the carriage behind; whilst another parted with a portion of his supper to make friends with the handsome setter. Every hat was off; bows and curtsies, for in this secluded village such things still were, became universal, save in one or two instances, where an excess of curiosity occasioned a forgetfulness of manners. The homage was at first silent; a murmur was heard, and then arose a long, loud, deafening shout. A gate at the end of the common delayed the progress of the carriage for a few moments, and before it could proceed again, men were at the horses' heads, and it was surrounded by most of the inhabitants of the village of Hurlestone. The welcomes were loud and fervent. "Long life and happiness to our dear young lady!" sounded from every tongue; all crowded to catch a glimpse ; all strove to win a word. Their young lady, evidently unprepared for the recognition, leant back for a moment to subdue her feelings; and, having succeeded in some slight degree, proceeded to acknowledge the courtesies of the crowd, and answer their eager inquiries and congratulations. The tears stood in her dark blue eyes, and struggled with the smile on her bright lips, as she bent forward to speak to the villagers. They listened to her tremulous but sincere thanks in perfect silence, answered by another shout, and then intimated their intention of releasing the horses, and drawing the carriage themselves to the house. The idea distressed her, and, repressing her emotion, she spoke firmly but kindly to those around her. recognised the Heiress; but the causes of the confusion were widely different. The former was the murmur of sinful men, who had rebelled against a just but merciful Creator: the latter was the gratitude of kind, though humble hearts, towards one who, absent or present, still had them in her thoughts, and held her riches as a precious deposit for the good of others. Meanwhile, the carriage passed on, and the elder lady tried to rouse her companion, who, with tearful eyes bent on the surrounding woods, was too much absorbed in her own thoughts to heed the remarks of her friend. "Helen," she said at length, placing her hand on her niece's arm, and thus forcing attention, "is this keeping your promise to your parents? And where is the pleasure with which you talked of revisiting your home?" Helen started, was silent for a moment, and then spoke, though without turning round. 66 Forgive me, dear aunt, the promise shall be kept; but I overrated my firmness when I talked of seeing Hurlestone with pleasure. These words have roused feelings of anguish and regret, which I had vainly hoped were laid at rest for ever. Give me my way for the next two hours, and then I hope you will complain of me no more. If you will excuse my playing hostess for the present, and proceed to the house alone, where all is ready for your reception, I will walk through the woods, and join you in time to preside at the tea-table. Nay, no remonstrance, dear aunt; it must be so for this once.' The carriage was stopped; Helen had descended, and smiling through her tears, kissed her hand as she disappeared among the trees, ere Mrs. Hargrave could oppose her wish. Her faithful ally and petted favourite, the setter, was as delighted as his young mistress at her leaving the carriage, and wooed and won her caresses as he bounded round her. The woods through which she passed were beautiful. The interweaving branches formed a bright and leafy canopy above her head, and the rich moss and lovely flowers furnished a soft and luxurious carpet for her tread: occasional breaks showed her glimpses of a placid lake, and verdant slopes, and mossy dells, with detached clumps of stately trees of every variety, beneath whose shade "I thank you most warmly for your good wishes groups of deer calmly reclined, whilst the sportive and kind intention, but you will, I am sure, allow fawns frolicked around in grace and confidence. me to proceed quietly and unattended at my ear- All was dressed in summer's livery; bright, but nest request. I left Hurlestone blessed with pa- not gaudy; and not a faded leaf, or withered rents-I return an orphan; rejoicing and congratu- branch, whispered of chill or change. There was no lation, therefore, ill suit the first day of my ar- sublimity in the scene, no towering rocks, no fearrival. Though I decline your attendance at pre-ful precipice, no barren shore, or stormy wave; sent, I am not the less grateful for your friendly purpose, and hope to be always welcomed home with equal warmth; and to prove I have not forgotten the precepts and examples of those we have lost. And now good evening, and a happy morrow to all." The people saw the tears in her eyes; felt for her sorrow, and respected her wishes. The hands were taken from the horses' reins; respectful good evenings were uttered by all, and the carriage again proceeded on its way, each one among the crowd feeling convinced that the young lady's words, and bow, and smile, were directed particularly to himself. As the carriage arrived at a turn in the road that would hide it from their sight, three cheers were given for their young lady, and then the confusion of tongues recommenced. Some thought her thinner, some thought her paler; each one had something to say and to think, but all agreed she was a perfect beauty, and nothing less than an angel. The confusion of Babel could but have slightly exceeded the confusion of Hurleston, as all claimed the honour of having first but there was rich and peaceful beauty. It was a scene to be loved still more than admired. A Byron might have said it was tame; a Scott would have felt it was his home; the home of high and generous feelings, and the best and holiest affections of the heart. But beautiful as it was, though Helen gazed on its beauties, it was evident her heart, rather than her eyes, was engaged in the survey. The falling tear and the gentle sigh told that she viewed all as connected with some melancholy remembrances; and that the past, and not the present, occupied her thoughts. The village clock striking seven roused her from her revery, and she stopped no more till she entered the humble churchyard. Here she paused for a few moments, then approached, and looked through one of its gothic windows. The one through which she gazed, overlooked a large square pew, whose well-conditioned green lining, soft hassocks, and splendidly-bound prayer books, bespoke it the possession of the great family of the village. Every thing in the pew looked comfortable and well arranged, as though it had been oc cupied the last Sunday; and the sun glancing through an opposite window, gave it a bright and cheerful look. And yet the sight was a shock to the fair and delicate being whose looks were bent | upon it. her dog to her side, whose barking "vexed no Helen had not gone far, ere a rustling behind showed she was followed; and, having seen no one else, she concluded her pursuer was the owner At first she shuddered, and veiled her eyes with of that pair of lustrous and impertinent eyes. her slight hands, whilst the tears fell fast through Vexed and annoyed at having had an observer of her long slender fingers, as she leant against a her emotion, and in no humour to play guide to buttress for support. But this mood soon passed the stranger, and such she concluded was his puraway. The hands were withdrawn, and she look-pose in following her, she availed herself of a turn ed again. She thought of her promise to those in the path to glide behind the trunks of two who were gone. She thought of their happiness, stately trees, of the sinfulness of wishing to recall them to a world of pain and suffering. She thought of the equal guilt of shrinking from her appointed trials, and deeming herself unchastened fit for heaven. She thought of all this, and her sighs were hushed, and her tears fell no longer. Her thoughts were turned from earth to heaven, and her eyes took the same direction: "The tears Still linger'd in her eyes of deepest blue, Of early morn, when mist withdraws her veil." There was a something so pure, so spiritual, about her at that moment, that an enthusiast might have thought her an inhabitant "of upper air.' Her four-footed favourite, not having the power to indulge in her high thoughts, became impatient of delay, and, looking up in her face, whined imploringly. It was a bright and beautiful chain he had broken, but she patted and soothed him, looked once more into that humble churchyard, and then turned away. "What, Bran, are you impatient for your supper, or affronted at my want of attention? Both! Well then, one walk round the churchyard, one look at Hurlestone greathouse, as the villagers call it, and then to supper with what appetite you may.' 6 She reached her favourite corner as she spoke, and became so absorbed in her own reflections, that the motions of the dog were unnoticed, till a loud bark startled her. "What is the matter, Bran? Cannot you wait a few moments?" Still the barking continued. The noise was not in accordance with her thoughts or the place, and she spoke in a more commanding tone, as he continued to bark and bay round a large square tomb stone. "Be quiet, Bran, be quiet, Bran! Bran, come here." To her surprise, her usually obedient favourite actually rebelled, and paid no attention to her commands. Annoyed at the disturbance, she walked towards the tomb, still speaking to her dog. "Bran, my own pet, why don't you come when I call you? What are you teasing? Some halfstarved cat, or miserable hedge-hog?" At this moment rose to her view a pair of lustrous dark eyes fixed full upon her, surmounted by a profusion of curling black hair. Bushy whiskers and mustachios almost concealing a mouth, the mischievous curve of whose lips spoke full enjoyment of her dismay, completed the portrait of this alarming spy. For some moments she stood looking at him, too much surprised to move; but as the head, rising above the tomb, showed that it belonged "to a proper man and tall," blushing deeply at the awkwardness of her situation, she turned abruptly away, passed round an angle of the old building, sprang lightly over the stile, and disappeared among the trees ere the stranger seemed fully aware she had passed from his sight. A call, in a clear sweet voice, brought "That twin-like grew of equal size and shape," and persuaded Bran to crouch quietly by her side. In a few minutes she had the pleasure of seeing the stranger pass her retreat, and pursue his way nothing doubting. The next moment she turned into an opposite path, and soon after came in sight of the home of her childhood. As she ascended a rising ground, a horseman appeared in sight just leaving the house, and riding towards her apparently more intent on speed than safety. Her first feeling was vexation, thinking it the stranger, though that could scarcely have been; but a second glance told her it was one well-known and rarely unwelcome. On he came, his slight blood-horse hardly appearing to touch the ground, so light and winged its motion, whilst the carelessness with which he held the bridle, and the eagerness with which he bent forward, till his forehead almost touched his horse's mane, spoke the eagerness and impetuosity of the rider. Nothing impeded his course. An iron fence was cleared without an effort, or a break in his speed; a deep and broad ha-ha proved as slight a barrier; and, ere Helen had time to tremble for his safety, he had flung his bridle loose, thrown himself from the saddle, and was standing before her with his eyes fixed on her face, and both her hands clasped in his. A duller eye than his might have seen the traces of tears, and the sight called a cloud to his brow, though her smile of welcome, and her "I am glad to see you, dear Robert," might have banished the cloud from any brow but his. No reception could be more cordial or sincere, and yet there was a something in it that did not please him. Perhaps it was too cordial, too frank; or he was vexed that her ramble had delayed their meeting, though but for a few moments; or he was out of humour with himself, and inclined to lay the blame upon another-no very unusual proceeding with him, or others. To blame her openly for the delay, he was aware, notwithstanding his usual impetuosity, would be a fatal departure from prudence, certain of reproval; but he might blame her for indulging in melancholy thoughts to the destruction of her peace and health: that was another matter, and such solicitude could only arise from the friendly regard of a cousin. "Helen," he said, "I was distressed to hear from Mrs. Hargrave that your good resolutions were all forgotten, and that in spite of her wishes you had left her to indulge unrestrained in sorrowful remembrances; I had missed-" "Nay! nay! Robert," interrupting him halfplayfully half-seriously, and withdrawing her hands from his grasp, "if you chide thus at your first visit, Watson shall say 'not at home' at your second. You may find yourself able to keep your good resolutions; I have not always the power. The kind welcome of the villagers recalled the past; but, I hope, I have returned from my lonely ramble better and happier, and if I have wept, surely on such a day as this, when a return to a solitary home! must unavoidably awaken sorrowful thoughts, I should have been met with the kind soothings of a friend, not the chiding of a |