EUGENE ARAM

 A TALE

 BY EDWARD BULWER LYTTON

TO SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. , ETC. 

SIR, --It has long been my ambition to add some humble tribute to theofferings laid upon the shrine of your genius. At each succeeding bookthat I have given to the world, I have paused to consider if it wereworthy to be inscribed with your great name, and at each I have playedthe procrastinator, and hoped for that morrow of better desert whichnever came. But 'defluat amnis', --the time runs on; and I am tired ofwaiting for the ford which the tides refuse. I seize, then, the presentopportunity, not as the best, but as the only one I can he sure ofcommanding, to express that affectionate admiration with which you haveinspired me in common with all your contemporaries, and which a Frenchwriter has not ungracefully termed "the happiest prerogative of genius. "As a Poet and as a Novelist your fame has attained to that height inwhich praise has become superfluous; but in the character of the writerthere seems to me a yet higher claim to veneration than in that of thewritings. The example your genius sets us, who can emulate? The exampleyour moderation bequeaths to us, who shall forget? That nature mustindeed be gentle which has conciliated the envy that pursues intellectualgreatness, and left without an enemy a man who has no living equal inrenown. 

You have gone for a while from the scenes you have immortalized, toregain, we trust, the health which has been impaired by your noble laborsor by the manly struggles with adverse fortunes which have not found theframe as indomitable as the mind. Take with you the prayers of all whomyour genius, with playful art, has soothed in sickness, or hasstrengthened, with generous precepts, against the calamities of life. 

 [Written at the time of Sir W. Scott's visit to Italy, after the great blow to his health and fortunes. ]

 "Navis quae, tibi creditum Debes Virgilium . . . Reddas incolumem!"

 "O ship, thou owest to us Virgil! Restore in safety him whom we intrusted to thee. "

You, I feel assured, will not deem it presumptuous in one who, to thatbright and undying flame which now streams from the gray hills ofScotland, --the last halo with which you have crowned her literaryglories, --has turned from his first childhood with a deep and unrelaxingdevotion; you, I feel assured, will not deem it presumptuous in him toinscribe an idle work with your illustrious name, --a work which, howeverworthless in itself, assumes something of value in his eyes when thusrendered a tribute of respect to you. 

THE AUTHOR OF "EUGENE ARAM. "

LONDON, December 22, 1831. 

 PREFACE

 TO THE EDITION OF 1831. 

Since, dear Reader, I last addressed thee, in "Paul Clifford, " nearly twoyears have elapsed, and somewhat more than four years since, in "Pelham, "our familiarity first began. The Tale which I now submit to thee differsequally from the last as from the first of those works; for of the twoevils, perhaps it is even better to disappoint thee in a new style thanto weary thee with an old. With the facts on which the tale of "EugeneAram" is founded, I have exercised the common and fair license of writersof fiction it is chiefly the more homely parts of the real story thathave been altered; and for what I have added, and what omitted, I havethe sanction of all established authorities, who have taken greaterliberties with characters yet more recent, and far more protected byhistorical recollections. The book was, for the most part, written in theearly part of the year, when the interest which the task created in theAuthor was undivided by other subjects of excitement, and he had leisureenough not only to be 'nescio quid meditans nugarum, ' but also to be'totes in illis. '

 ["Not only to be meditating I know not what of trifles, but also to be wholly engaged on them. "]

I originally intended to adapt the story of Eugene Aram to the Stage. That design was abandoned when more than half completed; but I wished toimpart to this Romance something of the nature of Tragedy, --something ofthe more transferable of its qualities. Enough of this: it is not theAuthor's wishes, but the Author's books that the world will judge him by. Perhaps, then (with this I conclude), in the dull monotony of publicaffairs, and in these long winter evenings, when we gather round thefire, prepared for the gossip's tale, willing to indulge the fear and tobelieve the legend, perhaps, dear Reader, thou mayest turn, notreluctantly, even to these pages, for at least a newer excitement thanthe Cholera, or for momentary relief from the everlasting discussion on"the Bill. " [The year of the Reform Bill. ]

LONDON, December 22, 1831. 

 PREFACE

 TO THE EDITION OF 1840. 

The strange history of Eugene Aram had excited my interest and wonderlong before the present work was composed or conceived. It so happenedthat during Aram's residence at Lynn his reputation for learning hadattracted the notice of my grandfather, --a country gentleman living inthe same county, and of more intelligence and accomplishments than, atthat day, usually characterized his class. Aram frequently visited atHeydon (my grandfather's house), and gave lessons--probably in no veryelevated branches of erudition--to the younger members of the family. This I chanced to hear when I was on a visit in Norfolk some two yearsbefore this novel was published; and it tended to increase the interestwith which I had previously speculated on the phenomena of a trial which, take it altogether, is perhaps the most remarkable in the register ofEnglish crime. I endeavored to collect such anecdotes of Aram's life andmanners as tradition and hearsay still kept afloat. These anecdotes wereso far uniform that they all concurred in representing him as a personwho, till the detection of the crime for which he was sentenced, hadappeared of the mildest character and the most unexceptionable morals. Aninvariable gentleness and patience in his mode of tuition--qualities thenvery uncommon at school--had made him so beloved by his pupils at Lynnthat, in after life, there was scarcely one of them who did not persistin the belief of his innocence. 

His personal and moral peculiarities, as described in these pages, aresuch as were related to me by persons who had heard him described by hiscontemporaries, the calm, benign countenance; the delicate health; thethoughtful stoop; the noiseless step; the custom, not uncommon withscholars and absent men, of muttering to himself; a singular eloquencein conversation, when once roused from silence; an active tenderness andcharity to the poor, with whom he was always ready to share his ownscanty means; an apparent disregard for money, except when employed inthe purchase of books; an utter indifference to the ambition usuallyaccompanying self-taught talent, whether to better the condition or toincrease the repute: these, and other traits of the character portrayedin the novel, are, as far as I can rely on my information, faithful tothe features of the original. 

That a man thus described--so benevolent that he would rob his ownnecessities to administer to those of another, so humane that he wouldturn aside from the worm in his path--should have been guilty of thefoulest of human crimes, namely, murder for the sake of gain; that acrime thus committed should have been so episodical and apart from therest of his career that, however it might rankle in his conscience, itshould never have hardened his nature; that through a life of someduration, none of the errors, none of the vices, which would seemessentially to belong to a character capable of a deed so black, frommotives apparently so sordid, should have been discovered or suspected, --all this presents all anomaly in human conduct so rare and surprisingthat it would be difficult to find any subject more adapted for thatmetaphysical speculation and analysis, in order to indulge which, Fiction, whether in the drama or the higher class of romance, seeks itsmaterials and grounds its lessons in the chronicles of passion and crime. 

 [For I put wholly out of question the excuse of jealousy, as unsupported by any evidence, never hinted at by Aram himself (at least on any sufficient authority), and at variance with the only fact which the trial establishes; namely, that the robbery was the crime planned, and the cause, whether accidental or otherwise, of the murder. ]

The guilt of Eugene Aram is not that of a vulgar ruffian; it leads toviews and considerations vitally and wholly distinct from those withwhich profligate knavery and brutal cruelty revolt and displease us inthe literature of Newgate and the hulks. His crime does, in fact, belongto those startling paradoxes which the poetry of all countries, andespecially of our own, has always delighted to contemplate and examine. Whenever crime appears the aberration and monstrous product of a greatintellect or of a nature ordinarily virtuous, it becomes not only thesubject for genius, which deals with passions, to describe, but a problemfor philosophy, which deals with actions, to investigate and solve; hencethe Macbeths and Richards, the Iagos and Othellos. My regret, therefore, is not that I chose a subject unworthy of elevated fiction, but that sucha subject did not occur to some one capable of treating it as itdeserves; and I never felt this more strongly than when the late Mr. Godwin (in conversing with me after the publication of this romance)observed that he had always thought the story of Eugene Aram peculiarlyadapted for fiction, and that he had more than once entertained thenotion of making it the foundation of a novel. I can well conceive whatdepth and power that gloomy record would have taken from the dark andinquiring genius of the author of "Caleb Williams. " In fact, the crimeand trial of Eugene Aram arrested the attention and engaged theconjectures of many of the most eminent men of his own time. His guilt orinnocence was the matter of strong contest; and so keen and so enduringwas the sensation created by an event thus completely distinct from theordinary annals of human crime that even History turned aside from thesonorous narrative of the struggles of parties and the feuds of kings tocommemorate the learning and the guilt of the humble schoolmaster ofLynn. Did I want any other answer to the animadversions of commonplacecriticism, it might be sufficient to say that what the historian relatesthe novelist has little right to disdain. 

Before entering on this romance, I examined with some care theprobabilities of Aram's guilt; for I need scarcely perhaps observe thatthe legal evidence against him is extremely deficient, --furnished almostentirely by one (Houseman) confessedly an accomplice of the crime and apartner in the booty, and that in the present day a man tried uponevidence so scanty and suspicious would unquestionably escape conviction. Nevertheless, I must frankly own that the moral evidence appeared to memore convincing than the legal; and though not without some doubt, which, in common with many, I still entertain of the real facts of the murder, Iadopted that view which, at all events, was the best suited to the higherpurposes of fiction. On the whole, I still think that if the crime werecommitted by Aram, the motive was not very far removed from one which ledrecently to a remarkable murder in Spain. A priest in that country, wholly absorbed in learned pursuits, and apparently of spotless life, confessed that, being debarred by extreme poverty from prosecuting astudy which had become the sole passion of his existence, he had reasonedhimself into the belief that it would be admissible to rob a verydissolute, worthless man if he applied the money so obtained to theacquisition of a knowledge which he could not otherwise acquire, andwhich he held to be profitable to mankind. Unfortunately, the dissoluterich man was not willing to be robbed for so excellent a purpose; he wasarmed and he resisted. A struggle ensued, and the crime of homicide wasadded to that of robbery. The robbery was premeditated; the murder wasaccidental. But he who would accept some similar interpretation of Aram'scrime must, to comprehend fully the lessons which belong to so terrible apicture of frenzy and guilt, consider also the physical circumstances andcondition of the criminal at the time, --severe illness, intense labor ofthe brain, poverty bordering upon famine, the mind preternaturally atwork devising schemes and excuses to arrive at the means for endsardently desired. And all this duly considered, the reader may see thecrime bodying itself out from the shades and chimeras of a horriblehallucination, --the awful dream of a brief but delirious and convulseddisease. It is thus only that we can account for the contradiction of onedeed at war with a whole life, --blasting, indeed, forever the happiness, but making little revolution in the pursuits and disposition of thecharacter. No one who has examined with care and thoughtfulness theaspects of Life and Nature but must allow that in the contemplation ofsuch a spectacle, great and most moral truths must force themselves onthe notice and sink deep into the heart. The entanglements of humanreasoning; the influence of circumstance upon deeds; the perversion thatmay be made, by one self-palter with the Fiend, of elements the mostglorious; the secret effect of conscience in frustrating all for whichthe crime was done, leaving genius without hope, knowledge without fruit, deadening benevolence into mechanism, tainting love itself with terrorand suspicion, --such reflections (leading, with subtler minds, to manymore vast and complicated theorems in the consideration of our nature, social and individual) arise out of the tragic moral which the story ofEugene Aram (were it but adequately treated) could not fail to convey. 

BRUSSELS, August, 1840. 

 PREFACE

 TO THE PRESENT EDITION. 

If none of my prose works have been so attacked as "Eugene Aram, " nonehave so completely triumphed over attack. It is true that, whether fromreal or affected inorance of the true morality of fiction, a few criticsmay still reiterate the old commonplace charges of "selecting heroes fromNewgate, " or "investing murderers with interest;" but the firm hold whichthe work has established in the opinion of the general public, and thefavor it has received in every country where English literature is known, suffice to prove that, whatever its faults, it belongs to that legitimateclass of fiction which illustrates life and truth, and only deals withcrime as the recognized agency of pity and terror in the conduct oftragic narrative. All that I would say further on this score has beensaid in the general defence of my writings which I put forth two yearsago; and I ask the indulgence of the reader if I repeat myself:--

 "Here, unlike the milder guilt of Paul Clifford, the author was not to imply reform to society, nor open in this world atonement and pardon to the criminal. As it would have been wholly in vain to disguise, by mean tamperings with art and truth, the ordinary habits of life and attributes of character which all record and remembrance ascribed to Eugene Aram; as it would have defeated every end of the moral inculcated by his guilt, to portray, in the caricature of the murderer of melodrama, a man immersed in study, of whom it was noted that he turned aside from the worm in his path, --so I have allowed to him whatever contrasts with his inexpiable crime have been recorded on sufficient authority. But I have invariably taken care that the crime itself should stand stripped of every sophistry, and hideous to the perpetrator as well as to the world. Allowing all by which attention to his biography may explain the tremendous paradox of fearful guilt in a man aspiring after knowledge, and not generally inhumane; allowing that the crime came upon him in the partial insanity produced by the combining circumstances of a brain overwrought by intense study, disturbed by an excited imagination and the fumes of a momentary disease of the reasoning faculty, consumed by the desire of knowledge, unwholesome and morbid, because coveted as an end, not a means, added to the other physical causes of mental aberration to be found in loneliness, and want verging upon famine, --all these, which a biographer may suppose to have conspired to his crime, have never been used by the novelist as excuses for its enormity, nor indeed, lest they should seem as excuses, have they ever been clearly presented to the view. The moral consisted in showing more than the mere legal punishment at the close. It was to show how the consciousness of the deed was to exclude whatever humanity of character preceded and belied it from all active exercise, all social confidence; how the knowledge of the bar between the minds of others and his own deprived the criminal of all motive to ambition, and blighted knowledge of all fruit. Miserable in his affections, barren in his intellect; clinging to solitude, yet accursed in it; dreading as a danger the fame he had once coveted; obscure in spite of learning, hopeless in spite of love, fruitless and joyless in his life, calamitous and shameful in his end, --surely such is no palliative of crime, no dalliance and toying with the grimness of evil! And surely to any ordinary comprehension and candid mind such is the moral conveyed by the fiction of 'Eugene Aram. '"--[A word to the Public, 1847]

In point of composition "Eugene Aram" is, I think, entitled to rankamongst the best of my fictions. It somewhat humiliates me to acknowledgethat neither practice nor study has enabled me to surpass a work writtenat a very early age, in the skilful construction and patient developmentof plot; and though I have since sought to call forth higher and moresubtle passions, I doubt if I have ever excited the two elementarypassions of tragedy, --namely, pity and terror, --to the same degree. Inmere style, too, "Eugene Aram, " in spite of certain verbal oversights, and defects in youthful taste (some of which I have endeavored to removefrom the present edition), appears to me unexcelled by any of my laterwritings, --at least in what I have always studied as the main essentialof style in narrative; namely, its harmony with the subject selected andthe passions to be moved, --while it exceeds them all in the minutenessand fidelity of its descriptions of external nature. This indeed it oughtto do, since the study of external nature is made a peculiar attribute ofthe prin cipal character, whose fate colors the narrative. I do not knowwhether it has been observed that the time occupied by the events of thestory is conveyed through the medium of such descriptions. Eachdescription is introduced, not for its own sake, but to serve as acalendar marking the gradual changes of the seasons as they bear on tohis doom the guilty worshipper of Nature. And in this conception, and inthe care with which it has been followed out, I recognize one of myearliest but most successful attempts at the subtler principles ofnarrative art. 

In this edition I have made one alteration somewhat more important thanmere verbal correction. On going, with maturer judgment, over all theevidences on which Aram was condemned, I have convinced myself thatthough an accomplice in the robbery of Clarke, he was free both from thepremeditated design and the actual deed of murder. The crime, indeed, would still rest on his conscience and insure his punishment, asnecessarily incidental to the robbery in which he was an accomplice, withHouseman; but finding my convictions, that in the murder itself he had noshare, borne out by the opinion of many eminent lawyers by whom I haveheard the subject discussed, I have accordingly so shaped his confessionto Walter. 

Perhaps it will not be without interest to the reader if I append to thispreface an authentic specimen of Eugene Aram's composition, for which Iam indebted to the courtesy of a gentleman by whose grandfather it wasreceived, with other papers (especially a remarkable "Outline of a NewLexicon"), during Aram's confinement in York prison. The essay I selectis, indeed, not without value in itself as a very curious and learnedillustration of Popular Antiquities, and it serves also to show not onlythe comprehensive nature of Aram's studies and the inquisitive eagernessof his mind, but also the fact that he was completely self-taught; for incontrast to much philological erudition, and to passages that evinceconsiderable mastery in the higher resources of language, we mayoccasionally notice those lesser inaccuracies from which the writings ofmen solely self-educated are rarely free, --indeed Aram himself, insending to a gentleman an elegy on Sir John Armitage, which shows much, but undisciplined, power of versification, says, "I send this elegy, which, indeed, if you had not had the curiosity to desire, I could nothave had the assurance to offer, scarce believing I, who was hardlytaught to read, have any abilities to write. "

 THE MELSUPPER AND SHOUTING THE CHURN. 

These rural entertainments and usages were formerly more general allover England than they are at present, being become by time, necessity, or avarice, complex, confined, and altered. They are commonly insistedupon by the reapers as customary things, and a part of their due for thetoils of the harvest, and complied with by their masters perhaps morethrough regards of interest than inclination; for should they refuse themthe pleasures of this much-expected time, this festal night, the youthespecially, of both sexes would decline serving them for the future, andemploy their labors for others, who would promise them the rustic joys ofthe harvest-supper, mirth and music, dance and song. These feasts appearto be the relics of Pagan ceremonies or of Judaism, it is hard to saywhich, and carry in them more meaning and are of far higher antiquitythan is generally apprehended. It is true the subject is more curiousthan important, and I believe altogether untouched; and as it seems tobe little understood, has been as little adverted to. I do not rememberit to have been so much as the subject of a conversation. Let us make, then, a little excursion into this field, for the same reason mensometimes take a walk. Its traces are discoverable at a very greatdistance of time from ours, --nay, seem as old as a sense of joy for thebenefit of plentiful harvests and human gratitude to the eternal Creatorfor His munificence to men. We hear it under various names in differentcounties, and often in the same county; as, "melsupper, " "churn-supper, ""harvest-supper, " "harvesthome, " "feast of in-gathering, " etc. Andperhaps this feast had been long observed, and by different tribes ofpeople, before it became preceptive with the Jews. However, let that beas it will, the custom very lucidly appears from the following passagesof S. S. , Exod. Xxiii. 16, "And the feast of harvest, the first-fruits ofthy labors, which thou hast sown in the field. " And its institution as asacred rite is commanded in Levit. Xxiii. 39: "When ye have gathered inthe fruit of the land ye shall keep a feast to the Lord. "

The Jews then, as is evident from hence, celebrated the feast of harvest, and that by precept; and though no vestiges of any such feast either areor can be produced before these, yet the oblation of the Primitae, ofwhich this feast was a consequence, is met with prior to this, for wefind that "Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an offering to theLord" (Gen. Iv. 3). 

Yet this offering of the first-fruits, it may well be supposed was notpeculiar to the Jews either at the time of, or after, its establishmentby their legislator; neither the feast in consequence of it. Many othernations, either in imitation of the Jews, or rather by tradition fromtheir several patriarchs, observed the rite of offering their Primitiae, and of solemnizing a festival after it, in religious acknowledgment forthe blessing of harvest, though that acknowledgment was ignorantlymisapplied in being directed to a secondary, not the primary, fountain ofthis benefit, --namely to Apollo, or the Sun. 

For Callimachus affirms that these Primitiae were sent by the people ofevery nation to the temple of Apollo in Delos, the most distant thatenjoyed the happiness of corn and harvest, even by the Hyperboreans inparticular, --Hymn to Apol. , "Bring the sacred sheafs and the mysticofferings. "

Herodotus also mentions this annual custom of the Hyperboreans, remarkingthat those of Delos talk of "Holy things tied up in sheaf of wheatconveyed from the Hyperboreans. " And the Jews, by the command of theirlaw, offered also a sheaf: "And shall reap the harvest thereof, then yeshall bring a sheaf of the first-fruits of the harvest unto the priest. "

This is not introduced in proof of any feast observed by the people whohad harvests, but to show the universality of the custom of offering thePrimitiae, which preceded this feast. But yet it maybe looked upon asequivalent to a proof; for as the offering and the feast appear to havebeen always and intimately connected in countries affording records, soit is more than probable they were connected too in countries which hadnone, or none that ever survived to our times. An entertainment andgayety were still the concomitants of these rites, which with the vulgar, one may pretty truly suppose, were esteemed the most acceptable andmaterial part of them, and a great reason of their having subsistedthrough such a length of ages, when both the populace and many of thelearned too have lost sight of the object to which they had beenoriginally directed. This, among many other ceremonies of the heathenworship, became disused in some places and retained in others, but stillcontinued declining after the promulgation of the Gospel. In short, thereseems great reason to conclude that this feast, which was once sacred toApollo, was constantly maintained, when a far less valuablecircumstance, --i. E. , "shouting the churn, "--is observed to this day bythe reapers, and from so old an era; for we read of this exclamation, Isa. Xvi. 9: "For the shouting for thy summer fruits and for thy harvestis fallen;" and again, ver. 10: "And in the vineyards there shall be nosinging, their shouting shall be no shouting. " Hence then, or from someof the Phoenician colonies, is our traditionary "shouting the churn. "But it seems these Orientals shouted both for joy of their harvest ofgrapes and of corn. We have no quantity of the first to occasion so muchjoy as does our plenty of the last; and I do not remember to have heardwhether their vintages abroad are attended with this custom. Bread orcakes compose part of the Hebrew offering (Levit. Xxiii. 13), and a cakethrown upon the head of the victim was also part of the Greek offering toApollo (see Hom. , Il. , a), whose worship was formerly celebrated inBritain, where the May-pole yet continues one remain of it. This theyadorned with garlands on May-day, to welcome the approach of Apollo, orthe Sun, towards the North, and to signify that those flowers were theproduct of his presence and influence. But upon the progress ofChristianity, as was observed above, Apollo lost his divinity again, andthe adoration of his deity subsided by degrees. Yet so permanent iscustom that this rite of the harvest-supper, together with that of theMay-pole (of which last see Voss. De Orig. And Prag. Idolatr. , 1, 2), have been preserved in Britain; and what had been anciently offered tothe god, the reapers as prudently ate up themselves. 

At last the use of the meal of the new corn was neglected, and thesupper, so far as meal was concerned, was made indifferently of old ornew corn, as was most agreeable to the founder. And here the usage itselfaccounts for the name of "Melsupper" (where mel signifies meal, or elsethe instrument called with us a "Mell, " wherewith antiquity reduced theircorn to meal in a mortar, which still amounts to the same thing); forprovisions of meal, or of corn in furmety, etc. , composed by far thegreatest part in these elder and country entertainments, perfectlyconformable to the simplicity of those times, places, and persons, however meanly they may now be looked upon. And as the harvest was lastconcluded with several preparations of meal, or brought to be ready forthe "mell, " this term became, in a translated signification, to mean thelast of other things; as, when a horse comes last in the race, they oftensay in the North, "He has got the mell. "

All the other names of this country festivity sufficiently explainthemselves, except "Churn-supper;" and this is entirely different from"Melsupper:" but they generally happen so near together that they arefrequently confounded. The "Churn-supper" was always provided when allwas shorn, but the "Melsupper" after all was got in. And it was calledthe "Churn-supper" because, from immemorial times, it was customary toproduce in a churn a great quantity of cream, and to circulate it bydishfuls to each of the rustic company, to be eaten with bread. And heresometimes very extraordinary execution has been done upon cream. Andthough this custom has been disused in many places, and agreeablycommuted for by ale, yet it survives still, and that about Whitby andScarborough in the East, and round about Gisburn, etc. , in Craven, in theWest. But perhaps a century or two more will put an end to it, and boththe thing and name shall die. Vicarious ale is now more approved, and thetankard almost everywhere politely preferred to the Churn. 

This Churn (in our provincial pronunciation Kern) is the Hebrew Kern, or Keren, from its being circular, like most horns; and it is the Latin'corona', --named so either from 'radii', resembling horns, as on somevery ancient coins, or from its encircling the head: so a ring of peopleis called corona. Also the Celtic Koren, Keren, or corn, which continuesaccording to its old pronunciation in Cornwall, etc. , and our modern wordhorn is no more than this; the ancient hard sound of k in corn beingsoftened into the aspirate h, as has been done in numberless instances. 

The Irish Celtae also called a round stone 'clogh crene', where thevariation is merely dialectic. Hence, too, our crane-berries, --i. E. , round berries, --from this Celtic adjective 'crene', round. 

The quotations from Scripture in Aram's original MS. Were both in theHebrew character, and their value in English sounds. 

 CONTENTS. 

 BOOK I. 

CHAPTER I. THE VILLAGE. --ITS INHABITANTS. --AN OLD MANORHOUSE: AND AN ENGLISH FAMILY;THEIR HISTORY, INVOLVING A MYSTERIOUS EVENT. 

CHAPTER II. A PUBLICAN, A SINNER, AND A STRANGER

CHAPTER III. A DIALOGUE AND AN ALARM. --A STUDENT'S HOUSE. 

CHAPTER IV. THE SOLILOQUY, AND THE CHARACTER, OF A RECLUSE. --THE INTERRUPTION. 

CHAPTER V. A DINNER AT THE SQUIRE'S HALL. --A CONVERSATION BETWEEN TWO RETIRED MENWITH DIFFERENT OBJECTS IN RETIREMENT. --DISTURBANCE FIRST INTRODUCED INTOA PEACEFUL FAMILY. 

CHAPTER VI. THE BEHAVIOUR OF THE STUDENT. --A SUMMER SCENE--ARAM'S CONVERSATION WITHWALTER, AND SUBSEQUENT COLLOQUY WITH HIMSELF. 

CHAPTER VII. THE POWER OF LOVE OVER THE RESOLUTION OF THE STUDENT. --ARAM BECOMES AFREQUENT GUEST AT THE MANOR-HOUSE. --A WALK. --CONVERSATION WITH DAMEDARKMANS. --HER HISTORY. --POVERTY AND ITS EFFECTS. 

CHAPTER VII. THE PRIVILEGE OF GENIUS. --LESTER'S SATISFACTION AT THE ASPECT OF EVENTS. --HIS CONVERSATION WITH WALTER. --A DISCOVERY. 

CHAPTER IX. THE STATE OF WALTER'S MIND. --AN ANGLER AND A MAN OF THE WORLD. --ACOMPANION FOUND FOR WALTER. 

CHAPTER X. THE LOVERS. --THE ENCOUNTER AND QUARREL OF THE RIVALS. 

CHAPTER XI. THE FAMILY SUPPER. --THE TWO SISTERS IN THEIR CHAMBER. --A MISUNDERSTANDINGFOLLOWED BY A CONFESSION. --WALTER'S APPROACHING DEPARTURE AND THECORPORAL'S BEHAVIOUR THEREON. --THE CORPORAL'S FAVOURITE INTRODUCED TO THEREADER. --THE CORPORAL PROVES HIMSELF A SUBTLE DIPLOMATIST. 

CHAPTER XII. A STRANGE HABIT. --WALTER'S INTERVIEW WITH MADELINE. --HER GENEROUS ANDCONFIDING DISPOSITION. --WALTER'S ANGER. --THE PARTING MEAL. --CONVERSATIONBETWEEN THE UNCLE AND NEPHEW. --WALTER ALONE. --SLEEP THE BLESSING OF THEYOUNG. 

 BOOK II. 

CHAPTER I. THE MARRIAGE SETTLED. --LESTER'S HOPES AND SCHEMES. --GAIETY OF TEMPER AGOOD SPECULATION. --THE TRUTH AND FERVOUR OF ARAM'S LOVE. 

CHAPTER II. A FAVOURABLE SPECIMEN OF A NOBLEMAN AND A COURTIER. --A MAN OF SOME FAULTSAND MANY ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 

CHAPTER III. WHEREIN THE EARL AND THE STUDENT CONVERSE ON GRAVE BUT DELIGHTFULMATTERS. --THE STUDENT'S NOTION OF THE ONLY EARTHLY HAPPINESS. 

CHAPTER IV. A DEEPER EXAMINATION INTO THE STUDENT'S HEART. --THE VISIT TO THE CASTLE. --PHILOSOPHY PUT TO THE TRIAL. 

CHAPTER V. IN WHICH THE STORY RETURNS TO WALTER AND THE CORPORAL. --THE RENCONTREWITH A STRANGER, AND HOW THE STRANGER PROVES TO BE NOT ALTOGETHER ASTRANGER. 

CHAPTER VI. SIR PETER DISPLAYED. --ONE MAN OF THE WORLD SUFFERS FROM ANOTHER. --THEINCIDENT OF THE BRIDLE BEGETS THE INCIDENT OF THE SADDLE; THE INCIDENT OFTHE SADDLE BEGETS THE INCIDENT OF THE WHIP; THE INCIDENT OF THE WHIPBEGETS WHAT THE READER MUST READ TO SEE. 

CHAPTER VII. WALTER VISITS ANOTHER OF HIS UNCLE'S FRIENDS. --MR. COURTLAND'S STRANGECOMPLAINT. --WALTER LEARNS NEWS OF HIS FATHER, WHICH SURPRISES HIM. --THECHANGE IN HIS DESTINATION. 

CHAPTER VIII. WALTER'S MEDITATIONS. --THE CORPORAL'S GRIEF AND ANGER. --THE CORPORALPERSONALLY DESCRIBED. --AN EXPLANATION WITH HIS MASTER. --THE CORPORALOPENS HIMSELF TO THE YOUNG TRAVELLER. --HIS OPINIONS ON LOVE;--ON THEWORLD;--ON THE PLEASURE AND RESPECTABILITY OF CHEATING;--ON LADIES--AND APARTICULAR CLASS OF LADIES;--ON AUTHORS;--ON THE VALUE OF WORDS;--ONFIGHTING;--WITH SUNDRY OTHER MATTERS OF EQUAL DELECTATION ANDIMPROVEMENT. --AN UNEXPECTED EVENT. 

 BOOK III. 

CHAPTER I. FRAUD AND VIOLENCE ENTER EVEN GRASSDALE. --PETER'S NEWS. --THE LOVERS'WALK. --THE REAPPEARANCE. 

CHAPTER II. THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN ARAM AND THE STRANGER. 

CHAPTER III. FRESH ALARM IN THE VILLAGE. --LESTER'S VISIT TO ARAM. --A TRAIT OF DELICATEKINDNESS IN THE STUDENT. --MADELINE. --HER PRONENESS TO CONFIDE. --THECONVERSATION BETWEEN LESTER AND ARAM. --THE PERSONS BY WHOM IT ISINTERRUPTED. 

CHAPTER IV. MILITARY PREPARATIONS. --THE COMMANDER AND HIS MAN. --ARAM IS PERSUADED TOPASS THE NIGHT AT THE MANOR-HOUSE. 

CHAPTER V. THE SISTERS ALONE. --THE GOSSIP OF LOVE. --AN ALARM--AND AN EVENT. 

CHAPTER VI. ARAM ALONE AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. --HIS SOLILOQUY AND PROJECT. --SCENEBETWEEN HIMSELF AND MADELINE. 

CHAPTER VII. ARAM'S SECRET EXPEDITION. --A SCENE WORTHY THE ACTORS. --ARAM'S ADDRESS ANDPOWERS OF PERSUASION OR HYPOCRISY. --THEIR RESULT. --A FEARFUL NIGHT. --ARAM'S SOLITARY RIDE HOMEWARD. --WHOM HE MEETS BY THE WAY, AND WHAT HESEES. 

 BOOK IV. 

CHAPTER I. IN WHICH WE RETURN TO WALTER. --HIS DEBT OF GRATITUDE TO MR. PERTINAXFILLGRAVE. --THE CORPORAL'S ADVICE, AND THE CORPORAL'S VICTORY. 

CHAPTER II. NEW TRACES OF THE FATE OF GEOFFREY LESTER. --WALTER AND THE CORPORALPROCEED ON A FRESH EXPEDITION. --THE CORPORAL IS ESPECIALLY SAGACIOUS ONTHE OLD TOPIC OF THE WORLD. --HIS OPINIONS ON THE MEN WHO CLAIM 'KNOWLEDGETHEREOF. --ON THE ADVANTAGES ENJOYED BY A VALET. --ON THE SCIENCE OFSUCCESSFUL LOVE. --ON VIRTUE AND THE CONSTITUTION. --ON QUALITIES TO BEDESIRED IN A MISTRESS, ETC. --A LANDSCAPE. 

CHAPTER III. A SCHOLAR, BUT OF A DIFFERENT MOULD FROM THE STUDENT OF GRASSDALE. --NEWPARTICULARS CONCERNING GEOFFREY LESTER. --THE JOURNEY RECOMMENCED. 

CHAPTER IV. ARAM'S DEPARTURE. --MADELINE. --EXAGGERATION OF SENTIMENT NATURAL IN LOVE. --MADELINE'S LETTER. --WALTER'S. --THE WALK. --TWO VERY DIFFERENT PERSONS, YET BOTH INMATES OF THE SAME COUNTRY VILLAGE. --THE HUMOURS OF LIFE, ANDITS DARK PASSIONS, ARE FOUND IN JUXTA-POSITION EVERYWHERE. 

CHAPTER V. A REFLECTION NEW AND STRANGE. --THE STREETS OF LONDON. --A GREAT MAN'SLIBRARY. --A CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE STUDENT AND AN ACQUAINTANCE OF THEREADER'S. --ITS RESULT. 

CHAPTER VI. THE THAMES AT NIGHT. --A THOUGHT. --THE STUDENT RE-SEEKS THE RUFFIAN. --AHUMAN FEELING EVEN IN THE WORST SOIL. 

CHAPTER VII. MADELINE, HER HOPES. --A MILD AUTUMN CHARACTERISED. --A LANDSCAPE. --A RETURN. 

CHAPTER VIII. AFFECTION: ITS GODLIKE NATURE. --THE CONVERSATION BETWEEN ARAM ANDMADELINE. --THE FATALIST FORGETS FATE. 

CHAPTER IX. WALTER AND THE CORPORAL ON THE ROAD. --THE EVENING SETS IN. --THE GIPSEYTENTS. --ADVENTURE WITH THE HORSEMAN. --THE CORPORAL DISCOMFITED, AND THEARRIVAL AT KNARESBOROUGH. 

CHAPTER X. WALTER'S REFLECTIONS. --MINE HOST. --A GENTLE CHARACTER AND A GREEN OLDAGE. --THE GARDEN, AND THAT WHICH IT TEACHETH. --A DIALOGUE, WHEREIN NEWHINTS TOWARDS THE WISHED FOR DISCOVERY ARE SUGGESTED. --THE CURATE. --AVISIT TO A SPOT OF DEEP INTEREST TO THE ADVENTURER. 

CHAPTER XI. GRIEF IN A RUFFIAN. --THE CHAMBER OF EARLY DEATH. --A HOMELY YET MOMENTOUSCONFESSION. --THE EARTH'S SECRETS. --THE CAVERN. --THE ACCUSATION. 

 BOOK V. 

CHAPTER I. GRASSDALE. --THE MORNING OF THE MARRIAGE. --THE CRONES' GOSSIP. THE BRIDE AT HER TOILET. --THE ARRIVAL. 

CHAPTER II. THE STUDENT ALONE IN HIS CHAMBER. --THE INTERRUPTION. --FAITHFUL

LOVE. 

CHAPTER III. THE JUSTICE. --THE DEPARTURE. --THE EQUANIMITY OF THE CORPORAL IN BEARINGTHE MISFORTUNES OF OTHER PEOPLE. --THE EXAMINATION; ITS RESULT. --ARAM'SCONDUCT IN PRISON. --THE ELASTICITY OF OUR HUMAN NATURE. --A VISIT FROM THEEARL. --WALTER'S DETERMINATION. --MADELINE. 

CHAPTER IV. THE EVENING BEFORE THE TRIAL. --THE COUSINS. --THE CHANGE IN MADELINE. --THE FAMILY OF GRASSDALE MEET ONCE MORE BENEATH ONE ROOF. 

CHAPTER V. THE TRIAL

CHAPTER VI. THE DEATH. --THE PRISON. --AN INTERVIEW. --ITS RESULT

CHAPTER VII. THE CONFESSION; AND THE FATE

CHAPTER VIII AND LAST. THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN. --THE COUNTRY VILLAGE ONCE MORE VISITED. --ITS INHABITANTS. --THE REMEMBERED BROOK. --THE DESERTED MANOR-HOUSE. --THE CHURCH-YARD. --THE TRAVELLER RESUMES HIS JOURNEY. --THE COUNTRY TOWN. --A MEETING OF TWO LOVERS AFTER LONG ABSENCE AND MUCH SORROW. --CONCLUSION. 

 EUGENE ARAM

 BOOK I. 

 CHAPTER I. 

THE VILLAGE. --ITS INHABITANTS. --AN OLD MANORHOUSE: AND AN ENGLISH FAMILY; THEIR HISTORY, INVOLVING A MYSTERIOUS EVENT. 

"Protected by the divinity they adored, supported by the earth which theycultivated, and at peace with themselves, they enjoyed the sweets oflife, without dreading or desiring dissolution. " Numa Pompilius. 

In the country of--there is a sequestered hamlet, which I have oftensought occasion to pass, and which I have never left without a certainreluctance and regret. It is not only (though this has a remarkable spellover my imagination) that it is the sanctuary, as it were, of a storywhich appears to me of a singular and fearful interest; but the sceneitself is one which requires no legend to arrest the traveller'sattention. I know not in any part of the world, which it has been my lotto visit, a landscape so entirely lovely and picturesque, as that whichon every side of the village I speak of, you may survey. The hamlet towhich I shall here give the name of Grassdale, is situated in a valley, which for about the length of a mile winds among gardens and orchards, laden with fruit, between two chains of gentle and fertile hills. 

Here, singly or in pairs, are scattered cottages, which bespeak a comfortand a rural luxury, less often than our poets have described thecharacteristics of the English peasantry. It has been observed, and thereis a world of homely, ay, and of legislative knowledge in theobservation, that wherever you see a flower in a cottage garden, or abird-cage at the window, you may feel sure that the cottagers are betterand wiser than their neighbours; and such humble tokens of attention tosomething beyond the sterile labour of life, were (we must now revert tothe past, ) to be remarked in almost every one of the lowly abodes atGrassdale. The jasmine here, there the vine clustered over the threshold, not so wildly as to testify negligence; but rather to sweeten the airthan to exclude it from the inmates. Each of the cottages possessed atits rear its plot of ground, apportioned to the more useful andnutritious product of nature; while the greater part of them fenced alsofrom the unfrequented road a little spot for the lupin, the sweet pea, orthe many tribes of the English rose. And it is not unworthy of remark, that the bees came in greater clusters to Grassdale than to any otherpart of that rich and cultivated district. A small piece of waste land, which was intersected by a brook, fringed with ozier and dwarf andfantastic pollards, afforded pasture for a few cows, and the onlycarrier's solitary horse. The stream itself was of no ignoble reputeamong the gentle craft of the Angle, the brotherhood whom ourassociations defend in the spite of our mercy; and this repute drewwelcome and periodical itinerants to the village, who furnished it withits scanty news of the great world without, and maintained in a decorouscustom the little and single hostelry of the place. Not that PeterDealtry, the proprietor of the "Spotted Dog, " was altogether contented tosubsist upon the gains of his hospitable profession; he joined theretothe light cares of a small farm, held under a wealthy and an easylandlord; and being moreover honoured with the dignity of clerk to theparish, he was deemed by his neighbours a person of no smallaccomplishment, and no insignificant distinction. He was a little, dry, thin man, of a turn rather sentimental than jocose; a memory well storedwith fag-ends of psalms, and hymns which, being less familiar than thepsalms to the ears of the villagers, were more than suspected to be hisown composition; often gave a poetic and semi-religious colouring to hisconversation, which accorded rather with his dignity in the church, thanhis post at the Spotted Dog. Yet he disliked not his joke, though it wassubtle and delicate of nature; nor did he disdain to bear companionshipover his own liquor, with guests less gifted and refined. 

In the centre of the village you chanced upon a cottage which had beenlately white-washed, where a certain preciseness in the owner might bedetected in the clipped hedge, and the exact and newly mended style bywhich you approached the habitation; herein dwelt the beau and bachelorof the village, somewhat antiquated it is true, but still an object ofgreat attention and some hope to the elder damsels in the vicinity, andof a respectful popularity, that did not however prohibit a joke, to theyounger part of the sisterhood. Jacob Bunting, so was this gentlemancalled, had been for many years in the king's service, in which he hadrisen to the rank of corporal, and had saved and pinched together acertain small independence upon which he now rented his cottage andenjoyed his leisure. He had seen a good deal of the world, and profitedin shrewdness by his experience; he had rubbed off, however, allsuperfluous devotion as he rubbed off his prejudices, and though he drankmore often than any one else with the landlord of the Spotted Dog, healso quarrelled with him the oftenest, and testified the leastforbearance at the publican's segments of psalmody. Jacob was a tall, comely, and perpendicular personage; his threadbare coat was scrupulouslybrushed, and his hair punctiliously plastered at the sides into two stiffobstinate-looking curls, and at the top into what he was pleased to calla feather, though it was much more like a tile. His conversation had init something peculiar; generally it assumed a quick, short, abrupt turn, that, retrenching all superfluities of pronoun and conjunction, andmarching at once upon the meaning of the sentence, had in it a militaryand Spartan significance, which betrayed how difficult it often is for aman to forget that he has been a corporal. Occasionally indeed, for wherebut in farces is the phraseology of the humorist always the same? heescaped into a more enlarged and christianlike method of dealing with theking's English, but that was chiefly noticeable, when from conversationhe launched himself into lecture, a luxury the worthy soldier lovedgreatly to indulge, for much had he seen and somewhat had he reflected;and valuing himself, which was odd in a corporal, more on his knowledgeof the world than his knowledge even of war, he rarely missed anyoccasion of edifying a patient listener with the result of hisobservations. 

After you had sauntered by the veteran's door, beside which yougenerally, if the evening were fine, or he was not drinking withneighbour Dealtry--or taking his tea with gossip this or master that--orteaching some emulous urchins the broadsword exercise--or snaring troutin the stream--or, in short, otherwise engaged; beside which, I say, younot unfrequently beheld him sitting on a rude bench, and enjoying withhalf-shut eyes, crossed legs, but still unindulgently erect posture, theluxury of his pipe; you ventured over a little wooden bridge; beneathwhich, clear and shallow, ran the rivulet we have before honorablymentioned; and a walk of a few minutes brought you to a moderately sizedand old-fashioned mansion--the manor-house of the parish. It stood at thevery foot of the hill; behind, a rich, ancient, and hanging wood, broughtinto relief--the exceeding freshness and verdure of the patch of greenmeadow immediately in front. On one side, the garden was bounded by thevillage churchyard, with its simple mounds, and its few scattered andhumble tombs. The church was of great antiquity; and it was only in onepoint of view that you caught more than a glimpse of its grey tower andgraceful spire, so thickly and so darkly grouped the yew tree and thelarch around the edifice. Opposite the gate by which you gained thehouse, the view was not extended, but rich with wood and pasture, backedby a hill, which; less verdant than its fellows, was covered with sheep:while you saw hard by the rivulet darkening and stealing away; till yoursight, though not your ear, lost it among the woodland. 

Trained up the embrowned paling on either side of the gate, were bushesof rustic fruit, and fruit and flowers (through plots of which green andwinding alleys had been cut with no untasteful hand) testified by theirthriving and healthful looks, the care bestowed upon them. The mainboasts of the garden were, on one side, a huge horse-chesnut tree--thelargest in the village; and on the other, an arbour covered without withhoneysuckles, and tapestried within by moss. The house, a grey and quaintbuilding of the time of James I. With stone copings and gable roof, couldscarcely in these days have been deemed a fitting residence for the lordof the manor. Nearly the whole of the centre was occupied by the hall, inwhich the meals of the family were commonly held--only two othersitting-rooms of very moderate dimensions had been reserved by thearchitect for the convenience or ostentation of the proprietor. An ampleporch jutted from the main building, and this was covered with ivy, asthe windows were with jasmine and honeysuckle; while seats were rangedinside the porch covered with many a rude initial and long-past date. 

The owner of this mansion bore the name of Rowland Lester. Hisforefathers, without pretending to high antiquity of family, had held thedignity of squires of Grassdale for some two centuries; and RowlandLester was perhaps the first of the race who had stirred above fiftymiles from the house in which each successive lord had received hisbirth, or the green churchyard in which was yet chronicled his death. Thepresent proprietor was a man of cultivated tastes; and abilities, naturally not much above mediocrity, had been improved by travel as wellas study. Himself and one younger brother had been early left masters oftheir fate and their several portions. The younger, Geoffrey, testified aroving and dissipated turn. Bold, licentious, extravagant, unprincipled, --his career soon outstripped the slender fortunes of a cadet in thefamily of a country squire. He was early thrown into difficulties, but, by some means or other they never seemed to overwhelm him; an unexpectedturn--a lucky adventure--presented itself at the very moment when Fortuneappeared the most utterly to have deserted him. 

Among these more propitious fluctuations in the tide of affairs, was, atabout the age of forty, a sudden marriage with a young lady of what mightbe termed (for Geoffrey Lester's rank of life, and the rational expensesof that day) a very competent and respectable fortune. Unhappily, however, the lady was neither handsome in feature nor gentle in temper;and, after a few years of quarrel and contest, the faithless husband, onebright morning, having collected in his proper person whatever remainedof their fortune, absconded from the conjugal hearth without eitherwarning or farewell. He left nothing to his wife but his house, hisdebts, and his only child, a son. From that time to the present littlehad been known, though much had been conjectured, concerning thedeserter. For the first few years they traced, however, so far of hisfate as to learn that he had been seen once in India; and that previouslyhe had been met in England by a relation, under the disguise of assumednames: a proof that whatever his occupations, they could scarcely be veryrespectable. But, of late, nothing whatsoever relating to the wandererhad transpired. By some he was imagined dead; by most he was forgotten. Those more immediately connected with him--his brother in especial, cherished a secret belief, that wherever Geoffrey Lester should chance toalight, the manner of alighting would (to use the significant and homelymetaphor) be always on his legs; and coupling the wonted luck of thescapegrace with the fact of his having been seen in India, Rowland, inhis heart, not only hoped, but fully expected, that the lost one would, some day or other, return home laden with the spoils of the East, andeager to shower upon his relatives, in recompense of long desertion, "With richest hand . .. Barbaric pearl and gold. "

But we must return to the forsaken spouse. --Left in this abruptdestitution and distress, Mrs. Lester had only the resource of applyingto her brother-in-law, whom indeed the fugitive had before seized manyopportunities of not leaving wholly unprepared for such an application. Rowland promptly and generously obeyed the summons: he took the child andthe wife to his own home, --he freed the latter from the persecution ofall legal claimants, --and, after selling such effects as remained, hedevoted the whole proceeds to the forsaken family, without regarding hisown expenses on their behalf, ill as he was able to afford the luxury ofthat self-neglect. The wife did not long need the asylum of his hearth, --she, poor lady, died of a slow fever produced by irritation anddisappointment, a few months after Geoffrey's desertion. She had no needto recommend her children to their kindhearted uncle's care. And now wemust glance over the elder brother's domestic fortunes. 

In Rowland, the wild dispositions of his brother were so far tamed, thatthey assumed only the character of a buoyant temper and a gay spirit. Hehad strong principles as well as warm feelings, and a fine and resolutesense of honour utterly impervious to attack. It was impossible to be inhis company an hour and not see that he was a man to be respected. It wasequally impossible to live with him a week and not see that he was a manto be beloved. He also had married, and about a year after that era inthe life of his brother, but not for the same advantage of fortune. Hehad formed an attachment to the portionlesss daughter of a man in his ownneighbourhood and of his own rank. He wooed and won her, and for a fewyears he enjoyed that greatest happiness which the world is capable ofbestowing--the society and the love of one in whom we could wish for nochange, and beyond whom we have no desire. But what Evil cannot corruptFate seldom spares. A few months after the birth of a second daughter theyoung wife of Rowland Lester died. It was to a widowed hearth that thewife and child of his brother came for shelter. Rowland was a man of anaffectionate and warm heart: if the blow did not crush, at least itchanged him. Naturally of a cheerful and ardent disposition, his mood nowbecame soberized and sedate. He shrunk from the rural gaieties andcompanionship he had before courted and enlivened, and, for the firsttime in his life, the mourner felt the holiness of solitude. As hisnephew and his motherless daughters grew up, they gave an object to hisseclusion and a relief to his reflections. He found a pure and unfailingdelight in watching the growth of their young minds, and guiding theirdiffering dispositions; and, as time at length enabled the to return hisaffection, and appreciate his cares, he became once more sensible that hehad a HOME. 

The elder of his daughters, Madeline, at the time our story opens, hadattained the age of eighteen. She was the beauty and the boast of thewhole country. Above the ordinary height, her figure was richly andexquisitely formed. So translucently pure and soft was her complexion, that it might have seemed the token of delicate health, but for the dewyand exceeding redness of her lips, and the freshness of teeth whiter thanpearls. Her eyes of a deep blue, wore a thoughtful and serene expression, and her forehead, higher and broader than it usually is in women, gavepromise of a certain nobleness of intellect, and added dignity, but afeminine dignity, to the more tender characteristics of her beauty. Andindeed, the peculiar tone of Madeline's mind fulfilled the indication ofher features, and was eminently thoughtful and high-wrought. She hadearly testified a remarkable love for study, and not only a desire forknowledge, but a veneration for those who possessed it. The remote cornerof the county in which they lived, and the rarely broken seclusion whichLester habitually preserved from the intercourse of their few andscattered neighbours, had naturally cast each member of the little circleupon his or her own resources. An accident, some five years ago, hadconfined Madeline for several weeks or rather months to the house; and asthe old hall possessed a very respectable share of books, she had thenmatured and confirmed that love to reading and reflection, which she hadat a yet earlier period prematurely evinced. The woman's tendency toromance naturally tinctured her meditations, and thus, while theydignified, they also softened her mind. Her sister Ellinor, younger bytwo years, was of a character equally gentle, but less elevated. Shelooked up to her sister as a superior being. She felt pride without ashadow of envy, at her superior and surpassing beauty; and wasunconsciously guided in her pursuits and predilections, by a mind shecheerfully acknowledged to be loftier than her own. And yet Ellinor hadalso her pretensions to personal loveliness, and pretensions perhaps thatwould be less reluctantly acknowledged by her own sex than those of hersister. The sunlight of a happy and innocent heart sparkled on her face, and gave a beam it gladdened you to behold, to her quick hazel eye, and asmile that broke out from a thousand dimples. She did not possess theheight of Madeline, and though not so slender as to be curtailed of theroundness and feminine luxuriance of beauty, her shape was slighter, feebler, and less rich in its symmetry than her sister's. And this thetendency of the physical frame to require elsewhere support, nor to feelsecure of strength, influenced perhaps her mind, and made love, and thedependence of love, more necessary to her than to the thoughtful andlofty Madeline. The latter might pass through life, and never see the oneto whom her heart could give itself away. But every village might possessa hero whom the imagination of Ellinor could clothe with unreal graces, and to whom the lovingness of her disposition might bias her affections. Both, however, eminently possessed that earnestness and purity of heart, which would have made them, perhaps in an equal degree, constant anddevoted to the object of an attachment, once formed, in defiance ofchange and to the brink of death. 

Their cousin Walter, Geoffrey Lester's son, was now in his twenty-firstyear; tall and strong of person, and with a face, if not regularlyhandsome, striking enough to be generally deemed so. High-spirited, bold, fiery, impatient; jealous of the affections of those he loved; cheerfulto outward seeming, but restless, fond of change, and subject to themelancholy and pining mood common to young and ardent minds: such was thecharacter of Walter Lester. The estates of Lester were settled in themale line, and devolved therefore upon him. Yet there were moments whenhe keenly felt his orphan and deserted situation; and sighed to think, that while his father perhaps yet lived, he was a dependent foraffection, if not for maintenance, on the kindness of others. Thisreflection sometimes gave an air of sullenness or petulance to hischaracter, that did not really belong to it. For what in the world makesa man of just pride appear so unamiable as the sense of dependence?

 CHAPTER II. 

 A PUBLICAN, A SINNER, AND A STRANGER

"Ah, Don Alphonso, is it you? Agreeable accident! Chance presents you tomy eyes where you were least expected. " Gil Blas. 

It was an evening in the beginning of summer, and Peter Dealtry and theci-devant Corporal sate beneath the sign of The Spotted Dog (as it hungmotionless from the bough of a friendly elm), quaffing a cup of booncompanionship. The reader will imagine the two men very different fromeach other in form and aspect; the one short, dry, fragile, and betrayinga love of ease in his unbuttoned vest, and a certain lolling, see-sawingmethod of balancing his body upon his chair; the other, erect and solemn, and as steady on his seat as if he were nailed to it. It was a fine, tranquil balmy evening; the sun had just set, and the clouds stillretained the rosy tints which they had caught from his parting ray. Hereand there, at scattered intervals, you might see the cottages peepingfrom the trees around them; or mark the smoke that rose from their roofs--roofs green with mosses and house-leek, --in graceful and spiral curlsagainst the clear soft air. It was an English scene, and the two men, thedog at their feet, (for Peter Dealtry favoured a wirey stone-colouredcur, which he called a terrier, ) and just at the door of the little inn, two old gossips, loitering on the threshold in familiar chat with thelandlady, in cap and kerchief, --all together made a groupe equallyEnglish, and somewhat picturesque, though homely enough, in effect. 

"Well, now, " said Peter Dealtry, as he pushed the brown jug towards theCorporal, "this is what I call pleasant; it puts me in mind--"

"Of what?" quoth the Corporal. 

"Of those nice lines in the hymn, Master Bunting. 

 'How fair ye are, ye little hills, Ye little fields also; Ye murmuring streams that sweetly run; Ye willows in a row!'

"There is something very comfortable in sacred verses, Master Bunting; butyou're a scoffer. "

"Psha, man!" said the Corporal, throwing out his right leg and leaningback, with his eyes half-shut, and his chin protruded, as he took anunusually long inhalation from his pipe; "Psha, man!--send verses to theright-about--fit for girls going to school of a Sunday; full-grown menmore up to snuff. I've seen the world, Master Dealtry;--the world, and bedamned to you!--augh!"

"Fie, neighbour, fie! What's the good of profaneness, evil speaking andslandering?--

 'Oaths are the debts your spendthrift soul must pay; All scores are chalked against the reckoning day. ' Just wait a bit, neighbour; wait till I light my pipe. "

"Tell you what, " said the Corporal, after he had communicated from hisown pipe the friendly flame to his comrade's; "tell you what--talknonsense; the commander-in-chief's no Martinet--if we're all right inaction, he'll wink at a slip word or two. Come, no humbug--hold jaw. D'yethink God would sooner have snivelling fellow like you in his regiment, than a man like me, clean limbed, straight as a dart, six feet onewithout his shoes!--baugh!"

This notion of the Corporal's, by which he would have likened thedominion of Heaven to the King of Prussia's body-guard, and only admittedthe elect on account of their inches, so tickled mine host's fancy, thathe leaned back in his chair, and indulged in a long, dry, obstreperouscachinnation. This irreverence mightily displeased the Corporal. Helooked at the little man very sourly, and said in his least smoothaccentuation:--

"What--devil--cackling at?--always grin, grin, grin--giggle, giggle, giggle--psha!"

"Why really, neighbour, " said Peter, composing himself, "you must let aman laugh now and then. "

"Man!" said the Corporal; "man's a noble animal! Man's a musquet, primed, loaded, ready to supply a friend or kill a foe--charge not to be wastedon every tom-tit. But you! not a musquet, but a cracker! noisy, harmless, --can't touch you, but off you go, whizz, pop, bang in one'sface!--baugh!"

"Well!" said the good-humoured landlord, "I should think Master Aram, thegreat scholar who lives down the vale yonder, a man quite after your ownheart. He is grave enough to suit you. He does not laugh very easily, Ifancy. "

"After my heart? Stoops like a bow!"

"Indeed he does look on the ground as he walks; when I think, I do thesame. But what a marvellous man it is! I hear, that he reads the Psalmsin Hebrew. He's very affable and meek-like for such a scholard. "

"Tell you what. Seen the world, Master Dealtry, and know a thing or two. Your shy dog is always a deep one. Give me a man who looks me in the faceas he would a cannon!"

"Or a lass, " said Peter knowingly. 

The grim Corporal smiled. 

"Talking of lasses, " said the soldier, re-filling his pipe, "whatcreature Miss Lester is! Such eyes!--such nose! Fit for a colonel, byGod! ay, or a major-general!"

"For my part, I think Miss Ellinor almost as handsome; not so grand-like, but more lovesome!"

"Nice little thing!" said the Corporal, condescendingly. "But, zooks!whom have we here?"

This last question was applied to a man who was slowly turning from theroad towards the inn. The stranger, for such he was, was stout, thick-set, and of middle height. His dress was not without pretension to a rankhigher than the lowest; but it was threadbare and worn, and soiled withdust and travel. His appearance was by no means prepossessing; smallsunken eyes of a light hazel and a restless and rather fierce expression, a thick flat nose, high cheekbones, a large bony jaw, from which theflesh receded, and a bull throat indicative of great strength, constituted his claims to personal attraction. The stately Corporal, without moving, kept a vigilant and suspicious eye upon the new comer, muttering to Peter, --"Customer for you; rum customer too--by Gad!"

The stranger now reached the little table, and halting short, took up thebrown jug, without ceremony or preface, and emptied it at a draught. 

The Corporal stared--the Corporal frowned; but before--for he wassomewhat slow of speech--he had time to vent his displeasure, thestranger, wiping his mouth across his sleeve, said, in rather a civil andapologetic tone, "I beg pardon, gentlemen. I have had a long march of it, and very tired Iam. "

"Humph! march, " said the Corporal a little appeased, "Not in hisMajesty's service--eh?"

"Not now, " answered the Traveller; then, turning round to Dealtry, hesaid: "Are you landlord here?"

"At your service, " said Peter, with the indifference of a man well to do, and not ambitious of halfpence. 

"Come, then, quick--budge, " said the Traveller, tapping him on the back:"bring more glasses--another jug of the October; and any thing or everything your larder is able to produce--d'ye hear?"

Peter, by no means pleased with the briskness of this address, eyed thedusty and way-worn pedestrian from head to foot; then, looking over hisshoulder towards the door, he said, as he ensconced himself yet morefirmly on his seat--

"There's my wife by the door, friend; go, tell her what you want. "

"Do you know, " said the Traveller, in a slow and measured accent--"Do youknow, master Shrivel-face, that I have more than half a mind to breakyour head for impertinence. You a landlord!--you keep an inn, indeed!Come, Sir, make off, or--"

"Corporal!--Corporal!" cried Peter, retreating hastily from his seat asthe brawny Traveller approached menacingly towards him--"You won't seethe peace broken. Have a care, friend--have a care I'm clerk to theparish--clerk to the parish, Sir--and I'll indict you for sacrilege. "

The wooden features of Bunting relaxed into a sort of grin at the alarmof his friend. He puffed away, without making any reply; meanwhile theTraveller, taking advantage of Peter's hasty abandonment of hiscathedrarian accommodation, seized the vacant chair, and drawing it yetcloser to the table, flung himself upon it, and placing his hat on thetable, wiped his brows with the air of a man about to make himselfthoroughly at home. 

Peter Dealtry was assuredly a personage of peaceable disposition; butthen he had the proper pride of a host and a clerk. His feeling wereexceedingly wounded at this cavalier treatment--before the very eyes ofhis wife too--what an example! He thrust his hands deep into his breechespockets, and strutting with a ferocious swagger towards the Traveller, hesaid:--

"Harkye, sirrah! This is not the way folks are treated in this country:and I'd have you to know, that I'm a man what has a brother a constable. "

"Well, Sir!"

"Well, Sir, indeed! Well!--Sir, it's not well, by no manner of means; andif you don't pay for the ale you drank, and go quietly about yourbusiness, I'll have you put in the stocks for a vagrant. "

This, the most menacing speech Peter Dealtry was ever known to deliver, was uttered with so much spirit, that the Corporal, who had hithertopreserved silence--for he was too strict a disciplinarian to thrusthimself unnecessarily into brawls, --turned approvingly round, andnodding as well as his stock would suffer him at the indignant Peter, hesaid: "Well done! 'fegs--you've a soul, man!--a soul fit for the forty-second! augh!--A soul above the inches of five feet two!"

There was something bitter and sneering in the Traveller's aspect as henow, regarding Dealtry, repeated--

"Vagrant--humph! And pray what is a vagrant?"

"What is a vagrant?" echoed Peter, a little puzzled. 

"Yes! answer me that. "

"Why, a vagrant is a man what wanders, and what has no money. "

"Truly, " said the stranger smiling, but the smile by no means improvedhis physiognomy, "an excellent definition, but one which, I will convinceyou, does not apply to me. " So saying, he drew from his pocket a handfulof silver coins, and, throwing them on the table, added: "Come, let'shave no more of this. You see I can pay for what I order; and now, dorecollect that I am a weary and hungry man. "

No sooner did Peter behold the money, than a sudden placidity stole overhis ruffled spirit:--nay, a certain benevolent commiseration for thefatigue and wants of the Traveller replaced at once, and as by a spell, the angry feelings that had previously roused him. 

"Weary and hungry, " said he; "why did not you say that before? That wouldhave been quite enough for Peter Dealtry. Thank God! I am a man what canfeel for my neighbours. I have bowels--yes, I have bowels. Weary andhungry!--you shall be served in an instant. I may be a little hasty orso, but I'm a good Christian at bottom--ask the Corporal. And what saysthe Psalmist, Psalm 147?--

 'By Him, the beasts that loosely range With timely food are fed: He speaks the word--and what He wills Is done as soon as said. '"

Animating his kindly emotions by this apt quotation, Peter turned to thehouse. The Corporal now broke silence: the sight of the money had notbeen without an effect upon him as well as the landlord. 

"Warm day, Sir:--your health. Oh! forgot you emptied jug--baugh! You saidyou were not now in his Majesty's service: beg pardon--were you ever?"

"Why, once I was; many years ago. "

"Ah!--and what regiment? I was in the forty-second. Heard of the forty-second? Colonel's name, Dysart; captain's, Trotter; corporal's, Bunting, at your service. "

"I am much obliged by your confidence, " said the Traveller drily. "I daresay you have seen much service. "

"Service! Ah! may well say that;--twenty-three years' hard work: and notthe better for it! A man that loves his country is 'titled to a pension--that's my mind!--but the world don't smile upon corporals--augh!"

Here Peter re-appeared with a fresh supply of the October, and anassurance that the cold meat would speedily follow. 

"I hope yourself and this gentleman will bear me company, " said theTraveller, passing the jug to the Corporal; and in a few moments, so wellpleased grew the trio with each other, that the sound of their laughtercame loud and frequent to the ears of the good housewife within. 

The traveller now seemed to the Corporal and mine host a right jolly, good-humoured fellow. Not, however, that he bore a fair share in theconversation--he rather promoted the hilarity of his new acquaintancesthan led it. He laughed heartily at Peter's jests, and the Corporal'srepartees; and the latter, by degrees, assuming the usual sway he bore inthe circle of the village, contrived, before the viands were on thetable, to monopolize the whole conversation. 

The Traveller found in the repast a new excuse for silence. He ate with amost prodigious and most contagious appetite; and in a few seconds theknife and fork of the Corporal were as busily engaged as if he had onlythree minutes to spare between a march and a dinner. 

"This is a pretty, retired spot, " quoth the Traveller, as at length hefinished his repast, and threw himself back on his chair--a very prettyspot. Whose neat old-fashioned house was that I passed on the green, withthe gable-ends and the flower-plots in front?

"Oh, the Squire's, " answered Peter; "Squire Lester's an excellentgentleman. "

"A rich man, I should think, for these parts; the best house I have seenfor some miles, " said the Stranger carelessly. 

"Rich--yes, he's well to do; he does not live so as not to have money tolay by. "

"Any family?"

"Two daughters and a nephew. "

"And the nephew does not ruin him. Happy uncle! Mine was not so lucky, "said the Traveller. 

"Sad fellows we soldiers in our young days!" observed the Corporal with awink. "No, Squire Walter's a good young man, a pride to his uncle!"

"So, " said the pedestrian, "they are not forced to keep up a largeestablishment and ruin themselves by a retinue of servants?--Corporal, the jug. "

"Nay!" said Peter, "Squire Lester's gate is always open to the poor; butas for shew, he leaves that to my lord at the castle. "

"The castle, where's that?"

"About six miles off, you've heard of my Lord--, I'll swear. "

"Ah, to be sure, a courtier. But who else lives about here? I mean, whoare the principal persons, barring the Corporal and yourself, Mr. Eelpry--I think our friend here calls you. "

"Dealtry, Peter Dealtry, Sir, is my name. --Why the most noticeable man, you must know, is a great scholard, a wonderfully learned man; thereyonder, you may just catch a glimpse of the tall what-d'ye-call-it he hasbuilt out on the top of his house, that he may get nearer to the stars. He has got glasses by which I've heard that you may see the people in themoon walking on their heads; but I can't say as I believe all I hear. "

"You are too sensible for that, I'm sure. But this scholar, I suppose, isnot very rich; learning does not clothe men now-a-days--eh, Corporal?"

"And why should it? Zounds! can it teach a man how to defend his country?Old England wants soldiers, and be d--d to them! But the man's wellenough, I must own, civil, modest--"

"And not by no means a beggar, " added Peter; "he gave as much to the poorlast winter as the Squire himself. "

"Indeed!" said the Stranger, "this scholar is rich then?"

"So, so; neither one nor t'other. But if he were as rich as my lord, hecould not be more respected; the greatest folks in the country come intheir carriages and four to see him. Lord bless you, there is not a namemore talked on in the whole county than Eugene Aram. "

"What!" cried the Traveller, his countenance changing as he sprung fromhis seat; "what!--Aram!--did you say Aram? Great God! how strange!"

Peter, not a little startled by the abruptness and vehemence of hisguest, stared at him with open mouth, and even the Corporal took his pipeinvoluntarily from his lips. 

"What!" said the former, "you know him, do you? you've heard of him, eh?"

The Stranger did not reply, he seemed lost in a reverie; he mutteredinaudible words between his teeth; now he strode two steps forward, clenching his hands; now smiled grimly; and then returning to his seat, threw himself on it, still in silence. The soldier and the clerkexchanged looks, and now outspake the Corporal. 

"Rum tantrums! What the devil, did the man eat your grandmother?"

Roused perhaps by so pertinent and sensible a question, the Strangerlifted his head from his breast, and said with a forced smile, "You havedone me, without knowing it, a great kindness, my friend. Eugene Aram wasan early and intimate acquaintance of mine: we have not met for manyyears. I never guessed that he lived in these parts: indeed I did notknow where he resided. I am truly glad to think I have lighted upon himthus unexpectedly. "

"What! you did not know where he lived? Well! I thought all the worldknew that! Why, men from the univarsities have come all the way, merelyto look at the spot. "

"Very likely, " returned the Stranger; "but I am not a learned man myself, and what is celebrity in one set is obscurity in another. Besides, I havenever been in this part of the world before!"

Peter was about to reply, when he heard the shrill voice of his wifebehind. 

"Why don't you rise, Mr. Lazyboots? Where are your eyes? Don't you seethe young ladies. "

Dealtry's hat was off in an instant, --the stiff Corporal rose like amusquet; the Stranger would have kept his seat, but Dealtry gave him anadmonitory tug by the collar; accordingly he rose, muttering a hastyoath, which certainly died on his lips when he saw the cause which hadthus constrained him into courtesy. 

Through a little gate close by Peter's house Madeline and her sister hadjust passed on their evening walk, and with the kind familiarity forwhich they were both noted, they had stopped to salute the landlady ofthe Spotted Dog, as she now, her labours done, sat by the threshold, within hearing of the convivial group, and plaiting straw. The wholefamily of Lester were so beloved, that we question whether my Lordhimself, as the great nobleman of the place was always called, (as ifthere were only one lord in the peerage, ) would have obtained the samedegree of respect that was always lavished upon them. 

"Don't let us disturb you, good people, " said Ellinor, as they now movedtowards the boon companions, when her eye suddenly falling on theStranger, she stopped short. There was something in his appearance, andespecially in the expression of his countenance at that moment, which noone could have marked for the first time without apprehension anddistrust: and it was so seldom that, in that retired spot, the youngladies encountered even one unfamiliar face, that the effect thestranger's appearance might have produced on any one, might well beincreased for them to a startling and painful degree. The Traveller sawat once the sensation he had created: his brow lowered; and the sameunpleasing smile, or rather sneer, that we have noted before, distortedhis lip, as he made with affected humility his obeisance. 

"How!--a stranger!" said Madeline, sharing, though in a less degree, thefeelings of her sister; and then, after a pause, she said, as she glancedover his garb, "not in distress, I hope. "

"No, Madam!" said the stranger, "if by distress is meant beggary. I am inall respects perhaps better than I seem. "

There was a general titter from the Corporal, my host, and his wife, atthe Traveller's semi-jest at his own unprepossessing appearance: butMadeline, a little disconcerted, bowed hastily, and drew her sister away. 

"A proud quean!" said the Stranger, as he re-seated himself, and watchedthe sisters gliding across the green. 

All mouths were opened against him immediately. He found it no easymatter to make his peace; and before he had quite done it, he called forhis bill, and rose to depart. 

"Well!" said he, as he tendered his hand to the Corporal, "we may meetagain, and enjoy together some more of your good stories. Meanwhile, which is my way to this--this--this famous scholar's--Ehem?"

"Why, " quoth Peter, "you saw the direction in which the young ladieswent; you must take the same. Cross the stile you will find at the right--wind along the foot of the hill for about three parts of a mile, andyou will then see in the middle of a broad plain, a lonely grey housewith a thingumebob at the top; a servatory they call it. That's MasterAram's. "

"Thank you. "

"And a very pretty walk it is too, " said the Dame, "the prettiesthereabouts to my liking, till you get to the house at least; and so theyoung ladies think, for it's their usual walk every evening!"

"Humph, --then I may meet them. "

"Well, and if you do, make yourself look as Christian-like as you can, "retorted the hostess. 

There was a second grin at the ill-favoured Traveller's expense, amidstwhich he went his way. 

"An odd chap!" said Peter, looking after the sturdy form of theTraveller. "I wonder what he is; he seems well edicated--makes use ofgood words. "

"What sinnifies?" said the Corporal, who felt a sort of fellow-feelingfor his new acquaintance's brusquerie of manner;--"what sinnifies what heis. Served his country, --that's enough;--never told me, by the by, hisregiment;--set me a talking, and let out nothing himself;--old soldierevery inch of him!"

"He can take care of number one, " said Peter. "How he emptied the jug;and my stars! what an appetite!"

"Tush, " said the Corporal, "hold jaw. Man of the world--man of theworld, --that's clear. "

 CHAPTER III. 

 A DIALOGUE AND AN ALARM. --A STUDENT'S HOUSE. 

 "A fellow by the hand of Nature marked, Quoted, and signed, to do a deed of shame. " --Shakspeare. --King John. 

 "He is a scholar, if a man may trust The liberal voice of Fame, in her report. Myself was once a student, and indeed Fed with the self-same humour he is now. " --Ben Jonson. --Every Man in his Humour. 

The two sisters pursued their walk along a scene which might well befavoured by their selection. No sooner had they crossed the stile, thanthe village seemed vanished into earth; so quiet, so lonely, so far fromthe evidence of life was the landscape through which they passed. Ontheir right, sloped a green and silent hill, shutting out all view beyonditself, save the deepening and twilight sky; to the left, and immediatelyalong their road lay fragments of stone, covered with moss, or shadowedby wild shrubs, that here and there, gathered into copses, or breakingabruptly away from the rich sod, left frequent spaces through which youcaught long vistas of forestland, or the brooklet gliding in a noisy androcky course, and breaking into a thousand tiny waterfalls, or mimiceddies. So secluded was the scene, and so unwitnessing of cultivation, that you would not have believed that a human habitation could be athand, and this air of perfect solitude and quiet gave an additional charmto the spot. 

"But I assure you, " said Ellinor, earnestly continuing a conversationthey had begun, "I assure you I was not mistaken, I saw it as plainly asI see you. "

"What, in the breast pocket?"

"Yes, as he drew out his handkerchief, I saw the barrel of the pistolquite distinctly. "

"Indeed, I think we had better tell my father as soon as we get home; itmay be as well to be on our guard, though robbery, I believe, has notbeen heard of in Grassdale for these twenty years. "

"Yet for what purpose, save that of evil, could he in these peaceabletimes and this peaceable country, carry fire arms about him. And what acountenance! Did you note the shy, and yet ferocious eye, like that ofsome animal, that longs, yet fears to spring upon you. "

"Upon my word, Ellinor, " said Madeline, smiling, "you are not verymerciful to strangers. After all, the man might have provided himselfwith the pistol which you saw as a natural precaution; reflect that, as astranger, he may well not know how safe this district usually is, and hemay have come from London, in the neighbourhood of which they sayrobberies have been frequent of late. As to his looks, they are I ownunpardonable; for so much ugliness there can be no excuse. Had the manbeen as handsome as our cousin Walter, you would not perhaps have been souncharitable in your fears at the pistol. "

"Nonsense, Madeline, " said Ellinor, blushing, and turning away her face;--there was a moment's pause, which the younger sister broke. 

"We do not seem, " said she, "to make much progress in the friendship ofour singular neighbour. I never knew my father court any one so much ashe has courted Mr. Aram, and yet, you see how seldom he calls upon us;nay, I often think that he seeks to shun us; no great compliment to ourattractions, Madeline. "

"I regret his want of sociability, for his own sake, " said Madeline, "forhe seems melancholy as well as thoughtful, and he leads so secluded alife, that I cannot but think my father's conversation and society, if hewould but encourage it, might afford some relief to his solitude. "

"And he always seems, " observed Ellinor, "to take pleasure in my father'sconversation, as who would not? how his countenance lights up when heconverses! it is a pleasure to watch it. I think him positively handsomewhen he speaks. "

"Oh, more than handsome!" said Madeline, with enthusiasm, "with thathigh, pale brow, and those deep, unfathomable eyes!"

Ellinor smiled, and it was now Madeline's turn to blush. 

"Well, " said the former, "there is something about him that fills onewith an indescribable interest; and his manner, if cold at times, is yetalways so gentle. "

"And to hear him converse, " said Madeline, "it is like music. Histhoughts, his very words, seem so different from the language and ideasof others. What a pity that he should ever be silent!"

"There is one peculiarity about his gloom, it never inspires one withdistrust, " said Ellinor; "if I had observed him in the same circumstancesas that ill-omened traveller, I should have had no apprehension. "

"Ah! that traveller still runs in your head. If we were to meet him inthis spot. "

"Heaven forbid!" cried Ellinor, turning hastily round in alarm--and, lo!as if her sister had been a prophet, she saw the very person in questionat some little distance behind them, and walking on with rapid strides. 

She uttered a faint shriek of surprise and terror, and Madeline, lookingback at the sound, immediately participated in her alarm. The spot lookedso desolate and lonely, and the imagination of both had been already soworked upon by Ellinor's fears, and their conjectures respecting the ill-boding weapon she had witnessed, that a thousand apprehensions of outrageand murder crowded at once upon the minds of the two sisters. Without, however, giving vent in words to their alarm, they, as by an involuntaryand simultaneous suggestion, quickened their pace, every moment stealinga glance behind, to watch the progress of the suspected robber. Theythought that he also seemed to accelerate his movements; and thisobservation increased their terror, and would appear indeed to give itsome more rational ground. At length, as by a sudden turn of the roadthey lost sight of the dreaded stranger, their alarm suggested to thembut one resolution, and they fairly fled on as fast as the fear whichactuated, would allow, them. The nearest, and indeed the only house inthat direction, was Aram's, but they both imagined if they could comewithin sight of that, they should be safe. They looked back at everyinterval; now they did not see their fancied pursuer--now he emergedagain into view--now--yes--he also was running. 

"Faster, faster, Madeline, for God's sake! he is gaining upon us!" criedEllinor: the path grew more wild, and the trees more thick and frequent;at every cluster that marked their progress they saw the Stranger closerand closer; at length, a sudden break, --a sudden turn in the landscape;--a broad plain burst upon them, and in the midst of it the Student'ssolitary abode!

"Thank God, we are safe!" cried Madeline. She turned once more to lookfor the Stranger; in so doing, her foot struck against a fragment ofstone, and she fell with great violence to the ground. She endeavoured torise, but found herself, at first, unable to stir from the spot. In thisstate she looked, however, back, and saw the Traveller at some littledistance. But he also halted, and after a moment's seeming deliberation, turned aside, and was lost among the bushes. 

With great difficulty Ellinor now assisted Madeline to rise; her anclewas violently sprained, and she could not put her foot to the ground; butthough she had evinced so much dread at the apparition of the stranger, she now testified an almost equal degree of fortitude in bearing pain. 

"I am not much hurt, Ellinor, " she said, faintly smiling, to encourageher sister, who supported her in speechless alarm: "but what is to bedone? I cannot use this foot; how shall we get home?"

"Thank God, if you are not much hurt!" said poor Ellinor, almost crying, "lean on me--heavier--pray. Only try and reach the house, and we canthen stay there till Mr. Aram sends home for the carriage. "

"But what will he think? how strange it will seem!" said Madeline, thecolour once more visiting her cheek, which a moment since had beenblanched as pale as death. 

"Is this a time for scruples and ceremony?" said Ellinor. "Come! Ientreat you, come; if you linger thus, the man may take courage andattack us yet. There! that's right! Is the pain very great?"

"I do not mind the pain, " murmered Madeline; "but if he should think weintrude? His habits are so reserved--so secluded; indeed I fear--"

"Intrude!" interrupted Ellinor. "Do you think so ill of him?--Do yousuppose that, hermit as he is, he has lost common humanity? But lean moreon me, dearest; you do not know how strong I am!"

Thus alternately chiding, caressing, and encouraging her sister, Ellinorled on the sufferer, till they had crossed the plain, though withslowness and labour, and stood before the porch of the Recluse's house. They had looked back from time to time, but the cause of so much alarmappeared no more. This they deemed a sufficient evidence of the justiceof their apprehensions. 

Madeline would even now fain have detained her sister's hand from thebell that hung without the porch half imbedded in ivy; but Ellinor, outof patience--as she well might be--with her sister's unseasonableprudence, refused any longer delay. So singularly still and solitary wasthe plain around the house, that the sound of the bell breaking thesilence, had in it something startling, and appeared in its sudden andshrill voice, a profanation to the deep tranquillity of the spot. Theydid not wait long--a step was heard within--the door was slowly unbarred, and the Student himself stood before them. 

He was a man who might, perhaps, have numbered some five and thirtyyears; but at a hasty glance, he would have seemed considerably younger. He was above the ordinary stature; though a gentle, and not ungracefulbend in the neck rather than the shoulders, somewhat curtailed his properadvantages of height. His frame was thin and slender, but well knit andfair proportioned. Nature had originally cast his form in an athleticmould; but sedentary habits, and the wear of mind, seemed somewhat tohave impaired her gifts. His cheek was pale and delicate; yet it wasrather the delicacy of thought than of weak health. His hair, which waslong, and of a rich and deep brown, was worn back from his face andtemples, and left a broad high majestic forehead utterly unrelieved andbare; and on the brow there was not a single wrinkle, it was as smooth asit might have been some fifteen years ago. There was a singular calmness, and, so to speak, profundity, of thought, eloquent upon its clearexpanse, which suggested the idea of one who had passed his life ratherin contemplation than emotion. It was a face that a physiognomist wouldhave loved to look upon, so much did it speak both of the refinement andthe dignity of intellect. 

Such was the person--if pictures convey a faithful resemblance--of a man, certainly the most eminent in his day for various and profound learning, and a genius wholly self-taught, yet never contented to repose upon thewonderful stores it had laboriously accumulated. 

He now stood before the two girls, silent, and evidently surprised; andit would scarce have been an unworthy subject for a picture--that iviedporch--that still spot--Madeline's reclining and subdued form anddowncast eyes--the eager face of Ellinor, about to narrate the nature andcause of their intrusion--and the pale Student himself, thus suddenlyaroused from his solitary meditations, and converted into the protectorof beauty. 

No sooner did Aram gather from Ellinor the outline of their story, and ofMadeline's accident, than his countenance and manner testified theliveliest and most eager sympathy. Madeline was inexpressibly touched andsurprised at the kindly and respectful earnestness with which thisrecluse scholar--usually so cold and abstracted in mood--assisted and ledher into the house: the sympathy he expressed for her pain--the sincerityof his tone--the compassion of his eyes--and as those dark--and to useher own thought--unfathomable orbs bent admiringly and yet so gently uponher, Madeline, even in spite of her pain, felt an indescribable, adelicious thrill at her heart, which in the presence of no one else hadshe ever experienced before. 

Aram now summoned the only domestic his house possessed, who appeared inthe form of an old woman, whom he seemed to have selected from the wholeneighbourhood as the person most in keeping with the rigid seclusion hepreserved. She was exceedingly deaf, and was a proverb in the village forher extreme taciturnity. Poor old Margaret; she was a widow, and had lostten children by early deaths. There was a time when her gaiety had beenas noticeable as her reserve was now. In spite of her infirmity, she wasnot slow in comprehending the accident Madeline had met with; and shebusied herself with a promptness that shewed her misfortunes had notdeadened her natural kindness of disposition, in preparing fomentationsand bandages for the wounded foot. 

Meanwhile Aram, having no person to send in his stead, undertook to seekthe manor-house, and bring back the old family coach, which had dozedinactively in its shelter for the last six months, to convey the suffererhome. 

"No, Mr. Aram, " said Madeline, colouring; "pray do not go yourself:consider, the man may still be loitering on the road. He is armed--goodHeavens, if he should meet you!"

"Fear not, Madam, " said Aram, with a faint smile. "I also keep arms, evenin this obscure and safe retreat; and to satisfy you, I will not neglectto carry them with me. "

"As he spoke, he took from the wainscoat, from which they hung, a braceof large horse pistols, slung them round him by a leather belt, andflinging over his person, to conceal weapons so alarming to any lessdangerous passenger he might encounter, the long cloak then usually wornin inclement seasons, as an outer garment, he turned to depart. 

"But are they loaded?" asked Ellinor. 

Aram answered briefly, in the affirmative. It was somewhat singular, butthe sisters did not then remark it, that a man so peaceable in hispursuits, and seemingly possessed of no valuables that could temptcupidity, should in that spot, where crime was never heard of, use suchhabitual precaution. 

When the door closed upon him, and while the old woman, relieved with alight hand and soothing lotions, which she had shewn some skill inpreparing, the anguish of the sprain, Madeline cast glances of interestand curiosity around the apartment into which she had had the rare goodfortune to obtain admittance. 

The house had belonged to a family of some note, whose heirs hadoutstripped their fortunes. It had been long deserted and uninhabited;and when Aram settled in those parts, the proprietor was too glad to getrid of the incumbrance of an empty house, at a nominal rent. The solitudeof the place had been the main attraction to Aram; and as he possessedwhat would be considered a very extensive assortment of books, even for alibrary of these days, he required a larger apartment than he would havebeen able to obtain in an abode more compact and more suitable to hisfortunes and mode of living. 

The room in which the sisters now found themselves was the most spaciousin the house, and was indeed of considerable dimensions. It contained infront one large window, jutting from the wall. Opposite was an antiqueand high mantelpiece of black oak. The rest of the room was walled fromthe floor to the roof with books; volumes of all languages, and it mighteven be said, without much exaggeration, upon all sciences, were strewedaround, on the chairs, the tables, or the floor. By the window stood theStudent's desk, and a large old-fashioned chair of oak. A few papers, filled with astronomical calculations, lay on the desk, and these wereall the witnesses of the result of study. Indeed Aram does not appear tohave been a man much inclined to reproduce the learning he acquired;--what he wrote was in very small proportion to what he had read. 

So high and grave was the reputation he had acquired, that the retreatand sanctum of so many learned hours would have been interesting, even toone who could not appreciate learning; but to Madeline, with her peculiardisposition and traits of mind, we may readily conceive that the roompresented a powerful and pleasing charm. As the elder sister looked roundin silence, Ellinor attempted to draw the old woman into conversation. She would fain have elicited some particulars of the habits and dailylife of the recluse; but the deafness of their attendant was so obstinateand hopeless, that she was forced to give up the attempt in despair. "Ifear, " said she at last, her goodnature so far overcome by impatience asnot to forbid a slight yawn; "I fear we shall have a dull time of it tillmy father arrives. Just consider, the fat black mares, never too fast, can only creep along that broken path, --for road there is none: it willbe quite night before the coach arrives. "

"I am sorry, dear Ellinor, my awkwardness should occasion you so stupidan evening, " answered Madeline. 

"Oh, " cried Ellinor, throwing her arms around her sister's neck, "it isnot for myself I spoke; and indeed I am delighted to think we have gotinto this wizard's den, and seen the instruments of his art. But I do sotrust Mr. Aram will not meet that terrible man. "

"Nay, " said the prouder Madeline, "he is armed, and it is but one man. Ifeel too high a respect for him to allow myself much fear. "

"But these bookmen are not often heroes, " remarked Ellinor, laughing. 

"For shame, " said Madeline, the colour mounting to her forehead. "Do younot remember how, last summer, Eugene Aram rescued Dame Grenfeld's childfrom the bull, though at the literal peril of his own life? And who butEugene Aram, when the floods in the year before swept along the low landsby Fairleigh, went day after day to rescue the persons, or even to savethe goods of those poor people; at a time too, when the boldest villagerswould not hazard themselves across the waters?--But bless me, Ellinor, what is the matter? you turn pale, you tremble. '

"Hush!" said Ellinor under her breath, and, putting her finger to hermouth, she rose and stole lightly to the window; she had observed thefigure of a man pass by, and now, as she gained the window, she saw himhalt by the porch, and recognised the formidable Stranger. Presently thebell sounded, and the old woman, familiar with its shrill sound, rosefrom her kneeling position beside the sufferer to attend to the summons. Ellinor sprang forward and detained her: the poor old woman stared at herin amazement, wholly unable to comprehend her abrupt gestures and herrapid language. It was with considerable difficulty and after repeatedefforts, that she at length impressed the dulled sense of the crone withthe nature of their alarm, and the expediency of refusing admittance tothe Stranger. Meanwhile, the bell had rung again, --again, and the thirdtime with a prolonged violence which testified the impatience of theapplicant. As soon as the good dame had satisfied herself as to Ellinor'smeaning, she could no longer be accused of unreasonable taciturnity; shewrung her hands and poured forth a volley of lamentations and fears, which effectually relieved Ellinor from the dread of her unheeding theadmonition. Satisfied at having done thus much, Ellinor now herselfhastened to the door and secured the ingress with an additional bolt, andthen, as the thought flashed upon her, returned to the old woman and madeher, with an easier effort than before, now that her senses weresharpened by fear, comprehend the necessity of securing the back entrancealso; both hastened away to effect this precaution, and Madeline, whoherself desired Ellinor to accompany the old woman, was left alone. Shekept her eyes fixed on the window with a strange sentiment of dread atbeing thus left in so helpless a situation; and though a door of noordinary dimensions and doubly locked interposed between herself and theintruder, she expected in breathless terror, every instant, to see theform of the ruffian burst into the apartment. As she thus sat and looked, she shudderingly saw the man, tired perhaps of repeating a summons soineffectual, come to the window and look pryingly within: their eyes met;Madeline had not the power to shriek. Would he break through the window?that was her only idea, and it deprived her of words, almost of sense. Hegazed upon her evident terror for a moment with a grim smile of contempt;he then knocked at the window, and his voice broke harshly on a silenceyet more dreadful than the interruption. 

"Ho, ho! so there is some life stirring! I beg pardon, Madam, is Mr. Aram--Eugene Aram, within?"

"No, " said Madeline faintly, and then, sensible that her voice did notreach him, she reiterated the answer in a louder tone. The man, as ifsatisfied, made a rude inclination of his head and withdrew from thewindow. Ellinor now returned, and with difficulty Madeline found words toexplain to her what had passed. It will be conceived that the two youngladies watched the arrival of their father with no lukewarm expectation;the stranger however appeared no more; and in about an hour, to theirinexpressible joy, they heard the rumbling sound of the old coach as itrolled towards the house. This time there was no delay in unbarring thedoor. 

 CHAPTER IV. 

 THE SOLILOQUY, AND THE CHARACTER, OF A RECLUSE. --THE INTERRUPTION. 

 "Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen in some high lonely tower, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, Or thrice-great Hermes, and unsphere The spirit of Plato. " --Milton. --Il Penseroso. 

As Aram assisted the beautiful Madeline into the carriage--as he listenedto her sweet voice--as he marked the grateful expression of her soft eyes--as he felt the slight yet warm pressure of her fairy hand, that vaguesensation of delight which preludes love, for the first time, in hissterile and solitary life, agitated his breast. Lester held out his handto him with a frank cordiality which the scholar could not resist. 

"Do not let us be strangers, Mr. Aram, " said he warmly. "It is not oftenthat I press for companionship out of my own circle; but in your companyI should find pleasure as well as instruction. Let us break the iceboldly, and at once. Come and dine with me to-morrow, and Ellinor shallsing to us in the evening. "

The excuse died upon Aram's lips. Another glance at Madeline conqueredthe remains of his reserve: he accepted the invitation, and he could notbut mark, with an unfamiliar emotion of the heart, that the eyes ofMadeline sparkled as he did so. 

With an abstracted air, and arms folded across his breast, he gazed afterthe carriage till the winding of the valley snatched it from his view. Hethen, waking from his reverie with a start, turned into the house, andcarefully closing and barring the door, mounted with slow steps to thelofty chamber with which, the better to indulge his astronomicalresearches, he had crested his lonely abode. 

It was now night. The Heavens broadened round him in all the loving yetaugust tranquillity of the season and the hour; the stars bathed theliving atmosphere with a solemn light; and above--about--around--

"The holy time was quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration. " He lookedforth upon the deep and ineffable stillness of the night, and indulgedthe reflections that it suggested. 

"Ye mystic lights, " said he soliloquizing: "worlds upon worlds--infinite--incalculable. --Bright defiers of rest and change, rolling for ever aboveour petty sea of mortality, as, wave after wave, we fret forth our littlelife, and sink into the black abyss;--can we look upon you, note yourappointed order, and your unvarying course, and not feel that we areindeed the poorest puppets of an all-pervading and resistless destiny?Shall we see throughout creation each marvel fulfilling its pre-orderedfate--no wandering from its orbit--no variation in its seasons--and yetimagine that the Arch-ordainer will hold back the tides He has sent fromtheir unseen source, at our miserable bidding? Shall we think that ourprayers can avert a doom woven with the skein of events? To change aparticle of our fate, might change the destiny of millions! Shall thelink forsake the chain, and yet the chain be unbroken? Away, then, withour vague repinings, and our blind demands. All must walk onward to theirgoal, be he the wisest who looks not one step behind. The colours of ourexistence were doomed before our birth--our sorrows and our crimes;--millions of ages back, when this hoary earth was peopled by other kinds, yea! ere its atoms had formed one layer of its present soil, the Eternaland the all-seeing Ruler of the universe, Destiny, or God, had here fixedthe moment of our birth and the limits of our career. What then iscrime?--Fate! What life?--Submission!"

Such were the strange and dark thoughts which, constituting a part indeedof his established creed, broke over Aram's mind. He sought for a fairersubject for meditation, and Madeline Lester rose before him. 

Eugene Aram was a man whose whole life seemed to have been one sacrificeto knowledge. What is termed pleasure had no attraction for him. From themature manhood at which he had arrived, he looked back along his youth, and recognized no youthful folly. Love he had hitherto regarded with acold though not an incurious eye: intemperance had never lured him to amomentary self-abandonment. Even the innocent relaxations with which theausterest minds relieve their accustomed toils, had had no power to drawhim from his beloved researches. The delight monstrari digito; thegratification of triumphant wisdom; the whispers of an elevated vanity;existed not for his self-dependent and solitary heart. He was one ofthose earnest and highwrought enthusiasts who now are almost extinct uponearth, and whom Romance has not hitherto attempted to pourtray; men notuncommon in the last century, who were devoted to knowledge, yetdisdainful of its fame; who lived for nothing else than to learn. Fromstore to store, from treasure to treasure, they proceeded in exultinglabour, and having accumulated all, they bestowed nought; they were thearch-misers of the wealth of letters. Wrapped in obscurity, in somesheltered nook, remote from the great stir of men, they passed a life atonce unprofitable and glorious; the least part of what they ransackedwould appal the industry of a modern student, yet the most superficial ofmodern students might effect more for mankind. They lived among oracles, but they gave none forth. And yet, even in this very barrenness, thereseems something high; it was a rare and great spectacle--Men, livingaloof from the roar and strife of the passions that raged below, devotingthemselves to the knowledge which is our purification and our immortalityon earth, and yet deaf and blind to the allurements of the vanity whichgenerally accompanies research; refusing the ignorant homage of theirkind, making their sublime motive their only meed, adoring Wisdom for hersole sake, and set apart in the populous universe, like stars, luminouswith their own light, but too remote from the earth on which they looked, to shed over its inmates the lustre with which they glowed. 

From his youth to the present period, Aram had dwelt little in citiesthough he had visited many, yet he could scarcely be called ignorant ofmankind; there seems something intuitive in the science which teaches usthe knowledge of our race. Some men emerge from their seclusion, andfind, all at once, a power to dart into the minds and drag forth themotives of those they see; it is a sort of second sight, born with them, not acquired. And Aram, it may be, rendered yet more acute by hisprofound and habitual investigations of our metaphysical frame, neverquitted his solitude to mix with others, without penetrating into thebroad traits or prevalent infirmities their characters possessed. Inthis, indeed, he differed from the scholar tribe, and even in abstractionwas mechanically vigilant and observant. Much in his nature would, hadearly circumstances given it a different bias, have fitted him forworldly superiority and command. A resistless energy, an unbrokenperseverance, a profound and scheming and subtle thought, a geniusfertile in resources, a tongue clothed with eloquence, all, had hisambition so chosen, might have given him the same empire over thephysical, that he had now attained over the intellectual world. It couldnot be said that Aram wanted benevolence, but it was dashed, and mixedwith a certain scorn: the benevolence was the offspring of his nature;the scorn seemed the result of his pursuits. He would feed the birds fromhis window, he would tread aside to avoid the worm on his path; were oneof his own tribe in danger, he would save him at the hazard of his life:--yet in his heart he despised men, and believed them beyond amelioration. Unlike the present race of schoolmen, who incline to the consoling hopeof human perfectibility, he saw in the gloomy past but a dark prophecy ofthe future. As Napoleon wept over one wounded soldier in the field ofbattle, yet ordered without emotion, thousands to a certain death; soAram would have sacrificed himself for an individual, but would not havesacrificed a momentary gratification for his race. And this sentimenttowards men, at once of high disdain and profound despondency, wasperhaps the cause why he rioted in indolence upon his extraordinarymental wealth, and could not be persuaded either to dazzle the world orto serve it. But by little and little his fame had broke forth from thelimits with which he would have walled it: a man who had taught himself, under singular difficulties, nearly all the languages of the civilizedearth; the profound mathematician, the elaborate antiquarian, theabstruse philologist, uniting with his graver lore the more floridaccomplishments of science, from the scholastic trifling of heraldry tothe gentle learning of herbs and flowers, could scarcely hope for utterobscurity in that day when all intellectual acquirement was held in highhonour, and its possessors were drawn together into a sort of brotherhoodby the fellowship of their pursuits. And though Aram gave little ornothing to the world himself, he was ever willing to communicate toothers any benefit or honour derivable from his researches. On the altarof science he kindled no light, but the fragrant oil in the lamps of hismore pious brethren was largely borrowed from his stores. From almostevery college in Europe came to his obscure abode letters ofacknowledgement or inquiry; and few foreign cultivators of learningvisited this country without seeking an interview with Aram. He receivedthem with all the modesty and the courtesy that characterized hisdemeanour; but it was noticeable that he never allowed theseinterruptions to be more than temporary. He proffered no hospitality, andshrunk back from all offers of friendship; the interview lasted its hour, and was seldom renewed. Patronage was not less distasteful to him thansociality. Some occasional visits and condescensions of the great, he hadreceived with a stern haughtiness, rather than his wonted and subduedurbanity. The precise amount of his fortune was not known; his wants wereso few, that what would have been poverty to others might easily havebeen competence to him; and the only evidence he manifested of thecommand of money, was in his extended and various library. 

He had now been about two years settled in his present retreat. Unsocialas he was, every one in the neighbourhood loved him; even the reserve ofa man so eminent, arising as it was supposed to do from a painfulmodesty, had in it something winning; and he had been known to evince ongreat occasions, a charity and a courage in the service of others whichremoved from the seclusion of his habits the semblance of misanthropy andof avarice. The peasant drew aside with a kindness mingled with hisrespect, as in his homeward walk he encountered the pale and thoughtfulStudent, with the folded arms and downeast eyes, which characterised theabstraction of his mood; and the village maiden, as she curtsied by him, stole a glance at his handsome but melancholy countenance; and told hersweetheart she was certain the poor scholar had been crossed in love. 

And thus passed the Student's life; perhaps its monotony and dullnessrequired less compassion than they received; no man can judge of thehappiness of another. As the Moon plays upon the waves, and seems to oureyes to favour with a peculiar beam one long track amidst the waters, leaving the rest in comparative obscurity; yet all the while, she is noniggard in her lustre--for though the rays that meet not our eyes seem tous as though they were not, yet she with an equal and unfavouringloveliness, mirrors herself on every wave: even so, perhaps, Happinessfalls with the same brightness and power over the whole expanse of Life, though to our limited eyes she seems only to rest on those billows fromwhich the ray is reflected back upon our sight. 

From his contemplations, of whatsoever nature, Aram was now aroused by aloud summons at the door;--the clock had gone eleven. Who could at thatlate hour, when the whole village was buried in sleep, demand admittance?He recollected that Madeline had said the Stranger who had so alarmedthem had inquired for him, at that recollection his cheek suddenlyblanched, but again, that stranger was surely only some poor travellerwho had heard of his wonted charity, and had called to solicit relief, for he had not met the Stranger on the road to Lester's house; and he hadnaturally set down the apprehensions of his fair visitants to a merefemale timidity. Who could this be? no humble wayfarer would at that hourcrave assistance;--some disaster perhaps in the village. From his loftychamber he looked forth and saw the stars watch quietly over thescattered cottages and the dark foliage that slept breathlessly around. All was still as death, but it seemed the stillness of innocence andsecurity: again! the bell again! He thought he heard his name shoutedwithout; he strode once or twice irresolutely to and fro the chamber; andthen his step grew firm, and his native courage returned. His pistolswere still girded round him; he looked to the priming, and muttered someincoherent words; he then descended the stairs, and slowly unbarred thedoor. Without the porch, the moonlight full upon his harsh features andsturdy frame, stood the ill-omened Traveller. 

 CHAPTER V. 

 A DINNER AT THE SQUIRE'S HALL. --A CONVERSATION BETWEEN TWO RETIRED MEN WITH DIFFERENT OBJECTS IN RETIREMENT. --DISTURBANCE FIRST INTRODUCED INTO A PEACEFUL FAMILY. 

 "Can he not be sociable?" --Troilus and Cressida. 

 "Subit quippe etiam ipsius inertiae dulcedo; et invisa primo desidia postremo amatur. " --Tacitus. 

 "How use doth breed a habit in a man! This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, I better brook than flourishing people towns. " --Winter's Tale. 

The next day, faithful to his appointment, Aram arrived at Lester's. Thegood Squire received him with a warm cordiality, and Madeline with ablush and a smile that ought to have been more grateful to him thanacknowledgements. She was still a prisoner to the sofa, but in complimentto Aram, the sofa was wheeled into the hall where they dined, so that shewas not absent from the repast. It was a pleasant room, that old hall!Though it was summer--more for cheerfulness than warmth, the log burnt onthe spacious hearth: but at the same time the latticed windows werethrown open, and the fresh yet sunny air stole in, rich from the embraceof the woodbine and clematis, which clung around the casement. 

A few old pictures were pannelled in the oaken wainscot; and here andthere the horns of the mighty stag adorned the walls, and united with thecheeriness of comfort associations of that of enterprise. The good oldboard was crowded with the luxuries meet for a country Squire. Thespeckled trout, fresh from the stream, and the four-year-old muttonmodestly disclaiming its own excellent merits, by affecting the shape andassuming the adjuncts of venison. Then for the confectionery, --it wasworthy of Ellinor, to whom that department generally fell; and we shouldscarcely be surprised to find, though we venture not to affirm, that itsdelicate fabrication owed more to her than superintendence. Then the ale, and the cyder with rosemary in the bowl, were incomparable potations; andto the gooseberry wine, which would have filled Mrs. Primrose with envy, was added the more generous warmth of port which, in the Squire's youngerdays, had been the talk of the country, and which had now lost none ofits attributes, save "the original brightness" of its colour. 

But (the wine excepted) these various dainties met with slight honourfrom their abstemious guest; and, for though habitually reserved he wasrarely gloomy, they remarked that he seemed unusually fitful and sombrein his mood. Something appeared to rest upon his mind, from which, by theexcitement of wine and occasional bursts of eloquence more animated thanordinary, he seemed striving to escape; and at length, he apparentlysucceeded. Naturally enough, the conversation turned upon the curiositiesand scenery of the country round; and here Aram shone with a peculiargrace. Vividly alive to the influences of Nature, and minutely acquaintedwith its varieties, he invested every hill and glade to which remarkrecurred with the poetry of his descriptions; and from his research hegave even scenes the most familiar, a charm and interest which had beenstrange to them till then. To this stream some romantic legend had onceattached itself, long forgotten and now revived;--that moor, so barren toan ordinary eye, was yet productive of some rare and curious herb, whoseproperties afforded scope for lively description;--that old mound was yetrife in attraction to one versed in antiquities, and able to explain itsorigin, and from such explanation deduce a thousand classic or celticepisodes. 

No subject was so homely or so trite but the knowledge that had neglectednothing, was able to render it luminous and new. And as he spoke, thescholar's countenance brightened, and his voice, at first hesitating andlow, compelled the attention to its earnest and winning music. Lesterhimself, a man who, in his long retirement, had not forgotten theattractions of intellectual society, nor even neglected a certaincultivation of intellectual pursuits, enjoyed a pleasure that he had notexperienced for years. The gay Ellinor was fascinated into admiration;and Madeline, the most silent of the groupe, drank in every word, unsconcious of the sweet poison she imbibed. Walter alone seemed notcarried away by the eloquence of their guest. He preserved an unadmiringand sullen demeanour, and every now and then regarded Aram with looks ofsuspicion and dislike. This was more remarkable when the men were leftalone; and Lester, in surprise and anger, darted significant andadmonitory looks towards his nephew, which at length seemed to rouse himinto a more hospitable bearing. As the cool of the evening now came on, Lester proposed to Aram to enjoy it without, previous to returning to theparlour, to which the ladies had retired. Walter excused himself fromjoining them. The host and the guest accordingly strolled forth alone. 

"Your solitude, " said Lester, smiling, "is far deeper and less brokenthan mine: do you never find it irksome?"

"Can Humanity be at all times contented?" said Aram. "No stream, howsoever secret or subterranean, glides on in eternal tranquillity. "

"You allow, then, that you feel some occasional desire for a more activeand animated life?"

"Nay, " answered Aram; "that is scarcely a fair corollary from my remark. I may, at times, feel the weariness of existence--the tedium vitae; but Iknow well that the cause is not to be remedied by a change fromtranquillity to agitation. The objects of the great world are to bepursued only by the excitement of the passions. The passions are at onceour masters and our deceivers;--they urge us onward, yet present no limitto our progress. The farther we proceed, the more dim and shadowy growsthe goal. It is impossible for a man who leads the life of the world, thelife of the passions, ever to experience content. For the life of thepassions is that of a perpetual desire; but a state of content is theabsence of all desire. Thus philosophy has become another name for mentalquietude; and all wisdom points to a life of intellectual indifference, as the happiest which earth can bestow. "

"This may be true enough, " said Lester, reluctantly; "but--"

"But what?"

"A something at our hearts--a secret voice--an involuntary impulse--rebels against it, and points to action--action, as the true sphere ofman. "

A slight smile curved the lip of the Student; he avoided, however, theargument, and remarked, "Yet, if you think so, the world lies before you; why not return to it?"

"Because constant habit is stronger than occasional impulse; and myseclusion, after all, has its sphere of action--has its object. "

"All seclusion has. "

"All? Scarcely so; for me, I have my object of interest in my children. "

"And mine is in my books. "

"And engaged in your object, does not the whisper of Fame ever animateyou with the desire to go forth into the world, and receive the homagethat would await you?"

"Listen to me, " replied Aram. "When I was a boy, I went once to atheatre. The tragedy of Hamlet was performed: a play full of the noblestthoughts, the subtlest morality, that exists upon the stage. The audiencelistened with attention, with admiration, with applause. I said tomyself, when the curtain fell, 'It must be a glorious thing to obtainthis empire over men's intellects and emotions. ' But now an Italianmountebank appeared on the stage, --a man of extraordinary personalstrength and slight of hand. He performed a variety of juggling tricks, and distorted his body into a thousand surprising and unnatural postures. The audience were transported beyond themselves: if they had felt delightin Hamlet, they glowed with rapture at the mountebank: they had listenedwith attention to the lofty thought, but they were snatched fromthemselves by the marvel of the strange posture. 'Enough, ' said I; 'Icorrect my former notion. Where is the glory of ruling men's minds, andcommanding their admiration, when a greater enthusiasm is excited by merebodily agility, than was kindled by the most wonderful emanations of agenius little less than divine?' I have never forgotten the impression ofthat evening. "

Lester attempted to combat the truth of the illustration, and thusconversing, they passed on through the village green, when the gaunt formof Corporal Bunting arrested their progress. 

"Beg pardon, Squire, " said he, with a military salute; "beg pardon, yourhonour, " bowing to Aram; "but I wanted to speak to you, Squire, 'bout therent of the bit cot yonder; times very hard--pay scarce--Michaelmas closeat hand--and--"

"You desire a little delay, Bunting, eh?--Well, well, we'll see about it, look up at the Hall to-morrow; Mr. Walter, I know wants to consult youabout letting the water from the great pond, and you must give us youropinion of the new brewing. "

"Thank your honour, thank you; much obliged I'm sure. I hope your honourliked the trout I sent up. Beg pardon, Master Aram, mayhap you wouldcondescend to accept a few fish now and then; they're very fine in thesestreams, as you probably know; if you please to let me, I'll send some upby the old 'oman to-morrow, that is if the day's cloudy a bit. "

The Scholar thanked the good Bunting, and would have proceeded onward, but the Corporal was in a familiar mood. 

"Beg pardon, beg pardon, but strange-looking dog here last evening--askedafter you--said you were old friend of his--trotted off in your direction--hope all was right, Master?--augh!"

"All right!" repeated Aram, fixing his eyes on the Corporal, who hadconcluded his speech with a significant wink, and pausing a full momentbefore he continued, then as if satisfied with his survey, he added:

"Ay, ay, I know whom you mean; he had known me some years ago. So you sawhim! What said he to you of me?"

"Augh! little enough, Master Aram, he seemed to think only of satisfyinghis own appetite; said he'd been a soldier. "

"A soldier, humph!"

"Never told me the regiment, though, --shy--did he ever desert, pray, yourhonour?"

"I don't know;" answered Aram, turning away. "I know little, very little, about him!" He was going away, but stopped to add: "The man called on melast night for assistance; the lateness of the hour a little alarmed me. I gave him what I could afford, and he has now proceeded on his journey. "

"Oh, then, he won't take up his quarters hereabouts, your honour?" saidthe Corporal, inquiringly. 

"No, no; good evening. "

"What! this singular stranger, who so frightened my poor girls, is reallyknown to you;" said Lester, in surprise: "pray is he as formidable as heseemed to them?"

"Scarcely, " said Aram, with great composure; "he has been a wild rovingfellow all his life, but--but there is little real harm in him. He iscertainly ill-favoured enough to--" here, interrupting himself, andbreaking into a new sentence, Aram added: "but at all events he willfrighten your nieces no more--he has proceeded on his journey northward. And now, yonder lies my way home. Good evening. " The abruptness of thisfarewell did indeed take Lester by surprise. 

"Why, you will not leave me yet? The young ladies expect your return tothem for an hour or so! What will they think of such desertion? No, no, come back, my good friend, and suffer me by and by to walk some part ofthe way home with you. "

"Pardon me, " said Aram, "I must leave you now. As to the ladies, " headded, with a faint smile, half in melancholy, half in scorn, "I am notone whom they could miss;--forgive me if I seem unceremonious. Adieu. "

Lester at first felt a little offended, but when he recalled the peculiarhabits of the Scholar, he saw that the only way to hope for a continuanceof that society which had so pleased him, was to indulge Aram at first inhis unsocial inclinations, rather than annoy him by a troublesomehospitality; he therefore, without further discourse, shook hands withhim, and they parted. 

When Lester regained the little parlour, he found his nephew sitting, silent and discontented, by the window. Madeline had taken up a book, andEllinor, in an opposite corner, was plying her needle with an air ofearnestness and quiet, very unlike her usual playful and cheerfulvivacity. There was evidently a cloud over the groupe; the good Lesterregarded them with a searching, yet kindly eye. 

"And what has happened?" said he, "something of mighty import, I am sure, or I should have heard my pretty Ellinor's merry laugh long before Icrossed the threshold. "

Ellinor coloured and sighed, and worked faster than ever. Walter threwopen the window, and whistled a favourite air quite out of tune. Lestersmiled, and seated himself by his nephew. 

"Well, Walter, " said he, "I feel, for the first time in these ten years, I have a right to scold you. What on earth could make you so inhospitableto your uncle's guest? You eyed the poor student, as if you wished himamong the books of Alexandria!"

"I would he were burnt with them!" answered Walter, sharply. "He seems tohave added the black art to his other accomplishments, and bewitched myfair cousins here into a forgetfulness of all but himself. "

"Not me!" said Ellinor eagerly, and looking up. 

"No, not you, that's true enough; you are too just, too kind;--it is apity that Madeline is not more like you. "

"My dear Walter, " said Madeline, "what is the matter? You accuse me ofwhat? being attentive to a man whom it is impossible to hear withoutattention!"

"There!" cried Walter passionately; "you confess it; and so for astranger, --a cold, vain, pedantic egotist, you can shut your ears andheart to those who have known and loved you all your life; and--and--"

"Vain!" interrupted Madeline, unheeding the latter part of Walter'saddress. 

"Pedantic!" repeated her father. 

"Yes! I say vain, pedantic!" cried Walter, working himself into apassion. What on earth but the love of display could make him monopolizethe whole conversation?--What but pedantry could make him bring out thoseanecdotes and allusions, and descriptions, or whatever you call them, respecting every old wall or stupid plant in the country?

"I never thought you guilty of meanness before, " said Lester gravely. 

"Meanness!"

"Yes! for is it not mean to be jealous of superior acquirements, insteadof admiring them?"

"What has been the use of those acquirements? Has he benefited mankind bythem? Shew me the poet--the historian--the orator, and I will vield tonone of you; no, not to Madeline herself in homage of their genius: butthe mere creature of books--the dry and sterile collector of other men'slearning--no--no. What should I admire in such a machine of literature, except a waste of perseverance?--And Madeline calls him handsome too!"

At this sudden turn from declamation to reproach, Lester laughedoutright; and his nephew, in high anger, rose and left the room. 

"Who could have thought Walter so foolish?" said Madeline. 

"Nay, " observed Ellinor gently, "it is the folly of a kind heart, afterall. He feels sore at our seeming to prefer another--I mean another'sconversation--to his!"

Lester turned round in his chair, and regarded with a serious look, thefaces of both sisters. 

"My dear Ellinor, " said he, when he had finished his survey, "you are akind girl--come and kiss me!"

 CHAPTER VI. 

 THE BEHAVIOUR OF THE STUDENT. --A SUMMER SCENE--ARAM'S CONVERSATION WITH WALTER, AND SUBSEQUENT COLLOQUY WITH HIMSELF. 

 "The soft season, the firmament serene, The loun illuminate air, and firth amene The silver-scalit fishes on the grete O'er-thwart clear streams sprinkillond for the heat, " --Gawin Douglas. 

 "Ilia subter Caecum vulnus habes; sed lato balteus auro Praetegit. " --Persius. 

Several days elapsed before the family of the manor-house encounteredAram again. The old woman came once or twice to present the inquiries ofher master as to Miss Lester's accident; but Aram himself did not appear. This want to interest certainly offended Madeline, although she stilldrew upon herself Walter's displeasure, by disputing and resenting theunfavourable strictures on the scholar, in which that young gentlemandelighted to indulge. By degrees, however, as the days passed withoutmaturing the acquaintance which Walter had disapproved, the youth relaxedin his attacks, and seemed to yield to the remonstrances of his uncle. Lester had, indeed, conceived an especial inclination towards therecluse. Any man of reflection, who has lived for some time alone, andwho suddenly meets with one who calls forth in him, and without labour orcontradiction, the thoughts which have sprung up in his solitude, scarcely felt in their growth, will comprehend the new zest, theawakening, as it were, of the mind, which Lester found in theconversation of Eugene Aram. His solitary walk (for his nephew had theseparate pursuits of youth) appeared to him more dull than before; and helonged to renew an intercourse which had given to the monotony of hislife both variety and relief. He called twice upon Aram, but the studentwas, or affected to be, from home; and an invitation he sent him, thoughcouched in friendly terms, was, but with great semblance of kindness, refused. 

"See, Walter, " said Lester, disconcerted, as he finished reading therefusal--"see what your rudeness has effected. I am quite convinced thatAram (evidently a man of susceptible as well as retired mind) observedthe coldness of your manner towards him, and that thus you have deprivedme of the only society which, in this country of boors and savages, gaveme any gratification. "

Walter replied apologetically, but his uncle turned away with a greaterappearance of anger than his placid features were wont to exhibit; andWalter, cursing the innocent cause of his uncle's displeasure towardshim, took up his fishing-rod and went out alone, in no happy orexhilarated mood. 

It was waxing towards eve--an hour especially lovely in the month ofJune, and not without reason favoured by the angler. Walter saunteredacross the rich and fragrant fields, and came soon into a shelteredvalley, through which the brooklet wound its shadowy way. Along themargin the grass sprung up long and matted, and profuse with a thousandweeds and flowers--the children of the teeming June. Here the ivy-leavedbell-flower, and not far from it the common enchanter's night-shade, thesilver weed, and the water-aven; and by the hedges that now and thenneared the water, the guelder-rose, and the white briony, overrunning thethicket with its emerald leaves and luxuriant flowers. And here andthere, silvering the bushes, the elder offered its snowy tribute to thesummer. All the insect youth were abroad, with their bright wings andglancing motion; and from the lower depths of the bushes the blackbirddarted across, or higher and unseen the first cuckoo of the eve began itscontinuous and mellow note. All this cheeriness and gloss of life, whichenamour us with the few bright days of the English summer, make thepoetry in an angler's life, and convert every idler at heart into amoralist, and not a gloomy one, for the time. 

Softened by the quiet beauty and voluptuousness around him, Walter'sthoughts assumed a more gentle dye, and he broke out into the old lines:

"Sweet day, so soft, so calm, so bright; The bridal of the earth andsky, " as he dipped his line into the current, and drew it across theshadowy hollows beneath the bank. The river-gods were not, however, in afavourable mood, and after waiting in vain for some time, in a spot inwhich he was usually successful, he proceeded slowly along the margin ofthe brooklet, crushing the reeds at every step, into that fresh anddelicious odour, which furnished Bacon with one of his most beautifulcomparisons. 

He thought, as he proceeded, that beneath a tree that overhung the watersin the narrowest part of their channel, he heard a voice, and as heapproached he recognised it as Aram's; a curve in the stream brought himclose by the spot, and he saw the student half reclined beneath the tree, and muttering, but at broken intervals, to himself. 

The words were so scattered, that Walter did not trace their clue; butinvoluntarily he stopped short, within a few feet of the soliloquist: andAram, suddenly turning round, beheld him. A fierce and abrupt changebroke over the scholar's countenance; his cheek grew now pale, nowflushed; and his brows knit over his flashing and dark eyes with anintent anger, that was the more withering, from its contrast to the usualcalmness of his features. Walter drew back, but Aram stalking directly upto him, gazed into his face, as if he would read his very soul. 

"What! eaves-dropping?" said he, with a ghastly smile. "You overheard me, did you? Well, well, what said I?--what said I?" Then pausing, and notingthat Walter did not reply, he stamped his foot violently, and grindinghis teeth, repeated in a smothered tone "Boy! what said I?"

"Mr. Aram, " said Walter, "you forget yourself; I am not one to play thelistener, more especially to the learned ravings of a man who can concealnothing I care to know. Accident brought me hither. "

"What! surely--surely I spoke aloud, did I not?--did I not?"

"You did, but so incoherently and indistinctly, that I did not profit byyour indiscretion. I cannot plagiarise, I assure you, from any scholasticdesigns you might have been giving vent to. "

Aram looked on him for a moment, and then breathing heavily, turned away. 

"Pardon me, " he said; "I am a poor half-crazed man; much study hasunnerved me; I should never live but with my own thoughts; forgive me, Sir, I pray you. "

Touched by the sudden contrition of Aram's manner, Walter forgot, notonly his present displeasure, but his general dislike; he stretched forthhis hand to the Student, and hastened to assure him of his readyforgiveness. Aram sighed deeply as he pressed the young man's hand, andWalter saw, with surprise and emotion, that his eyes were filled withtears. 

"Ah!" said Aram, gently shaking his head, "it is a hard life we bookmenlead. Not for us is the bright face of noon-day or the smile of woman, the gay unbending of the heart, the neighing steed, and the shrill trump;the pride, pomp, and circumstance of life. Our enjoyments are few andcalm; our labour constant; but that is it not, Sir?--that is it not? thebody avenges its own neglect. We grow old before our time; we wither up;the sap of youth shrinks from our veins; there is no bound in our step. We look about us with dimmed eyes, and our breath grows short and thick, and pains and coughs, and shooting aches come upon us at night; it is abitter life--a bitter life--a joyless life. I would I had nevercommenced it. And yet the harsh world scowls upon us: our nerves arebroken, and they wonder we are querulous; our blood curdles, and they askwhy we are not gay; our brain grows dizzy and indistinct, (as with mejust now, ) and, shrugging their shoulders, they whisper their neighboursthat we are mad. I wish I had worked at the plough, and known sleep, andloved mirth--and--and not been what I am. "

As the Student uttered the last sentence, he bowed down his head, and afew tears stole silently down his cheek. Walter was greatly affected--ittook him by surprise; nothing in Aram's ordinary demeanour betrayed anyfacility to emotion; and he conveyed to all the idea of a man, if notproud, at least cold. 

"You do not suffer bodily pain, I trust?" asked Walter, soothingly. 

"Pain does not conquer me, " said Aram, slowly recovering himself. "I amnot melted by that which I would fain despise. Young man, I wronged you--you have forgiven me. Well, well, we will say no more on that head; it ispast and pardoned. Your father has been kind to me, and I have notreturned his advances; you shall tell him why. I have lived thirteenyears by myself, and I have contracted strange ways and many humours notcommon to the world--you have seen an example of this. Judge for yourselfif I be fit for the smoothness, and confidence, and ease of socialintercourse; I am not fit, I feel it! I am doomed to be alone--tell yourfather this--tell him to suffer me to live so! I am grateful for hisgoodness--I know his motives--but have a certain pride of mind; I cannotbear sufferance--I loath indulgence. Nay, interrupt me not, I beseechyou. Look round on Nature--behold the only company that humbles me not--except the dead whose souls speak to us from the immortality of books. These herbs at your feet, I know their secrets--I watch the mechanism oftheir life; the winds--they have taught me their language; the stars--Ihave unravelled their mysteries; and these, the creatures and ministersof God--these I offend not by my mood--to them I utter my thoughts, andbreak forth into my dreams, without reserve and without fear. But mendisturb me--I have nothing to learn from them--I have no wish to confidein them; they cripple the wild liberty which has become to me a secondnature. What its shell is to the tortoise, solitude has become to me--myprotection; nay, my life!"

"But, " said Walter, "with us, at least, you would not have to dreadrestraint; you might come when you would; be silent or converse, according to your will. "

Aram smiled faintly, but made no immediate reply. 

"So, you have been angling!" he said, after a short pause, and as ifwilling to change the thread of conversation. "Fie! It is a treacherouspursuit; it encourages man's worst propensities--cruelty and deceit. "

"I should have thought a lover of Nature would have been more indulgentto a pastime which introduces us to her most quiet retreats. "

"And cannot Nature alone tempt you without need of such allurements?What! that crisped and winding stream, with flowers on its very tide--the water-violet and the water-lily--these silent brakes--the cool of thegathering evening--the still and luxuriance of the universal life aroundyou; are not these enough of themselves to tempt you forth? if not, goto--your excuse is hypocrisy. "

"I am used to these scenes, " replied Walter; "I am weary of the thoughtsthey produce in me, and long for any diversion or excitement. "

"Ay, ay, young man! The mind is restless at your age--have a care. Perhaps you long to visit the world--to quit these obscure haunts whichyou are fatigued in admiring?"

"It may be so, " said Walter, with a slight sigh. "I should at least liketo visit our great capital, and note the contrast; I should come back, Iimagine, with a greater zest to these scenes. "

Aram laughed. "My friend, " said he, "when men have once plunged into thegreat sea of human toil and passion, they soon wash away all love andzest for innocent enjoyments. What once was a soft retirement, willbecome the most intolerable monotony; the gaming of social existence--the feverish and desperate chances of honour and wealth, upon which themen of cities set their hearts, render all pursuits less exciting, utterly insipid and dull. The brook and the angle--ha!--ha!--these arenot occupations for men who have once battled with the world. "

"I can forego them, then, without regret;" said Walter, with thesanguineness of his years. Aram looked upon him wistfully; the brighteye, the healthy cheek, and vigorous frame of the youth, suited with hisdesire to seek the conflict of his kind, and gave a naturalness to hisambition, which was not without interest, even to the recluse. 

"Poor boy!" said he, mournfully, "how gallantly the ship leaves the port;how worn and battered it will return!"

When they parted, Walter returned slowly homewards, filled with pitytowards the singular man whom he had seen so strangely overpowered; andwondering how suddenly his mind had lost its former rancour to theStudent. Yet there mingled even with these kindly feelings, a littledispleasure at the superior tone which Aram had unconsciously adoptedtowards him; and to which, from any one, the high spirit of the young manwas not readily willing to submit. 

Meanwhile, the Student continued his path along the water side, and as, with his gliding step and musing air, he roamed onward, it was impossibleto imagine a form more suited to the deep tranquillity of the scene. Eventhe wild birds seemed to feel, by a sort of instinct, that in him therewas no cause for fear; and did not stir from the turf that neighboured, or the spray that overhung, his path. 

"So, " said he, soliloquizing, but not without casting frequent andjealous glances round him, and in a murmur so indistinct as would havebeen inaudible even to a listener--"so, I was not overheard, --well, Imust cure myself of this habit; our thoughts, like nuns, ought not to goabroad without a veil. Ay, this tone will not betray me, I will preserveits tenor, for I can scarcely altogether renounce my sole confidant--SELF; and thought seems more clear when uttered even thus. 'Tis a fineyouth! full of the impulse and daring of his years; I was never so youngat heart. I was--nay, what matters it? Who is answerable for his nature?Who can say, "I controlled all the circumstances which made me what Iam?" Madeline, --Heavens! did I bring on myself this temptation? Have Inot fenced it from me throughout all my youth, when my brain did atmoments forsake me, and the veins did bound? And now, when the yellowhastens on the green of life; now, for the first time, this emotion--thisweakness--and for whom? One I have lived with--known--beneath whose eyesI have passed through all the fine gradations, from liking to love, fromlove to passion? No;--one, whom I have seen but little; who, it is true, arrested my eye at the first glance it caught of her two years since, butwith whom till within the last few weeks I have scarcely spoken! Hervoice rings on my ear, her look dwells on my heart; when I sleep, she iswith me; when I wake, I am haunted by her image. Strange, strange! Islove then, after all, the sudden passion which in every age poetry hastermed it, though till now my reason has disbelieved the notion? . .. Andnow, what is the question? To resist, or to yield. Her father invites me, courts me; and I stand aloof! Will this strength, this forbearance, last?--Shall I encourage my mind to this decision?" Here Aram pausedabruptly, and then renewed: "It is true! I ought to weave my lot withnone. Memory sets me apart and alone in the world; it seems unnatural tome, a thought of dread--to bring another being to my solitude, to set aneverlasting watch on my uprisings and my downsittings; to invite eyes tomy face when I sleep at nights, and ears to every word that may startunbidden from my lips. But if the watch be the watch of love--away! doeslove endure for ever? He who trusts to woman, trusts to the type ofchange. Affection may turn to hatred, fondness to loathing, anxiety todread; and, at the best, woman is weak, she is the minion to herimpulses. Enough, I will steel my soul, --shut up the avenues of sense, --brand with the scathing-iron these yet green and soft emotions oflingering youth, --and freeze and chain and curdle up feeling, and heart, and manhood, into ice and age!"

 CHAPTER VII. 

 THE POWER OF LOVE OVER THE RESOLUTION OF THE STUDENT. --ARAM BECOMES A FREQUENT GUEST AT THE MANOR-HOUSE. --A WALK. -- CONVERSATION WITH DAME DARKMANS. --HER HISTORY. --POVERTY AND ITS EFFECTS. 

 MAD. "Then, as Time won thee frequent to our hearth, Didst thou not breathe, like dreams, into my soul

 Nature's more gentle secrets, the sweet lore

 Of the green herb and the bee-worshipp'd flower?

 And when deep Night did o'er the nether Earth

 Diffuse meek quiet, and the Heart of Heaven

 With love grew breathless--didst thou not unrol

 The volume of the weird chaldean stars, And of the winds, the clouds, the invisible air, Make eloquent discourse, until, methought, No human lip, but some diviner spirit

 Alone, could preach such truths of things divine?

 And so--and so--"

 ARAM. "From Heaven we turned to Earth, And Wisdom fathered Passion. "

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

 ARAM. "Wise men have praised the Peasant's thoughtless lot, And learned Pride hath envied humble Toil;

 If they were right, why let us burn our books, And sit us down, and play the fool with Time, Mocking the prophet Wisdom's high decrees, And walling this trite Present with dark clouds, 'Till Night becomes our Nature; and the ray

 Ev'n of the stars, but meteors that withdraw

 The wandering spirit from the sluggish rest

 Which makes its proper bliss. I will accost

 This denizen of toil. "

 --From Eugene Aram, a MS. Tragedy. 

 "A wicked hag, and envy's self excelling

 In mischiefe, for herself she only vext, But this same, both herself and others eke perplext. "

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

 "Who then can strive with strong necessity, That holds the world in his still changing state, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

 Then do no further go, no further stray, But here lie down, and to thy rest betake. "

 --Spenser. 

Few men perhaps could boast of so masculine and firm a mind, as, despitehis eccentricities, Aram assuredly possessed. His habits of solitude hadstrengthened its natural hardihood; for, accustomed to make all thesources of happiness flow solely from himself, his thoughts the onlycompanion--his genius the only vivifier--of his retreat; the tone andfaculty of his spirit could not but assume that austere and vigorousenergy which the habit of self-dependence almost invariably produces; andyet, the reader, if he be young, will scarcely feel surprise that theresolution of the Student, to battle against incipient love, fromwhatever reasons it might be formed, gradually and reluctantly meltedaway. It may be noted, that the enthusiasts of learning and reverie have, at one time or another in their lives, been, of all the tribes of men, the most keenly susceptible to love; their solitude feeds their passion;and deprived, as they usually are, of the more hurried and vehementoccupations of life, when love is once admitted to their hearts, there isno counter-check to its emotions, and no escape from its excitation. Aram, too, had just arrived at that age when a man usually feels a sortof revulsion in the current of his desires. At that age, those who havehitherto pursued love, begin to grow alive to ambition; those who havebeen slaves to the pleasures of life, awaken from the dream, and directtheir desire to its interests. And in the same proportion, they who tillthen have wasted the prodigal fervours of youth upon a sterile soil; whohave served Ambition, or, like Aram, devoted their hearts to Wisdom;relax from their ardour, look back on the departed years with regret, andcommence, in their manhood, the fiery pleasures and delirious follieswhich are only pardonable in youth. In short, as in every human pursuitthere is a certain vanity, and as every acquisition contains withinitself the seed of disappointment, so there is a period of life when wepause from the pursuit, and are discontented with the acquisition. Wethen look around us for something new--again follow--and are againdeceived. Few men throughout life are the servants to one desire. When wegain the middle of the bridge of our mortality, different objects fromthose which attracted us upward almost invariably lure us to the descent. Happy they who exhaust in the former part of the journey all the foiblesof existence! But how different is the crude and evanescent love of thatage when thought has not given intensity and power to the passions, fromthe love which is felt, for the first time, in maturer but still youthfulyears! As the flame burns the brighter in proportion to the resistancewhich it conquers, this later love is the more glowing in proportion tothe length of time in which it has overcome temptation: all the solidand, concentred faculties ripened to their full height, are no longercapable of the infinite distractions, the numberless caprices of youth;the rays of the heart, not rendered weak by diversion, collect into oneburning focus; 

 [Love is of the nature of a burning glass, which kept still in one place, fireth; changed often it doth nothing!" --Letters by Sir John Suckling. ]

the same earnestness and unity of purpose which render what weundertake in manhood so far more successful than what we would effect inyouth, are equally visible and equally triumphant, whether directed tointerest or to love. But then, as in Aram, the feelings must be fresh aswell as matured; they must not have been frittered away by previousindulgence; the love must be the first produce of the soil, not thelanguid after-growth. 

The reader will remark, that the first time in which our narrative hasbrought Madeline and Aram together, was not the first time they had met;Aram had long noted with admiration a beauty which he had never seenparalleled, and certain vague and unsettled feelings had preluded thedeeper emotion that her image now excited within him. But the main causeof his present and growing attachment, had been in the evident sentimentof kindness which he could not but feel Madeline bore towards him. Soretiring a nature as his, might never have harboured love, if the lovebore the character of presumption; but that one so beautiful beyond hisdreams as Madeline Lester, should deign to exercise towards him atenderness, that might suffer him to hope, was a thought, that when hecaught her eye unconsciously fixed upon him, and noted that her voicegrew softer and more tremulous when she addressed him, forced itself uponhis heart, and woke there a strange and irresistible emotion, whichsolitude and the brooding reflection that solitude produces--a reflectionso much more intense in proportion to the paucity of living images itdwells upon--soon ripened into love. Perhaps even, he would not haveresisted the impulse as he now did, had not at this time certain thoughtsconnected with past events, been more forcibly than of late yearsobtruded upon him, and thus in some measure divided his heart. Bydegrees, however, those thoughts receded from their vividness, into thehabitual deep, but not oblivious, shade beneath which his commanding mindhad formerly driven them to repose; and as they thus receded, Madeline'simage grew more undisturbedly present, and his resolution to avoid itspower more fluctuating and feeble. Fate seemed bent upon bringingtogether these two persons, already so attracted towards each other. After the conversation recorded in our last chapter, between Walter andthe Student, the former, touched and softened as we have seen, in spiteof himself, had cheerfully forborne (what before he had done reluctantly)the expressions of dislike which he had once lavished so profusely uponAram; and Lester, who, forward as he had seemed, had nevertheless beenhitherto a little checked in his advances to his neighbour by thehostility of his son, now felt no scruple to deter him from urging themwith a pertinacity that almost forbade refusal. It was Aram's constanthabit, in all seasons, to wander abroad at certain times of the day, especially towards the evening; and if Lester failed to win entrance tohis house, he was thus enabled to meet the Student in his frequentrambles, and with a seeming freedom from design. Actuated by his greatbenevolence of character, Lester earnestly desired to win his solitaryand unfriended neighbour from a mood and habit which he naturallyimagined must engender a growing melancholy of mind; and since Walter haddetailed to him the particulars of his meeting with Aram, this desire hadbeen considerably increased. There is not perhaps a stronger feeling inthe world than pity, when united with admiration. When one man isresolved to know another, it is almost impossible to prevent him: we seedaily the most remarkable instances of perseverance on one sideconquering distaste on the other. By degrees, then, Aram relaxed from hisinsociability; he seemed to surrender himself to a kindness, thesincerity of which he was compelled to acknowledge; if he for a long timerefused to accept the hospitality of his neighbour, he did not reject hissociety when they met, and this intercourse by little and littleprogressed, until ultimately the recluse yielded to solicitation, andbecame the guest as well as companion. This, at first accident, grew, though not without many interruptions, into habit; and at length fewevenings were passed by the inmates of the Manor-house without thesociety of the Student. As his reserve wore off, his conversation mingledwith its attractions a tender and affectionate tone. He seemed gratefulfor the pains which had been taken to allure him to a scene in which, atlast, he acknowledged he found a happiness that he never experiencedbefore: and those who had hitherto admired him for his genius, admiredhim now yet more for his susceptibility to the affections. 

There was not in Aram any thing that savoured of the harshness ofpedantry, or the petty vanities of dogmatism: his voice was soft and low, and his manner always remarkable for its singular gentleness, and acertain dignified humility. His language did indeed, at times, assume atone of calm and patriarchal command; but it was only the command arisingfrom an intimate persuasion of the truth of what he uttered. Moralizingupon our nature, or mourning over the delusions of the world, a grave andsolemn strain breathed throughout his lofty words and the profoundmelancholy of his wisdom; but it touched, not offended--elevated, nothumbled--the lesser intellect of his listeners; and even this air ofunconscious superiority vanished when he was invited to teach or explain. That task which so few do gracefully, that an accurate and shrewd thinkerhas said: "It is always safe to learn, even from our enemies; seldom safeto instruct even our friends, " [Note: Lacon. ] Aram performed with ameekness and simplicity that charmed the vanity, even while it correctedthe ignorance, of the applicant; and so various and minute was theinformation of this accomplished man, that there scarcely existed anybranch even of that knowledge usually called practical, to which he couldnot impart from his stores something valuable and new. The agriculturistwas astonished at the success of his suggestions; and the mechanic wasindebted to him for the device which abridged his labour in improving itsresult. 

It happened that the study of botany was not, at that day, so favouriteand common a diversion with young ladies as it is now, and Ellinor, captivated by the notion of a science that gave a life and a history tothe loveliest of earth's offspring, besought Aram to teach her itsprinciples. 

As Madeline, though she did not second the request, could scarcely absentherself from sharing the lesson, this pursuit brought the pair--alreadylovers--closer and closer together. It associated them not only at home, but in their rambles throughout that enchanting country; and there is amysterious influence in Nature, which renders us, in her loveliestscenes, the most susceptible to love! Then, too, how often in theiroccupation their hands and eyes met:--how often, by the shady wood or thesoft water-side, they found themselves alone. In all times, how dangerousthe connexion, when of different sexes, between the scholar and theteacher! Under how many pretences, in that connexion, the heart finds theopportunity to speak out. 

Yet it was not with ease and complacency that Aram delivered himself tothe intoxication of his deepening attachment. Sometimes he was studiouslycold, or evidently wrestling with the powerful passion that mastered hisreason. It was not without many throes, and desperate resistance, thatlove at length overwhelmed and subdued him; and these alternations of hismood, if they sometimes offended Madeline and sometimes wounded, stillrather increased than lessened the spell which bound her to him. Thedoubt and the fear--the caprice and the change, which agitate thesurface, swell also the tides, of passion. Woman, too, whose love is somuch the creature of her imagination, always asks something of mysteryand conjecture in the object of her affection. It is a luxury to her toperplex herself with a thousand apprehensions; and the more restlesslyher lover occupies her mind, the more deeply he enthrals it. 

Mingling with her pure and tender attachment to Aram, a high andunswerving veneration, she saw in his fitfulness, and occasionalabstraction and contradiction of manner, a confirmation of the modestsentiment that most weighed upon her fears; and imagined that at thosetimes he thought her, as she deemed herself, unworthy of his love. Andthis was the only struggle which she conceived to pass between theaffection he evidently bore her, and the feelings which had as yetrestrained him from its open avowal. 

One evening, Lester and the two sisters were walking with the Studentalong the valley that led to the house of the latter, when they saw anold woman engaged in collecting firewood among the bushes, and a littlegirl holding out her apron to receive the sticks with which the crone'sskinny arms unsparingly filled it. The child trembled, and seemed half-crying; while the old woman, in a harsh, grating croak, was mutteringforth mingled objurgation and complaint. 

There was something in the appearance of the latter at once impressiveand displeasing; a dark, withered, furrowed skin was drawn like parchmentover harsh and aquiline features; the eyes, through the rheum of age, glittered forth black and malignant; and even her stooping posture didnot conceal a height greatly above the common stature, though gaunt andshrivelled with years and poverty. It was a form and face that might haverecalled at once the celebrated description of Otway, on a part of whichwe have already unconsciously encroached, and the remaining part of whichwe shall wholly borrow. 

"--On her crooked shoulders had she wrapped The tattered remnants of anold stript hanging, That served to keep her carcase from the cold, Sothere was nothing of a piece about her. Her lower weeds were all o'ercoarsely patched With different coloured rags, black, red, white, yellow, And seemed to speak variety of wretchedness. "

"See, " said Lester, "one of the eyesores of our village, (I might say)the only discontented person. "

"What! Dame Darkmans!" said Ellinor, quickly. "Ah! let us turn back. Ihate to encounter that old woman; there is something so evil and savagein her manner of talk--and look, how she rates that poor girl, whom shehas dragged or decoyed to assist her!"

Aram looked curiously on the old hag. "Poverty, " said he, "makes somehumble, but more malignant; is it not want that grafts the devil on thispoor woman's nature? Come, let us accost her--I like conferring withdistress. "

"It is hard labour this?" said the Student gently. 

The old woman looked up askant--the music of the voice that addressed hersounded harsh on her ear. 

"Ay, ay!" she answered. "You fine gentlefolks can know what the poorsuffer; ye talk and ye talk, but ye never assist. "

"Say not so, Dame, " said Lester; "did I not send you but yesterday breadand money? and when do you ever look up at the Hall without obtainingrelief?"

"But the bread was as dry as a stick, " growled the hag: "and the money, what was it? will it last a week? Oh, yes! Ye think as much of your doitsand mites, as if ye stripped yourselves of a comfort to give it to us. Did ye have a dish less--a 'tato less, the day ye sent me--your charity I'spose ye calls it? Och! fie! But the Bible's the poor cretur's comfort. "

"I am glad to hear you say that, Dame, " said the good-natured Lester;"and I forgive every thing else you have said, on account of that onesentence. "

The old woman dropped the sticks she had just gathered, and glowered atthe speaker's benevolent countenance with a malicious meaning in her darkeyes. 

"An' ye do? Well, I'm glad I please ye there. Och! yes! the Bible's amighty comfort; for it says as much that the rich man shall not inter thekingdom of Heaven! There's a truth for you, that makes the poor folk'sheart chirp like a cricket--ho! ho! I sits by the imbers of a night, andI thinks and thinks as how I shall see you all burning; and ye'll ask mefor a drop o' water, and I shall laugh thin from my pleasant seat withthe angels. Och--it's a book for the poor that!"

The sisters shuddered. "And you think then that with envy, malice, andall uncharitableness at your heart, you are certain of Heaven? For shame!Pluck the mote from your own eye!"

"What sinnifies praching? Did not the Blessed Saviour come for the poor?Them as has rags and dry bread here will be ixalted in the nixt world;an' if we poor folk have malice as ye calls it, whose fault's that? Whatdo ye tache us? Eh?--answer me that. Ye keeps all the larning an' all theother fine things to yoursel', and then ye scould, and thritten, and hangus, 'cause we are not as wise as you. Och! there is no jistice in theLamb, if Heaven is not made for us; and the iverlasting Hell, with itsbrimstone and fire, and its gnawing an' gnashing of teeth, an' itstheirst, an' its torture, and its worm that niver dies, for the like o'you. "

"Come! come away, " said Ellinor, pulling her father's arm. 

"And if, " said Aram, pausing, "if I were to say to you, --name your wantand it shall be fulfilled, would you have no charity for me also?"

"Umph, " returned the hag, "ye are the great scolard; and they say yeknows what no one else do. Till me now, " and she approached, andfamiliarly, laid her bony finger on the student's arm; "till me, --have yeiver, among other fine things, known poverty?"

"I have, woman!" said Aram, sternly. 

"Och ye have thin! And did ye not sit and gloat, and eat up your ounheart, an' curse the sun that looked so gay, an' the winged things thatplayed so blithe-like, an' scowl at the rich folk that niver wasted athought on ye? till me now, your honour, till me!"

And the crone curtesied with a mock air of beseeching humility. 

"I never forgot, even in want, the love due to my fellow-sufferers; for, woman, we all suffer, --the rich and the poor: there are worse pangs thanthose of want!"

"Ye think there be, do ye? that's a comfort, umph! Well, I'll till yenow, I feel a rispict for you, that I don't for the rest on 'em; for yourface does not insult me with being cheary like their's yonder; an' I havenoted ye walk in the dusk with your eyes down and your arms crossed; an'I have said, --that man I do not hate, somehow, for he has something darkat his heart like me!"

"The lot of earth is woe, " answered Aram calmly, yet shrinking back fromthe crone's touch; "judge we charitably, and act we kindly to each other. There--this money is not much, but it will light your hearth and heapyour table without toil, for some days at least!"

"Thank your honour: an' what think you I'll do with the money?"

"What?"

"Drink, drink, drink!" cried the hag fiercely; "there's nothing likedrink for the poor, for thin we fancy oursels what we wish, and, " sinkingher voice into a whisper, "I thinks thin that I have my foot on thebillies of the rich folks, and my hands twisted about their intrails, andI hear them shriek, and--thin I'm happy!"

"Go home!" said Aram, turning away, "and open the Book of life with otherthoughts. "

The little party proceeded, and, looking back, Lester saw the old womangaze after them, till a turn in the winding valley hid her from hissight. 

"That is a strange person, Aram; scarcely a favourable specimen of thehappy English peasant;" said Lester, smiling. 

"Yet they say, " added Madeline, "that she was not always the sameperverse and hateful creature she is now. "

"Ay, " said Aram, "and what then is her history?"

"Why, " replied Madeline, slightly blushing to find herself made thenarrator of a story, "some forty years ago this woman, so gaunt andhideous now, was the beauty of the village. She married an Irish soldierwhose regiment passed through Grassdale, and was heard of no more tillabout ten years back, when she returned to her native place, thediscontented, envious, altered being you now see her. "

"She is not reserved in regard to her past life, said Lester. "She is toohappy to seize the attention of any one to whom she can pour forth herdark and angry confidence. She saw her husband, who was afterwardsdismissed the service, a strong, powerful man, a giant of his tribe, pineand waste, inch by inch, from mere physical want, and at last literallydie from hunger. It happened that they had settled in the country inwhich her husband was born, and in that county, those frequent famineswhich are the scourge of Ireland were for two years especially severe. You may note, that the old woman has a strong vein of coarse eloquence ather command, perhaps acquired in (for it partakes of the naturalcharacter of) the country in which she lived so long; and it wouldliterally thrill you with horror to hear her descriptions of the miseryand destitution that she witnessed, and amidst which her husband breathedhis last. Out of four children, not one survives. One, an infant, diedwithin a week of the father; two sons were executed, one at the age ofsixteen, one a year older, for robbery committed under aggravatedcircumstances; and the fourth, a daughter, died in the hospitals ofLondon. The old woman became a wanderer and a vagrant, and was at lengthpassed to her native parish, where she has since dwelt. These are themisfortunes which have turned her blood to gall; and these are the causeswhich fill her with so bitter a hatred against those whom wealth haspreserved from sharing or witnessing a fate similar to hers. "

"Oh!" said Aram, in a low, but deep tone, "when--when will these hideousdisparities be banished from the world? How many noble natures--how manyglorious hopes--how much of the seraph's intellect, have been crushedinto the mire, or blasted into guilt, by the mere force of physical want?What are the temptations of the rich to those of the poor? Yet see howlenient we are to the crimes of the one, --how relentless to those of theother! It is a bad world; it makes a man's heart sick to look around him. The consciousness of how little individual genius can do to relieve themass, grinds out, as with a stone, all that is generous in ambition; andto aspire from the level of life is but to be more graspingly selfish. "

"Can legislators, or the moralists that instruct legislators, do solittle, then, towards universal good?" said Lester, doubtingly. 

"Why? what can they do but forward civilization? And what iscivilization, but an increase of human disparities? The more the luxuryof the few, the more startling the wants, and the more galling the sense, of poverty. Even the dreams of the philanthropist only tend towardsequality; and where is equality to be found, but in the state of thesavage? No; I thought otherwise once; but I now regard the vast lazar-house around us without hope of relief:--Death is the sole Physician!"

"Ah, no!" said the high-souled Madeline, eagerly; "do not take away fromus the best feeling and the highest desire we can cherish. How poor, evenin this beautiful world, with the warm sun and fresh air about us, thatalone are sufficient to make us glad, would be life, if we could not makethe happiness of others!"

Aram looked at the beautiful speaker with a soft and half-mournful smile. There is one very peculiar pleasure that we feel as we grow older, --itis to see embodied in another and a more lovely shape the thoughts andsentiments we once nursed ourselves; it is as if we viewed before us theincarnation of our own youth; and it is no wonder that we are warmedtowards the object, that thus seems the living apparition of all that wasbrightest in ourselves! It was with this sentiment that Aram now gazed onMadeline. She felt the gaze, and her heart beat delightedly, but she sunkat once into a silence, which she did not break during the rest of theirwalk. 

"I do not say, " said Aram, after a pause, "that we are not able to makethe happiness of those immediately around us. I speak only of what we caneffect for the mass. And it is a deadening thought to mental ambition, that the circle of happiness we can create is formed more by our moralthan our mental qualities. A warm heart, though accompanied but by amediocre understanding, is even more likely to promote the happiness ofthose around, than are the absorbed and abstract, though kindly powers ofa more elevated genius; but (observing Lester about to interrupt him), let us turn from this topic, --let us turn from man's weakness to theglories of the mother-nature, from which he sprung. "

And kindling, as he ever did, the moment he approached a subject so dearto his studies, Aram now spoke of the stars, which began to sparkleforth, --of the vast, illimitable career which recent science had openedto the imagination, --and of the old, bewildering, yet eloquent theories, which from age to age had at once misled and elevated the conjecture ofpast sages. All this was a theme which his listeners loved to listen to, and Madeline not the least. Youth, beauty, pomp, what are these, in pointof attraction, to a woman's heart, when compared to eloquence?--the magicof the tongue is the most dangerous of all spells!

 CHAPTER VIII. 

 THE PRIVILEGE OF GENIUS. --LESTER'S SATISFACTION AT THE ASPECT OF EVENTS. --HIS CONVERSATION WITH WALTER. --A DISCOVERY. 

 "Alc. --I am for Lidian: This accident no doubt will draw him from his hermit's life!

 "Lis. --Spare my grief, and apprehend What I should speak. " --Beaumont and Fletcher. --The Lovers' Progress. 

In the course of the various conversations our family of Grassdaleenjoyed with their singular neighbour, it appeared that his knowledge hadnot been confined to the closet; at times, he dropped remarks whichshewed that he had been much among cities, and travelled with the design, or at least with the vigilance, of the observer; but he did not love tobe drawn into any detailed accounts of what he had seen, or whither hehad been; an habitual though a gentle reserve, kept watch over the past--not indeed that character of reserve which excites the doubt, but whichinspires the interest. His most gloomy moods were rather abrupt andfitful than morose, and his usual bearing was calm, soft, and eventender. 

There is a certain charm about great superiority of intellect, that windsinto deep affections which a much more constant and even amiability ofmanners in lesser men, often fails to reach. Genius makes many enemies, but it makes sure friends--friends who forgive much, who endure long, whoexact little; they partake of the character of disciples as well asfriends. There lingers about the human heart a strong inclination to lookupward--to revere: in this inclination lies the source of religion, ofloyalty, and also of the worship and immortality which are rendered socheerfully to the great of old. And in truth, it is a divine pleasure toadmire! admiration seems in some measure to appropriate to ourselves thequalities it honours in others. We wed, --we root ourselves to the natureswe so love to contemplate, and their life grows a part of our own. Thus, when a great man, who has engrossed our thoughts, our conjectures, ourhomage, dies, a gap seems suddenly left in the world; a wheel in themechanism of our own being appears abruptly stilled; a portion ofourselves, and not our worst portion, for how many pure, high, generoussentiments it contains, dies with him! Yes! it is this love, so rare, soexalted, and so denied to all ordinary men, which is the especialprivilege of greatness, whether that greatness be shewn in wisdom, inenterprise, in virtue, or even, till the world learns better, in the moredaring and lofty order of crime. A Socrates may claim it to-day--aNapoleon to-morrow; nay, a brigand chief, illustrious in the circle inwhich he lives, may call it forth no less powerfully than the generousfailings of a Byron, or the sublime excellence of the greater Milton. 

Lester saw with evident complacency the passion growing up between hisfriend and his daughter; he looked upon it as a tie that wouldpermanently reconcile Aram to the hearth of social and domestic life; atie that would constitute the happiness of his daughter, and secure tohimself a relation in the man he felt most inclined, of all he knew, tohonour and esteem. He remarked in the gentleness and calm temper of Arammuch that was calculated to ensure domestic peace, and knowing thepeculiar disposition of Madeline, he felt that she was exactly theperson, not only to bear with the peculiarities of the Student, but tovenerate their source. In short, the more he contemplated the idea ofthis alliance, the more he was charmed with its probability. 

Musing on this subject, the good Squire was one day walking in hisgarden, when he perceived his nephew at some distance, and remarked thatWalter, on seeing him, was about, instead of coming forward to meet him, to turn down an alley in an opposite direction. 

A little pained at this, and remembering that Walter had of late seemedestranged from himself, and greatly altered from the high and cheerfulspirits natural to his temper, Lester called to his nephew; and Walter, reluctantly and slowly changing his purpose of avoidance, advanced andmet him. 

"Why, Walter!" said the uncle, taking his arm; "this is somewhat unkind, to shun me; are you engaged in any pursuit that requires secrecy orhaste?"

"No, indeed, Sir!" said Walter, with some embarrassment; "but I thoughtyou seemed wrapped in reflection, and would naturally dislike beingdisturbed. "

"Hem! as to that, I have no reflections I wish concealed from you, Walter, or which might not be benefited by your advice. " The youthpressed his uncle's hand, but made no reply; and Lester, after a pause, continued:--

"You seem, Walter, I am most delighted to think, entirely to haveovercome the little unfavourable prepossession which at first youtestified towards our excellent neighbour. And for my part, I think heappears to be especially attracted towards yourself, he seeks yourcompany; and to me he always speaks of you in terms, which, coming fromsuch a quarter, give me the most lively gratification. "

Walter bowed his head, but not in the delighted vanity with which a youngman generally receives the assurance of another's praise. 

"I own, " renewed Lester, "that I consider our friendship with Aram one ofthe most fortunate occurrences in my life; at least, " added he with asigh, "of late years. I doubt not but you must have observed thepartiality with which our dear Madeline evidently regards him; and yetmore, the attachment to her, which breaks forth from Aram, in spite ofhis habitual reserve and self-control. You have surely noted this, Walter?"

"I have, " said Walter, in a low tone, and turning away his head. 

"And doubtless you share my satisfaction. It happens fortunately now, that Madeline early contracted that studious and thoughtful turn, which Imust own at one time gave me some uneasiness and vexation. It has taughther to appreciate the value of a mind like Aram's. Formerly, my dear boy, I hoped that at one time or another, she and yourself might form a dearerconnection than that of cousins. But I was disappointed, and I am nowconsoled. And indeed I think there is that in Ellinor which might be yetmore calculated to render you happy; that is, if the bias of your mindshould ever lean that way. "

"You are very good, " said Walter, bitterly. "I own I am not flattered byyour selection; nor do I see why the plainest and least brilliant of thetwo sisters must necessarily be the fittest for me. "

"Nay, " replied Lester, piqued, and justly angry, "I do not think, even ifMadeline have the advantage of her sister, that you can find any faultwith the personal or mental attractions of Ellinor. But indeed this isnot a matter in which relations should interfere. I am far from any wishto prevent you from choosing throughout the world any one whom you mayprefer. All I hope is, that your future wife will be like Ellinor inkindness of heart and sweetness of temper. "

"From choosing throughout the world!" repeated Walter; "and how in thisnook am I to see the world?"

"Walter! your voice is reproachful!--do I deserve it?"

Walter was silent. 

"I have of late observed, " continued Lester, "and with wounded feelings, that you do not give me the same confidence, or meet me with the sameaffection, that you once delighted me by manifesting towards me. I knowof no cause for this change. Do not let us, my son, for I may so callyou--do not let us, as we grow older, grow also more apart. Time divideswith a sufficient demarcation the young from the old; why deepen thenecessary line? You know well, that I have never from your childhoodinsisted heavily on a guardian's authority. I have always loved tocontribute to your enjoyments, and shewn you how devoted I am to yourinterests, by the very frankness with which I have consulted you on myown. If there be now on your mind any secret grievance, or any secretwish, speak it, Walter:--you are alone with the friend on earth who lovesyou best!"

Walter was wholly overcome by this address: he pressed his good uncle'shand to his lips, and it was some moments before he mustered self-composure sufficient to reply. 

"You have ever, ever been to me all that the kindest parent, thetenderest friend could have been:--believe me, I am not ungrateful. If oflate I have been altered, the cause is not in you. Let me speak freely:you encourage me to do so. I am young, my temper is restless; I have alove of enterprise and adventure: is it not natural that I should long tosee the world? This is the cause of my late abstraction of mind. I havenow told you all: it is for you to decide. "

Lester looked wistfully on his nephew's countenance before he replied--

"It is as I gathered, " said he, "from various remarks which you havelately let fall. I cannot blame your wish to leave us; it is certainlynatural: nor can I oppose it. Go, Walter, when you will!"

The young man turned round with a lighted eye and flushed cheek. 

"And why, Walter?" said Lester, interrupting his thanks, "why thissurprise? why this long doubt of my affection? Could you believe I shouldrefuse a wish that, at your age, I should have expressed myself? You havewronged me; you might have saved a world of pain to us both byacquainting me with your desire when it was first formed; but, enough. Isee Madeline and Aram approach, --let us join them now, and to-morrow wewill arrange the time and method of your departure. 

"Forgive me, Sir, " said Walter, stopping abruptly as the glow faded fromhis cheek, "I have not yet recovered myself; I am not fit for othersociety than yours. Excuse my joining my cousin, and--"

"Walter!" said Lester, also stopping short and looking full on hisnephew, "a painful thought flashes upon me! Would to heaven I may bewrong!--Have you ever felt for Madeline more tenderly than for hersister?"

Walter literally trembled as he stood. The tears rushed into Lester'seyes:--he grasped his nephew's hand warmly--

"God comfort thee, my poor boy!" said he, with great emotion; "I neverdreamt of this. "

Walter felt now that he was understood. He gratefully returned thepressure of his uncle's hand, and then, withdrawing his own, darted downone of the intersecting walks, and was almost instantly out of sight. 

 CHAPTER IX. 

 THE STATE OF WALTER'S MIND. --AN ANGLER AND A MAN OF THE WORLD. --A COMPANION FOUND FOR WALTER. 

 "This great disease for love I dre, There is no tongue can tell the wo; I love the love that loves not me, I may not mend, but mourning mo. " --The Mourning Maiden. 

 "I in these flowery meads would be, These crystal streams should solace me, To whose harmonious bubbling voice

 I with my angle would rejoice. " --Izaac Walton. 

When Walter left his uncle, he hurried, scarcely conscious of his steps, towards his favourite haunt by the water-side. From a child, he hadsingled out that scene as the witness of his early sorrows or boyishschemes; and still, the solitude of the place cherished the habit of hisboyhood. 

Long had he, unknown to himself, nourished an attachment to his beautifulcousin; nor did he awaken to the secret of his heart, until, with anagonizing jealousy, he penetrated the secret at her own. The reader has, doubtless, already perceived that it was this jealousy which at the firstoccasioned Walter's dislike to Aram: the consolation of that dislike wasforbid him now. The gentleness and forbearance of the Student'sdeportment had taken away all ground of offence; and Walter hadsufficient generosity to acknowledge his merits, while tortured by theireffect. Silently, till this day, he had gnawed his heart, and found forits despair no confidant and no comfort. The only wish that he cherishedwas a feverish and gloomy desire to leave the scene which witnessed thetriumph of his rival. Every thing around had become hateful to his eyes, and a curse had lighted upon the face of Home. He thought now, with abitter satisfaction, that his escape was at hand: in a few days he mightbe rid of the gall and the pang, which every moment of his stay atGrassdale inflicted upon him. The sweet voice of Madeline he should hearno more, subduing its silver sound for his rival's ear:--no more heshould watch apart, and himself unheeded, how timidly her glance roved insearch of another, or how vividly her cheek flushed when the step of thathappier one approached. Many miles would at least shut out this picturefrom his view; and in absence, was it not possible that he might teachhimself to forget? Thus meditating, he arrived at the banks of the littlebrooklet, and was awakened from his reverie by the sound of his own name. He started, and saw the old Corporal seated on the stump of a tree, andbusily employed in fixing to his line the mimic likeness of what anglers, and, for aught we know, the rest of the world, call the "violet fly. "

"Ha! master, --at my day's work, you see:--fit for nothing else now. Whena musquet's halfworn out, schoolboys buy it--pop it at sparrows. I belike the musket: but never mind--have not seen the world for nothing. Weget reconciled to all things: that's my way--augh! Now, Sir, you shallwatch me catch the finest trout you have seen this summer: know where helies--under the bush yonder. Whi--sh! Sir, whi--sh!"

The Corporal now gave his warrior soul up to the due guidance of theviolet-fly: now he shipped it lightly on the wave; now he slid itcoquettishly along the surface; now it floated, like an unconsciousbeauty, carelessly with the tide; and now, like an artful prude, itaffected to loiter by the way, or to steal into designing obscurity underthe shade of some overhanging bank. But none of these manoeuvrescaptivated the wary old trout on whose acquisition the Corporal had sethis heart; and what was especially provoking, the angler could seedistinctly the dark outline of the intended victim, as it lay at thebottom, --like some well-regulated bachelor who eyes from afar the charmshe has discreetly resolved to neglect. 

The Corporal waited till he could no longer blind himself to thedispleasing fact, that the violet-fly was wholly inefficacious; he thendrew up his line, and replaced the contemned beauty of the violet-fly, with the novel attractions of the yellow-dun. 

"Now, Sir!" whispered he, lifting up his finger, and nodding sagaciouslyto Walter. Softly dropped the yellow-dun upon the water, and swiftly didit glide before the gaze of the latent trout; and now the trout seemedaroused from his apathy, behold he moved forward, balancing himself onhis fins; now he slowly ascended towards the surface; you might see allthe speckles of his coat;--the Corporal's heart stood still--he is now ata convenient distance from the yellow-dun; lo, he surveys it steadfastly;he ponders, he see-saws himself to and fro. The yellow-dun sails away inaffected indifference, that indifference whets the appetite of thehesitating gazer, he darts forward; he is opposite the yellow-dun, --hepushes his nose against it with an eager rudeness, --he--no, he does notbite, he recoils, he gazes again with surprise and suspicion on thelittle charmer; he fades back slowly into the deeper water, and thensuddenly turning his tail towards the disappointed bait, he makes off asfast as he can, --yonder, --yonder, and disappears! No, that's he leapingyonder from the wave; Jupiter! what a noble fellow! What leaps he at?--areal fly--"Damn his eyes!" growled the Corporal. 

"You might have caught him with a minnow, " said Walter, speaking for thefirst time. 

"Minnow!" repeated the Corporal gruffly, "ask your honour's pardon. Minnow!--I have fished with the yellow-dun these twenty years, and neverknew it fail before. Minnow!--baugh! But ask pardon; your honour is verywelcome to fish with a minnow if you please it. "

"Thank you, Bunting. And pray what sport have you had to-day?"

"Oh, --good, good, " quoth the Corporal, snatching up his basket andclosing the cover, lest the young Squire should pry into it. No man ismore tenacious of his secrets than your true angler. "Sent the best hometwo hours ago; one weighed three pounds, on the faith of a man; indeed, I'm satisfied now; time to give up;" and the Corporal began to disjointhis rod. 

"Ah, Sir!" said he, with a half sigh, "a pretty river this, don't mean tosay it is not; but the river Lea for my money. You know the Lea?--not amorning's walk from Lunnun. Mary Gibson, my first sweetheart, lived bythe bridge, --caught such a trout there by the by!--had beautiful eyes--black, round as a cherry--five feet eight without shoes--might havelisted in the forty-second. "

"Who, Bunting!" said Walter smiling, "the lady or the trout?"

"Augh!--baugh!--what? Oh, laughing at me, your honour, you're welcome, Sir. Love's a silly thing--know the world now--have not fallen in lovethese ten years. I doubt--no offence, Sir, no offence--I doubt whetheryour honour and Miss Ellinor can say as much. "

"I and Miss Ellinor!--you forge yourself strangely, Bunting, " saidWalter, colouring with anger. 

"Beg pardon, Sir, beg pardon--rough soldier--lived away from the world solong, words slipped out of my mouth--absent without leave. "

"But why, " said Walter, smothering or conquering his vexation, --"whycouple me with Miss Ellinor? Did you imagine that we, --we were in lovewith each other?"

"Indeed, Sir, and if I did, 'tis no more than my neighbours imagine too. "

"Humph! your neighbours are very silly, then, and very wrong. "

"Beg pardon, Sir, again--always getting askew. Indeed some did say it wasMiss Madeline, but I says, --says I, --'No! I'm a man of the world--seethrough a millstone; Miss Madeline's too easy like; Miss Nelly blusheswhen he speaks;'scarlet is love's regimentals--it was ours in the forty-second, edged with yellow--pepper and salt pantaloons! For my part Ithink, --but I've no business to think, howsomever--baugh!"

"Pray what do you think, Mr. Bunting? Why do you hesitate?"

"'Fraid of offence--but I do think that Master Aram--your honourunderstands--howsomever Squire's daughter too great a match for such ashe!"

Walter did not answer; and the garrulous old soldier, who had been theyoung man's playmate and companion since Walter was a boy; and wastherefore accustomed to the familiarity with which he now spoke, continued, mingling with his abrupt prolixity an occasional shrewdness ofobservation, which shewed that he was no inattentive commentator on thelittle and quiet world around him. 

"Free to confess, Squire Walter, that I don't quite like this larned man, as much as the rest of 'em--something queer about him--can't see to thebottom of him--don't think he's quite so meek and lamb-like as he seems:--once saw a calm dead pool in foren parts--peered down into it--by littleand little, my eye got used to it--saw something dark at the bottom--stared and stared--by Jupiter--a great big alligator!--walked offimmediately--never liked quiet pools since--augh, no!"

"An argument against quiet pools, perhaps, Bunting; but scarcely againstquiet people. "

"Don't know as to that, your honour--much of a muchness. I have seenMaster Aram, demure as he looks, start, and bite his lip, and changecolour, and frown--he has an ugly frown, I can tell ye--when he thoughtno one nigh. A man who gets in a passion with himself may be soon out oftemper with others. Free to confess, I should not like to see him marriedto that stately beautiful young lady--but they do gossip about it in thevillage. If it is not true, better put the Squire on his guard--falserumours often beget truths--beg pardon, your honour--no business of mine--baugh! But I'm a lone man, who have seen the world, and I thinks on thethings around me, and I turns over the quid--now on this side, now on theother--'tis my way, Sir--and--but I offend your honour. "

"Not at all; I know you are an honest man, Bunting, and well affected toour family; at the same time it is neither prudent nor charitable tospeak harshly of our neighbours without sufficient cause. And really youseem to me to be a little hasty in your judgment of a man so inoffensivein his habits and so justly and generally esteemed as Mr. Aram. "

"May be, Sir--may be, --very right what you say. But I thinks what Ithinks all the same; and indeed, it is a thing that puzzles me, how thatstrange-looking vagabond, as frighted the ladies so, and who, Miss Nellytold me, for she saw them in his pocket, carried pistols about him, as ifhe had been among cannibals and hottentots, instead of the peaceablestcounty that man ever set foot in, should boast of his friendship withthis larned schollard, and pass a whole night in his house. Birds of afeather flock together--augh!--Sir!"

"A man cannot surely be answerable for the respectability of all hisacquaintances, even though he feel obliged to offer them theaccommodation of a night's shelter. "

"Baugh!" grunted the Corporal. "Seen the world, Sir--seen the world--young gentlemen are always so good-natured; 'tis a pity, that the moreone sees the more suspicious one grows. One does not have gumption tillone has been properly cheated--one must be made a fool very often inorder not to be fooled at last!"

"Well, Corporal, I shall now have opportunities enough of profiting byexperience. I am going to leave Grassdale in a few days, and learnsuspicion and wisdom in the great world. "

"Augh! baugh!--what?" cried the Corporal, starting from the contemplativeair which he had hitherto assumed. "The great world?--how?--when?--goingaway;--who goes with your honour?"

"My honour's self; I have no companion, unless you like to attend me;"said Walter, jestingly--but the Corporal affected, with his naturalshrewdness, to take the proposition in earnest. 

"I! your honour's too good; and indeed, though I say it, Sir, you mightdo worse; not but what I should be sorry to leave nice snug home here, and this stream, though the trout have been shy lately, --ah! that was amistake of yours, Sir, recommending the minnow; and neighbour Dealtry, though his ale's not so good at 'twas last year; and--and--but, in short, I always loved your honour--dandled you on my knees;--You recollect thebroadsword exercise?--one, two, three--augh! baugh!--and if your honourreally is going, why rather than you should want a proper person whoknows the world, to brush your coat, polish your shoes, give you goodadvice--on the faith of a man, I'll go with you myself!"

This alacrity on the part of the Corporal was far from displeasing toWalter. The proposal he had at first made unthinkingly, he now seriouslythought advisable; and at length it was settled that the Corporal shouldcall the next morning at the manor-house, and receive instructions as tothe time and method of their departure. Not forgetting, as the sagaciousBunting delicately insinuated, "the wee settlements as to wages, andboard wages, more a matter of form, like, than any thing else--augh!"

 CHAPTER X. 

 THE LOVERS. --THE ENCOUNTER AND QUARREL OF THE RIVALS. 

 Two such I saw, what time the laboured ox In his loose traces from the furrow came. --Comus. 

 Pedro. Now do me noble right. Rod. I'll satisfy you; But not by the sword. --Beaumont and Fletcher. --The Pilgrim. 

While Walter and the Corporal enjoyed the above conversation, Madelineand Aram, whom Lester soon left to themselves, were pursuing their walkalong the solitary fields. Their love had passed from the eye to the lip, and now found expression in words. 

"Observe, " said he, as the light touch of one who he felt loved himentirely rested on his arm, --"Observe, as the later summer now begins tobreathe a more various and mellow glory into the landscape, howsingularly pure and lucid the atmosphere becomes. When, two months ago, in the full flush of June, I walked through these fields, a grey mist hidyon distant hills and the far forest from my view. Now, with what atransparent stillness the whole expanse of scenery spreads itself beforeus. And such, Madeline, is the change that has come over myself sincethat time. Then, if I looked beyond the limited present, all was dim andindistinct. Now, the mist had faded away--the broad future extends beforeme, calm and bright with the hope which is borrowed from your love!"

We will not tax the patience of the reader, who seldom enters with keeninterest into the mere dialogue of love, with the blushing Madeline'sreply, or with all the soft vows and tender confessions which the richpoetry of Aram's mind made yet more delicious to the ear of his dreamingand devoted mistress. 

"There is one circumstance, " said Aram, "which casts a momentary shade onthe happiness I enjoy--my Madeline probably guesses its nature. I regretto see that the blessing of your love must be purchased by the misery ofanother, and that other, the nephew of my kind friend. You have doubtlessobserved the melancholy of Walter Lester, and have long since known itsorigin. "

"Indeed, Eugene, " answered Madeline, "it has given me great pain to notewhat you refer to, for it would be a false delicacy in me to deny that Ihave observed it. But Walter is young and high-spirited; nor do I thinkhe is of a nature to love long where there is no return!"

"And what, " said Aram, sorrowfully, --"what deduction from reason can everapply to love? Love is a very contradiction of all the elements of ourordinary nature, --it makes the proud man meek, --the cheerful, sad, --thehigh-spirited, tame; our strongest resolutions, our hardiest energy failbefore it. Believe me, you cannot prophesy of its future effect in a manfrom any knowledge of his past character. I grieve to think that the blowfalls upon one in early youth, ere the world's disappointments haveblunted the heart, or the world's numerous interests have multiplied itsresources. Men's minds have been turned when they have not well siftedthe cause themselves, and their fortunes marred, by one stroke on theaffections of their youth. So at least have I read, Madeline, and somarked in others. For myself, I knew nothing of love in its reality tillI knew you. But who can know you, and not sympathise with him who haslost you?"

"Ah, Eugene! you at least overrate the influence which love produces onmen. A little resentment and a little absence will soon cure my cousin ofan ill-placed and ill-requited attachment. You do not think how easy itis to forget. "

"Forget!" said Aram, stopping abruptly; "Ay, forget--it is a strangetruth! we do forget! the summer passes over the furrow, and the cornsprings up; the sod forgets the flower of the past year; the battle-fieldforgets the blood that has been spilt upon its turf; the sky forgets thestorm; and the water the noon-day sun that slept upon its bosom. AllNature preaches forgetfulness. Its very order is the progress ofoblivion. And I--I--give me your hand, Madeline, --I, ha! ha! I forgettoo!"

As Aram spoke thus wildly, his countenance worked; but his voice wasslow, and scarcely audible; he seemed rather conferring with himself, than addressing Madeline. But when his words ceased, and he felt the softhand of his betrothed, and turning, saw her anxious and wistful eyesfixed in alarm, yet in all unsuspecting confidence, on his face; hisfeatures relaxed into their usual serenity, and kissing the hand heclasped, he continued, in a collected and steady tone, "Forgive me, my sweetest Madeline. These fitful and strange moodssometimes come upon me yet. I have been so long in the habit of pursuingany train of thought, however wild, that presents itself to my mind, thatI cannot easily break it, even in your presence. All studious men--thetwilight Eremites of books and closets, contract this ungraceful customof soliloquy. You know our abstraction is a common jest and proverb: youmust laugh me out of it. But stay, dearest!--there is a rare herb atyour feet, let me gather it. So, do you note its leaves--this bending andsilver flower? Let us rest on this bank, and I will tell you of itsqualities. Beautiful as it is, it has a poison. "

The place in which the lovers rested, is one which the villagers to thisday call "The Lady's-seat;" for Madeline, whose history is fondlypreserved in that district, was afterwards wont constantly to repair tothat bank (during a short absence of her lover, hereafter to be noted), and subsequent events stamped with interest every spot she was known tohave favoured with resort. And when the flower had been duly conned, andthe study dismissed, Aram, to whom all the signs of the seasons werefamiliar, pointed to her the thousand symptoms of the month which areunheeded by less observant eyes; not forgetting, as they thus reclined, their hands clasped together, to couple each remark with some allusion tohis love or some deduction which heightened compliment into poetry. Hebade her mark the light gossamer as it floated on the air; now soaringhigh--high into the translucent atmosphere; now suddenly stooping, andsailing away beneath the boughs, which ever and anon it hung with asilken web, that by the next morn, would glitter with a thousand dewdrops. "And, so, " said he fancifully, "does Love lead forth itsnumberless creations, making the air its path and empire; ascending aloofat its wild will, hanging its meshes on every bough, and bidding thecommon grass break into a fairy lustre at the beam of the daily sun!"

He pointed to her the spot, where, in the silent brake, the harebells, now waxing rare and few, yet lingered--or where the mystic ring on thesoft turf conjured up the associations of Oberon and his train. Thatsuperstition gave licence and play to his full memory and glowing fancy;and Shakspeare--Spenser--Ariosto--the magic of each mighty master ofFairy Realm--he evoked, and poured into her transported ear. It wasprecisely such arts, which to a gayer and more worldly nature thanMadeline's might have seemed but wearisome, that arrested and won herimaginative and high-wrought mind. And thus he, who to another might haveproved but the retired and moody Student, became to her the very being ofwhom her "Maiden meditation" had dreamed--the master and magician of herfate. 

Aram did not return to the house with Madeline; he accompanied her to thegarden gate, and then taking leave of her, bent his way homeward. He hadgained the entrance of the little valley that led to his abode, when hesaw Walter cross his path at a short distance. His heart, naturallysusceptible to kindly emotion, smote him as he remarked the moodylistlessness of the young man's step, and recalled the buoyant lightnessit was once wont habitually to wear. He quickened his pace, and joinedWalter before the latter was aware of his presence. 

"Good evening, " said he, mildly; "if you are going my way, give me thebenefit of your company. "

"My path lies yonder, " replied Walter, somewhat sullenly; "I regret thatit is different from yours. "

"In that case, " said Aram, "I can delay my return home, and will, withyour leave, intrude my society upon you for some few minutes. "

Walter bowed his head in reluctant assent. They walked on for somemoments without speaking, the one unwilling, the other seeking anoccasion, to break the silence. 

"This to my mind, " said Aram at length, "is the most pleasing landscapein the whole country; observe the bashful water stealing away among thewoodlands. Methinks the wave is endowed with an instinctive wisdom, thatit thus shuns the world. "

"Rather, " said Walter, "with the love for change which exists everywherein nature, it does not seek the shade until it has passed by 'toweredcities, 'and 'the busy hum of men. '"

"I admire the shrewdness of your reply, " rejoined Aram; "but note how farmore pure and lovely are its waters in these retreats, than when washingthe walls of the reeking town, receiving into its breast the taint of athousand pollutions, vexed by the sound, and stench, and unholyperturbation of men's dwelling-place. Now it glasses only what is high orbeautiful in nature--the stars or the leafy banks. The wind that rufflesit, is clothed with perfumes; the rivulet that swells it, descends fromthe everlasting mountains, or is formed by the rains of Heaven. Believeme, it is the type of a life that glides into solitude, from theweariness and fretful turmoil of the world. 

'No flattery, hate, or envy lodgeth there, There no suspicion walled inproved steel, Yet fearful of the arms herself doth wear, Pride is notthere; no tyrant there we feel!'" [Phineas Fletcher. ]

"I will not cope with you in simile, or in poetry, " said Walter, as hislip curved; "it is enough for me to think that life should be spent inaction. I hasten to prove if my judgment be erroneous. "

"Are you, then, about to leave us?" inquired Aram. 

"Yes, within a few days. "

"Indeed, I regret to hear it. "

The answer sounded jarringly on the irritated nerves of the disappointedrival. 

"You do me more honour than I desire, " said he, "in interesting yourself, however lightly, in my schemes or fortune!"

"Young man, " replied Aram, coldly, "I never see the impetuous andyearning spirit of youth without a certain, and it may be, a painfulinterest. How feeble is the chance, that its hopes will be fulfilled!Enough, if it lose not all its loftier aspirings, as well as its brighterexpectations. "

Nothing more aroused the proud and fiery temper of Walter Lester than thetone of superior wisdom and superior age, which his rival assumed towardshim. More and more displeased with his present companion, he answered, inno conciliatory tone, "I cannot but consider the warning and the fears ofone, neither my relation nor my friend, in the light of a gratuitousaffront. "

Aram smiled as he answered, "There is no occasion for resentment. Preserve this hot spirit, and highself-confidence, till you return again to these scenes, and I shall be atonce satisfied and corrected. "

"Sir, " said Walter, colouring, and irritated more by the smile than thewords of his rival, "I am not aware by what right or on what ground youassume towards me the superiority, not only of admonition but reproof. Myuncle's preference towards you gives you no authority over me. Thatpreference I do not pretend to share. "--He paused for a moment, thinkingAram might hasten to reply; but as the Student walked on with his usualcalmness of demeanour, he added, stung by the indifference which heattributed, not altogether without truth, to disdain, "And since you havetaken upon yourself to caution me, and to forebode my inability to resistthe contamination, as you would term it, of the world, I tell you, thatit may be happy for you to bear so clear a conscience, so untouched aspirit as that which I now boast, and with which I trust in God and myown soul I shall return to my birth-place. It is not the holy only thatlove solitude; and men may shun the world from another motive than thatof philosophy. "

It was now Aram's turn to feel resentment, and this was indeed aninsinuation not only unwarrantable in itself, but one which a man of sopeaceable and guileless a life, affecting even an extreme and rigidausterity of morals, might well be tempted to repel with scorn andindignation; and Aram, however meek and forbearing in general, testifiedin this instance that his wonted gentleness arose from no lack of man'snatural spirit. He laid his hand commandingly on young Lester's shoulder, and surveyed his countenance with a dark and menacing frown. 

"Boy!" said he, "were there meaning in your words, I should (mark me!)avenge the insult;--as it is, I despise it. Go!"

So high and lofty was Aram's manner--so majestic was the sternness of hisrebuke, and the dignity of his bearing, as he now waving his hand turnedaway, that Walter lost his self-possession and stood fixed to the spot, absorbed, and humbled from his late anger. It was not till Aram had movedwith a slow step several paces backward towards his home, that the boldand haughty temper of the young man returned to his aid. Ashamed ofhimself for the momentary weakness he had betrayed, and burning to redeemit, he hastened after the stately form of his rival, and planting himselffull in his path, said, in a voice half choked with contending emotions, "Hold!--you have given me the opportunity I have long desired; youyourself have now broken that peace which existed between us, and whichto me was more bitter than wormwood. You have dared, --yes, dared to usethreatening language towards me. I call on you to fulfil your threat. Itell you that I meant, I designed, I thirsted to affront you. Now resentmy purposed--premeditated affront as you will and can!"

There was something remarkable in the contrasted figures of the rivals, as they now stood fronting each other. The elastic and vigorous form ofWalter Lester, his sparkling eyes, his sunburnt and glowing cheek, hisclenched hands, and his whole frame, alive and eloquent with the energy, the heat, the hasty courage, and fiery spirit of youth; on the otherhand, --the bending frame of the student, gradually rising into thedignity of its full height--his pale cheek, in which the wan hues neitherdeepened nor waned, his large eye raised to meet Walter's bright, steady, and yet how calm! Nothing weak, nothing irresolute could be traced inthat form--or that lofty countenance; yet all resentment had vanishedfrom his aspect. He seemed at once tranquil and prepared. 

"You designed to affront me!" said he; "it is well--it is a nobleconfession;--and wherefore? What do you propose to gain by it?--a manwhose whole life is peace, you would provoke to outrage? Would there betriumph in this, or disgrace?--A man whom your uncle honours and loves, you would insult without cause--you would waylay--you would, afterwatching and creating your opportunity, entrap into defending himself. Isthis worthy of that high spirit of which you boasted?--is this worthy agenerous anger, or a noble hatred? Away! you malign yourself. I shrinkfrom no quarrel--why should I? I have nothing to fear: my nerves arefirm--my heart is faithful to my will; my habits may have diminished mystrength, but it is yet equal to that of most men. As to the weapons ofthe world--they fall not to my use. I might be excused by the mostpunctilious, for rejecting what becomes neither my station nor my habitsof life; but I learnt this much from books long since, 'hold thyselfprepared for all things:'--I am so prepared. And as I can command thespirit, I lack not the skill, to defend myself, or return the hostilityof another. " As Aram thus said, he drew a pistol from his bosom; andpointed it leisurely towards a tree, at the distance of some paces. 

"Look, " said he, "you note that small discoloured and white stain in thebark--you can but just observe it;--he who can send a bullet through thatspot, need not fear to meet the quarrel which he seeks to avoid. "

Walter turned mechanically, and indignant, though silent, towards thetree. Aram fired, and the ball penetrated the centre of the stain. Hethen replaced the pistol in his bosom, and said:--

"Early in life I had many enemies, and I taught myself these arts. Fromhabit, I still bear about me the weapons I trust and pray I may neverhave occasion to use. But to return. --I have offended you--I haveincurred your hatred--why? What are my sins?"

"Do you ask the cause?" said Walter, speaking between his ground teeth. "Have you not traversed my views--blighted my hopes--charmed away from methe affections which were more to me than the world, and driven me towander from my home with a crushed spirit, and a cheerless heart. Arethese no cause for hate?"

"Have I done this?" said Aram, recoiling, and evidently and powerfullyaffected. "Have I so injured you?--It is true! I know it--I perceive it--I read your heart; and--bear witness Heaven!--I felt for the wound thatI, but with no guilty hand, inflict upon you. Yet be just:--ask yourself, have I done aught that you, in my case, would have left undone? Have Ibeen insolent in triumph, or haughty in success? if so, hate me, nay, spurn me now. "

Walter turned his head irresolutely away. 

"If it please you, that I accuse myself, in that I, a man seared and loneat heart, presumed to come within the pale of human affections;--that Iexposed myself to cross another's better and brighter hopes, or dared tosoften my fate with the tender and endearing ties that are meet alone fora more genial and youthful nature;--if it please you that I accuse andcurse myself for this--that I yielded to it with pain and with self-reproach--that I shall think hereafter of what I unconsciously cost youwith remorse--then be consoled!"

"It is enough, " said Walter; "let us part. I leave you with more sorenessat my late haste than I will acknowledge, let that content you; formyself, I ask for no apology or--. "

"But you shall have it amply, " interrupted Aram, advancing with a cordialopenness of mien not usual to him. "I was all to blame; I should haveremembered you were an injured man, and suffered you to have said all youwould. Words at best are but a poor vent for a wronged and burning heart. It shall be so in future, speak your will, attack, upbraid, taunt me, Iwill bear it all. And indeed, even to myself there seems some witchcraft, some glamoury in what has chanced. What! I favoured where you love? Is itpossible? It might teach the vainest to forswear vanity. You, the young, the buoyant, the fresh, the beautiful?--And I, who have passed the gloryand zest of life between dusty walls; I who--well, well, fate laughs atprobabilities!"

Aram now seemed relapsing into one of his more abstracted moods; heceased to speak aloud, but his lips moved, and his eyes grew fixed inreverie on the ground. Walter gazed at him for some moments with mixedand contending sensations. Once more, resentment and the bitter wrath ofjealousy had faded back into the remoter depths of his mind, and acertain interest for his singular rival, despite of himself, crept intohis breast. But this mysterious and fitful nature, was it one in whichthe devoted Madeline would certainly find happiness and repose?--wouldshe never regret her choice? This question obtruded itself upon him, andwhile he sought to answer it, Aram, regaining his composure, turnedabruptly and offered him his hand. Walter did not accept it, he bowedwith a cold respect. "I cannot give my hand without my heart, " said he;"we were foes just now; we are not friends yet. I am unreasonable inthis, I know, but--"

"Be it so, " interrupted Aram; "I understand you. I press my good will onyou no more. When this pang is forgotten, when this wound is healed, andwhen you will have learned more of him who is now your rival, we may meetagain with other feelings on your side. "

Thus they parted, and the solitary lamp which for weeks past had beenquenched at the wholesome hour in the Student's home, streamed from thecasement throughout the whole of that night; was it a witness of the calmand learned vigil, or of the unresting heart?

 CHAPTER XI. 

 THE FAMILY SUPPER. --THE TWO SISTERS IN THEIR CHAMBER. --A MISUNDERSTANDING FOLLOWED BY A CONFESSION. --WALTER'S APPROACHING DEPARTURE AND THE CORPORAL'S BEHAVIOUR THEREON. -- THE CORPORAL'S FAVOURITE INTRODUCED TO THE READER. --THE CORPORAL PROVES HIMSELF A SUBTLE DIPLOMATIST. 

 So we grew together Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, But yet an union in partition. --Midsummer Night's Dream. 

 The Corporal had not taken his measures so badly in this stroke of artilleryship. --Tristram Shandy. 

It was late that evening when Walter returned home, the little familywere assembled at the last and lightest meal of the day; Ellinor silentlymade room for her cousin beside herself, and that little kindness touchedWalter. "Why did I not love her?" thought he, and he spoke to her in atone so affectionate, that it made her heart thrill with delight. Lesterwas, on the whole, the most pensive of the group, but the old and youngman exchanged looks of restored confidence, which, on the part of theformer, were softened by a pitying tenderness. 

When the cloth was removed, and the servants gone, Lester took it onhimself to break to the sisters the intended departure of their cousin. Madeline received the news with painful blushes, and a certain self-reproach; for even where a woman has no cause to blame herself, she, inthese cases, feels a sort of remorse at the unhappiness she occasions. But Ellinor rose suddenly and left the room. 

"And now, " said Lester, "London will, I suppose, be your firstdestination. I can furnish you with letters to some of my old friendsthere: merry fellows they were once: you must take care of theprodigality of their wine. There's John Courtland--ah! a seductive dogto drink with. Be sure and let me know how honest John looks, and what hesays of me. I recollect him as if it were yesterday; a roguish eye, witha moisture in it; full cheeks; a straight nose; black curled hair; andteeth as even as dies:--honest John shewed his teeth pretty often, too:ha, ha! how the dog loved a laugh. Well, and Peter Hales--Sir Peter now, has his uncle's baronetcy--a generous, open-hearted fellow as ever lived--will ask you very often to dinner--nay, offer you money if you want it:but take care he does not lead you into extravagances: out of debt, outof danger, Walter. It would have been well for poor Peter Hales, had heremembered that maxim. Often and often have I been to see him in theMarshalsea; but he was the heir to good fortunes, though his relationskept him close; so I suppose he is well off now. His estates lie in--shire, on your road to London; so, if he is at his country-seat, you canbeat up his quarters, and spend a month or so with him: a most hospitablefellow. "

With these little sketches of his cotemporaries, the good Squireendeavoured to while the time; taking, it is true, some pleasure in theyouthful reminiscences they excited, but chiefly designing to enliven themelancholy of his nephew. When, however, Madeline had retired, and theywere alone, he drew his chair closer to Walter's, and changed theconversation into a more serious and anxious strain. The guardian and theward sate up late that night; and when Walter retired to rest, it waswith a heart more touched by his uncle's kindness, than his own sorrows. 

But we are not about to close the day without a glance at the chamberwhich the two sisters held in common. The night was serene and starlit, and Madeline sate by the open window, leaning her face upon her hand, andgazing on the lone house of her lover, which might be seen afar acrossthe landscape, the trees sleeping around it, and one pale and steadylight gleaming from its lofty casement like a star. 

"He has broken faith, " said Madeline: "I shall chide him for this to-morrow. He promised me the light should be ever quenched before thishour. "

"Nay, " said Ellinor in a tone somewhat sharpened from its nativesweetness, and who now sate up in the bed, the curtain of which was half-drawn aside, and the soft light of the skies rested full upon her roundedneck and youthful countenance--"nay, Madeline, do not loiter there anylonger; the air grows sharp and cold, and the clock struck one severalminutes since. Come, sister, come!"

"I cannot sleep, " replied Madeline, sighing, "and think that yon lightstreams upon those studies which steal the healthful hues from his cheek, and the very life from his heart. "

"You are infatuated--you are bewitched by that man, " said Ellinor, peevishly. 

"And have I not cause--ample cause?" returned Madeline, with all a girl'sbeautiful enthusiasm, as the colour mantled her cheek, and gave it theonly additional loveliness it could receive. "When he speaks, is it notlike music?--or rather, what music so arrests and touches the heart?Methinks it is Heaven only to gaze upon him--to note the changes of thatmajestic countenance--to set down as food for memory every look and everymovement. But when the look turns to me--when the voice utters my name, ah! Ellinor, then it is not a wonder that I love him thus much: but thatany others should think they have known love, and yet not loved him! And, indeed, I feel assured that what the world calls love is not my love. Arethere more Eugenes in the world than one? Who but Eugene could be lovedas I love?"

"What! are there none as worthy?" said Ellinor, half smiling. 

"Can you ask it?" answered Madeline, with a simple wonder in her voice;"Whom would you compare--compare! nay, place within a hundred grades ofthe height which Eugene Aram holds in this little world?"

"This is folly--dotage;" said Ellinor, indignantly: "Surely there areothers, as brave, as gentle, as kind, and if not so wise, yet more fittedfor the world. "

"You mock me, " replied Madeline, incredulously; "whom could you select?"

Ellinor blushed deeply--blushed from her snowy temples to her yet whiterbosom, as she answered, "If I said Walter Lester, could you deny it?"

"Walter!" repeated Madeline, "the equal to Eugene Aram!"

"Ay, and more than equal, " said Ellinor, with spirit, and a warm andangry tone. "And indeed, Madeline, " she continued, after a pause, "I losesomething of that respect, which, passing a sister's love, I have alwaysborne towards you, when I see the unthinking and lavish idolatry youmanifest to one, who, but for a silver tongue and florid words, wouldrather want attractions than be the wonder you esteem him. Fie, Madeline!I blush for you when you speak, it is unmaidenly so to love any one!"

Madeline rose from the window, but the angry word died on her lips whenshe saw that Ellinor, who had worked her mind beyond her self-control, had thrown herself back on the pillow, and now sobbed aloud. 

The natural temper of the elder sister had always been much more calm andeven than that of the younger, who united with her vivacity something ofthe passionate caprice and fitfulness of her sex. And Madeline'saffection for her had been tinged by that character of forbearance andsoothing, which a superior nature often manifests to one more imperfect, and which in this instance did not desert her. She gently closed thewindow, and, gliding to the bed, threw her arms round her sister's neck, and kissed away her tears with a caressing fondness, that, if Ellinorresisted for one moment, she returned with equal tenderness the next. 

"Indeed, dearest, " said Madeline, gently, "I cannot guess how I hurt you, and still less, how Eugene has offended you?"

"He has offended me in nothing, " replied Ellinor, still weeping, "if hehas not stolen away all your affection from me. But I was a foolish girl, forgive me, as you always do; and at this time I need your kindness, forI am very--very unhappy. "

"Unhappy, dearest Nell, and why?"

Ellinor wept on without answering. 

Madeline persisted in pressing for a reply; and at length her sistersobbed out:

"I know that--that--Walter only has eyes for you, and a heart for you, who neglect, who despise his love; and I--I--but no matter, he is goingto leave us, and of me--poor me, he will think no more!"

Ellinor's attachment to their cousin, Madeline had long half suspected, and she had often rallied her sister upon it; indeed it might have beenthis suspicion which made her at the first steel her breast againstWalter's evident preference to herself. But Ellinor had never till nowseriously confessed how much her heart was affected; and Madeline, in thenatural engrossment of her own ardent and devoted love, had not of latespared much observation to the tokens of her sister's. She was thereforedismayed, if not surprised, as she now perceived the cause of thepeevishness Ellinor had just manifested, and by the nature of the loveshe felt herself, she judged, and perhaps somewhat overrated, the anguishthat Ellinor endured. 

She strove to comfort her by all the arguments which the fertileingenuity of kindness could invent; she prophesied Walter's speedyreturn, with his boyish disappointment forgotten, and with eyes no longerblinded to the attractions of one sister, by a bootless fancy foranother. And though Ellinor interrupted her from time to time withassertions, now of Walter's eternal constancy to his present idol; now, with yet more vehement declarations of the certainty of his finding newobjects for his affections in new scenes; she yet admitted, by little andlittle, the persuasive power of Madeline to creep into her heart, andbrighten away its griefs with hope, till at last, with the tears yet weton her cheek, she fell asleep in her sister's arms. 

And Madeline, though she would not stir from her post lest the movementshould awaken her sister, was yet prevented from closing her eyes in asimilar repose; ever and anon she breathlessly and gently raised herselfto steal a glimpse of that solitary light afar; and ever, as she looked, the ray greeted her eyes with an unswerving and melancholy stillness, till the dawn crept greyly over the heavens, and that speck of light, holier to her than the stars, faded also with them beneath the broaderlustre of the day. 

The next week was passed in preparations for Walter's departure. At thattime, and in that distant part of the country, it was greatly the fashionamong the younger travellers to perform their excursions on horseback, and it was this method of conveyance that Walter preferred. The beststeed in the squire's stables was therefore appropriated to his service, and a strong black horse with a Roman nose and a long tail, was consignedto the mastery of Corporal Bunting. The Squire was delighted that hisnephew had secured such an attendant. For the soldier, though odd andselfish, was a man of some sense and experience, and Lester thought suchqualities might not be without their use to a young master, new to thecommon frauds and daily usages of the world he was about to enter. 

As for Bunting himself, he covered his secret exultation at the prospectof change, and board-wages, with the cool semblance of a man sacrificinghis wishes to his affections. He made it his peculiar study to impressupon the Squire's mind the extent of the sacrifice he was about to make. The bit cot had been just white-washed, the pet cat just lain in; thentoo, who would dig, and gather seeds, in the garden, defend the plants, (plants! the Corporal could scarce count a dozen, and nine out of themwere cabbages!) from the impending frosts? It was exactly, too, the timeof year when the rheumatism paid flying visits to the bones and loins ofthe worthy Corporal; and to think of his "galavanting about the country, "when he ought to be guarding against that sly foe the lumbago, in thefortress of his chimney corner!

To all these murmurs and insinuations the good Lester seriously inclined, not with the less sympathy, in that they invariably ended in theCorporal's slapping his manly thigh, and swearing that he loved MasterWalter like gunpowder, and that were it twenty times as much, he wouldcheerfully do it for the sake of his handsome young honour. Ever at thisperoration, the eyes of the Squire began to twinkle, and new thanks weregiven to the veteran for his disinterested affection, and new promisespledged him in inadequate return. 

The pious Dealtry felt a little jealousy at the trust imparted to hisfriend. He halted, on his return from his farm, by the spruce stile whichled to the demesne of the Corporal, and eyed the warrior somewhat sourly, as he now, in the cool of the evening, sate without his door, arranginghis fishing-tackle and flies, in various little papers, which hecarefully labelled by the help of a stunted pen which had seen at leastas much service as himself. 

"Well, neighbour Bunting, " said the little landlord, leaning over thestile, but not passing its boundary, "and when do you go?--you will havewet weather of it (looking up to the skies)--you must take care of therumatiz. At your age it's no trifle, eh--hem. "

"My age! should like to know--what mean by that! my age indeed!--augh!--bother!" grunted Bunting, looking up from his occupation. Peter chuckledinly at the Corporal's displeasure, and continued, as in an apologetictone, "Oh, I ax your pardon, neighbour. I don't mean to say you are too old totravel. Why there was Hal Whittol, eighty-two come next Michaelmas, tooka trip to Lunnun last year--

"For young and old, the stout--the poorly, --The eye of God be on themsurely. "

"Bother!" said the Corporal, turning round on his seat. 

"And what do you intend doing with the brindled cat? put'un up in thesaddle-bags? You won't surely have the heart to leave'un. "

"As to that, " quoth the Corporal, sighing, "the poor dumb animal makes mesad to think on't. " And putting down his fish-hooks, he stroked the sidesof an enormous cat, who now, with tail on end, and back bowed up, anduttering her lenes susurros--anglicae, purr;--rubbed herself to and fro, athwart the Corporal's legs. 

"What staring there for? won't ye step in, man? Can climb the stile Isuppose?--augh!"

"No thank'ye, neighbour. I do very well here, that is, if you can hearme; your deafness is not so troublesome as it was last win--"

"Bother!" interrupted the Corporal, in a voice that made the littlelandlord start bolt upright from the easy confidence of his position. Nothing on earth so offended the perpendicular Jacob Bunting, as anyinsinuation of increasing years or growing infirmities; but at thismoment, as he meditated putting Dealtry to some use, he prudentlyconquered the gathering anger, and added, like the man of the world hejustly plumed himself on being--in a voice gentle as a dying howl, "What'fraid on? come in, there's good fellow, want to speak to ye. Come do--a-u-g-h!" the last sound being prolonged into one of unutterablecoaxingness, and accompanied with a beck of the hand and a wheedlingwink. 

These allurements the good Peter could not resist--he clambered thestile, and seated himself on the bench beside the Corporal. 

"There now, fine fellow, fit for the forty-second;" said Bunting, clapping him on the back. "Well, and--a--nd--a beautiful cat, isn't her?"

"Ah!" said Peter very shortly--for though a remarkably mild man, Peterdid not love cats: moreover, we must now inform the reader, that the catof Jacob Bunting was one more feared than respected throughout thevillage. The Corporal was a cunning teacher of all animals: he couldlearn goldfinches the use of the musket; dogs, the art of the broadsword;horses, to dance hornpipes and pick pockets; and he had relieved theennui of his solitary moments by imparting sundry accomplishments to theductile genius of his cat. Under his tuition, Puss had learned to fetchand carry; to turn over head and tail, like a tumbler; to run up yourshoulder when you least expected it; to fly, as if she were mad, at anyone upon whom the Corporal thought fit to set her; and, above all, to roblarders, shelves, and tables, and bring the produce to the Corporal, whonever failed to consider such stray waifs lawful manorial acquisitions. These little feline cultivations of talent, however delightful to theCorporal, and creditable to his powers of teaching the young idea how toshoot, had nevertheless, since the truth must be told, rendered theCorporal's cat a proverb and byeword throughout the neighbourhood. Neverwas cat in such bad odour: and the dislike in which it was held waswonderfully increased by terror; for the creature was singularly largeand robust, and withal of so courageous a temper, that if you attemptedto resist its invasion of your property, it forthwith set up its back, put down its ears, opened its mouth, and bade you fully comprehend thatwhat it feloniously seized it could gallantly defend. More than onegossip in the village had this notable cat hurried into prematureparturition, as, on descending at day-break into her kitchen, the damewould descry the animal perched on the dresser, having entered, God knowshow, and gleaming upon her with its great green eyes, and a malignant, brownie expression of countenance. 

Various deputations had indeed, from time to time, arrived at theCorporal's cottage, requesting the death, expulsion, or perpetualimprisonment of the favourite. But the stout Corporal received themgrimly, and dismissed them gruffly; and the cat still went on waxing insize and wickedness, and baffling, as if inspired by the devil, thevarious gins and traps set for its destruction. But never, perhaps, wasthere a greater disturbance and perturbation in the little hamlet, thanwhen, some three weeks since, the Corporal's cat was known to be broughtto bed, and safely delivered of a numerous offspring. The village sawitself overrun with a race and a perpetuity of Corporal's cats! Perhaps, too, their teacher growing more expert by practice, the descendants mightattain to even greater accomplishment than their nefarious progenitor. Nolonger did the faint hope of being delivered from their tormentor by anuntimely or even natural death, occur to the harassed Grassdalians. Deathwas an incident natural to one cat, however vivacious, but here was adynasty of cats! Principes mortales, respublica eterna!

Now the Corporal loved this creature better, yes better than any thing inthe world, except travelling and board-wages; and he was sorely perplexedin his mind how he should be able to dispose of her safely in hisabsence. He was aware of the general enmity she had inspired, andtrembled to anticipate its probable result, when he was no longer by toafford her shelter and protection. The Squire had, indeed, offered her anasylum at the manor-house; but the Squire's cook was the cat's mostembittered enemy; and who can answer for the peaceable behaviour of hiscook? The Corporal, therefore, with a reluctant sigh, renounced thefriendly offer, and after lying awake three nights, and turning over inhis own mind the characters, consciences, and capabilities of all hisneighbours, he came at last to the conviction that there was no one withwhom he could so safely entrust his cat as Peter Dealtry. It is true, aswe said before, that Peter was no lover of cats, and the task ofpersuading him to afford board and lodging to a cat, of all cats the mostodious and malignant, was therefore no easy matter. But to a man of theworld, what intrigue is impossible?

The finest diplomatist in Europe might have taken a lesson from theCorporal, as he now proceeded earnestly towards the accomplishment of hisproject. 

He took the cat, which by the by we forgot to say that he had thought fitto christen after himself, and to honour with a name, somewhat lengthyfor a cat, (but indeed this was no ordinary cat!) viz. Jacobina. He tookJacobina then, we say, upon his lap, and stroking her brindled sides withgreat tenderness, he bade Dealtry remark how singularly quiet the animalwas in its manners. Nay, he was not contented until Peter himself hadpatted her with a timorous hand, and had reluctantly submitted the saidhand to the honour of being licked by the cat in return. Jacobina, who, to do her justice, was always meek enough in the presence, and at thewill, of her master, was, fortunately this day, on her very bestbehaviour. 

"Them dumb animals be mighty grateful, " quoth the Corporal. 

"Ah!" rejoined Peter, wiping his hand with his pocket handkerchief. 

"But, Lord! what scandal there be in the world!"

"'Though slander's breath may raise a storm, It quickly does decay!'"muttered Peter. 

"Very well, very true; sensible verses those, " said the Corporal, approvingly; "and yet mischief's often done before the amends come. Bodyo' me, it makes a man sick of his kind, ashamed to belong to the race ofmen, to see the envy that abounds in this here sublunary wale of tears!"said the Corporal, lifting up his eyes. 

Peter stared at him with open mouth; the hypocritical rascal continued, after a pause, --

"Now there's Jacobina, 'cause she's a good cat, a faithful servant, thewhole village is against her: such lies as they tell on her, suchwappers, you'd think she was the devil in garnet! I grant, I grant, "added the Corporal, in a tone of apologetic candour, "that she's wild, saucy, knows her friends from her foes, steals Goody Solomon's butter;but what then? Goody Solomon's d--d b--h! Goody Solomon sold beer inopposition to you, set up a public;--you do not like Goody Solomons, Peter Dealtry?"

"If that were all Jacobina had done!" said the landlord, grinning. 

"All! what else did she do? Why she eat up John Tomkins's canary-bird;and did not John Tomkins, saucy rascal, say you could not sing better nora raven?"

"I have nothing to say against the poor creature for that, " said Peter, stroking the cat of his own accord. "Cats will eat birds, 'tis the'spensation of Providence. But what! Corporal!" and Peter hastilywithdrawing his hand, hurried it into his breeches pocket--"but what! didnot she scratch Joe Webster's little boy's hand into ribbons, because theboy tried to prevent her running off with a ball of string?"

"And well, " grunted the Corporal, "that was not Jacobina's doing, thatwas my doing. I wanted the string--offered to pay a penny for it--thinkof that!"

"It was priced three pence ha'penny, " said Peter. 

"Augh--baugh! you would not pay Joe Webster all he asks! What's the useof being a man of the world, unless one makes one's tradesmen bate a bit?Bargaining is not cheating, I hope?"

"God forbid!" said Peter. 

"But as to the bit string, Jacobina took it solely for your sake. Ah, shedid not think you were to turn against her!"

So saying, the Corporal, got up, walked into his house, and presentlycame back with a little net in his hand. 

"There, Peter, net for you, to hold lemons. Thank Jacobina for that; shegot the string. Says I to her one day, as I was sitting, as I might benow, without the door, 'Jacobina, Peter Dealtry's a good fellow, and hekeeps his lemons in a bag: bad habit, --get mouldy, --we'll make him a net:and Jacobina purred, (stroke the poor creature, Peter!)--so Jacobina andI took a walk, and when we came to Joe Webster's I pointed out the ballo'twine to her. So, for your sake, Peter, she got into this here scrape--augh. "

"Ah!" quoth Peter laughing, "poor Puss! poor Pussy! poor little Pussy!"

"And now, Peter, " said the Corporal, taking his friend's hand, "I amgoing to prove friendship to you--going to do you great favour. "

"Aha!" said Peter, "my good friend, I'm very much obliged to you. I knowyour kind heart, but I really don't want any"--

"Bother!" cried the Corporal, "I'm not the man as makes much of doing afriend a kindness. Hold jaw! tell you what, --tell you what: am going awayon Wednesday at day-break, and in my absence you shall--"

"What? my good Corporal. "

"Take charge of Jacobina!"

"Take charge of the devil!" cried Peter. 

"Augh!--baugh!--what words are those? Listen to me. "

"I won't!"

"You shall!"

"I'll be d--d if I do!" quoth Peter sturdily. It was the first time hehad been known to swear since he was parish clerk. 

"Very well, very well!" said the Corporal chucking up his chin, "Jacobinacan take care of herself! Jacobina knows her friends and her foes as wellas her master! Jacobina never injures her friends, never forgives foes. Look to yourself! look to yourself! insult my cat, insult me! Swear atJacobina, indeed!"

"If she steals my cream!" cried Peter--

"Did she ever steal your cream?"

"No! but, if--"

"Did she ever steal your cream?"

"I can't say she ever did. "

"Or any thing else of yours?"

"Not that I know of; but--"

"Never too late to mend. "

"If--"

"Will you listen to me, or not?"

"Well. "

"You'll listen?"

"Yes. "

"Know then, that I wanted to do you kindness. "

"Humph!"

"Hold jaw! I taught Jacobina all she knows. "

"More's the pity!"

"Hold jaw! I taught her to respect her friends, --never to commit herselfin doors--never to steal at home--never to fly at home--never to scratchat home--to kill mice and rats--to bring all she catches to her master--to do what he tells her--and to defend his house as well as a mastiff:and this invaluable creature I was going to lend you:--won't now, d--d ifI do!"

"Humph. "

"Hold jaw! When I'm gone, Jacobina will have no one to feed her. She'llfeed herself--will go to every larder, every house in the place--your'sbest larder, best house;--will come to you oftenest. If your wifeattempts to drive her away, scratch her eyes out; if you disturb her, serve you worse than Joe Webster's little boy:--wanted to prevent this--won't now, d--d if I do!"

"But, Corporal, how would it mend the matter to take the devil in-doors?"

"Devil!" Don't call names. Did not I tell you, only one Jacobina does nothurt is her master?--make you her master: now d'ye see?"

"It is very hard, " said Peter grumblingly, "that the only way I candefend myself from this villainous creature is to take her into myhouse. "

"Villainous! You ought to be proud of her affection. She returns good forevil--she always loved you; see how she rubs herself against you--andthat's the reason why I selected you from the whole village, to take careof her; but you at once injure yourself and refuse to do your friend aservice. Howsomever, you know I shall be with young Squire, and he'll bemaster here one of these days, and I shall have an influence over him--you'll see--you'll see. Look that there's not another "Spotted Dog" setup--augh!--bother!"

"But what would my wife say, if I took the cat? she can't abide itsname. "

"Let me alone to talk to your wife. What would she say if I bring herfrom Lunnun Town a fine silk gown, or a neat shawl, with a blue border--blue becomes her; or a tay-chest--that will do for you both, and wouldset off the little back parlour. Mahogany tay-chest--inlaid at top--initials in silver--J. B. To D. And P. D. --two boxes for tay, and a bowlfor sugar in the middle. --Ah! ah! Love me, love my cat! When was JacobBunting ungrateful?--augh!"

"Well, well! will you talk to Dorothy about it?"

"I shall have your consent, then? Thanks, my dear, dear Peter; 'pon mysoul you're a fine fellow! you see, you're great man of the parish. Ifyou protect her, none dare injure; if you scout her, all set upon her. For as you said, or rather sung, t'other Sunday--capital voice you werein too--

"The mighty tyrants without cause Conspire her blood to shed!"

"I did not think you had so good a memory, Corporal, " said Petersmiling;--the cat was now curling itself up in his lap: "after all, Jacobina--what a deuce of a name--seems gentle enough. "

"Gentle as a lamb--soft as butter--kind as cream--and such a mouser!"

"But I don't think Dorothy--"

"I'll settle Dorothy. "

"Well, when will you look up?"

"Come and take a dish of tay with you in half an hour;--you want a newtay-chest; something new and genteel. "

"I think we do, " said Peter, rising and gently depositing the cat on theground. 

"Aha! we'll see to it!--we'll see! Good b'ye for the present--in half anhour be with you!"

The Corporal left alone with Jacobina, eyed her intently, and burst intothe following pathetic address. 

"Well, Jacobina! you little know the pains I takes to serve you--the liesI tells for you--endangered my precious soul for your sake, you jade! Ah!may well rub your sides against me. Jacobina! Jacobina! you be the onlything in the world that cares a button for me. I have neither kith norkin. You are daughter--friend--wife to me: if any thing happened to you, I should not have the heart to love any thing else. Any body o' me, butyou be as kind as any mistress, and much more tractable than any wife;but the world gives you a bad name, Jacobina. Why? Is it that you doworse than the world do? You has no morality in you, Jacobina; well, buthas the world?--no! But it has humbug--you have no humbug, Jacobina. Onthe faith of a man, Jacobina, you be better than the world!--baugh! Youtakes care of your own interest, but you takes care of your master'stoo!--You loves me as well as yourself. Few cats can say the same, Jacobina! and no gossip that flings a stone at your pretty brindled skin, can say half as much. We must not forget your kittens, Jacobina;--youhave four left--they must be provided for. Why not a cat's children aswell as a courtier's? I have got you a comfortable home, Jacobina--takecare of yourself, and don't fall in love with every Tomcat in the place. Be sober, and lead a single life till my return. Come, Jacobina, we willlock up the house, and go and see the quarters I have provided for you. --Heigho!"

As he finished his harangue, the Corporal locked the door of his cottage, and Jacobina trotting by his side, he stalked with his usual statelinessto the Spotted Dog. 

Dame Dorothy Dealtry received him with a clouded brow, but the man of theworld knew whom he had to deal with. On Wednesday morning Jacobina wasinducted into the comforts of the hearth of mine host;--and her fourlittle kittens mewed hard by, from the sinecure of a basket lined withflannel. 

Reader. Here is wisdom in this chapter: it is not every man who knows howto dispose of his cat!

 CHAPTER XII. 

 A STRANGE HABIT. --WALTER'S INTERVIEW WITH MADELINE. --HER GENEROUS AND CONFIDING DISPOSITION. --WALTER'S ANGER. --THE PARTING MEAL. --CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE UNCLE AND NEPHEW. -- WALTER ALONE. --SLEEP THE BLESSING OF THE YOUNG. 

 Fall. Out, out, unworthy to speak where he breatheth. .. . 

 Punt. Well now, my whole venture is forth, I will resolve to depart. --Ben Jonson. --Every Man out of his Humour. 

It was now the eve before Walter's departure, and on returning home froma farewell walk among his favourite haunts, he found Aram, whose visithad been made during Walter's absence, now standing on the threshold ofthe door, and taking leave of Madeline and her father. Aram and Walterhad only met twice before since the interview we recorded, and each timeWalter had taken care that the meeting should be but of short duration. In these brief encounters, Aram's manner had been even more gentle thanheretofore; that of Walter's, more cold and distant. And now, as theythus unexpectedly met at the door, Aram, looking at him earnestly, said:

"Farewell, Sir! You are to leave us for some time, I hear. Heaven speedyou!" Then he added in a lower tone, "Will you take my hand, now, inparting?"

As he said, he put forth his hand, --it was the left. 

"Let it be the right hand, " observed the elder Lester, smiling: "it is aluckier omen. "

"I think not, " said Aram, drily. And Walter noted that he had neverremembered him to give his right hand to any one, even to Madeline; thepeculiarity of this habit might, however, arise from an awkward earlyhabit, it was certainly scarce worth observing, and Walter had alreadycoldly touched the hand extended to him: when Lester carelessly renewedthe subject. 

"Is there any superstition, " said he gaily, "that makes you think, assome of the ancients did, the left hand luckier than the right?"

"Yes, " replied Aram; "a superstition. Adieu. "

The Student departed; Madeline slowly walked up one of the garden alleys, and thither Walter, after whispering to his uncle, followed her. 

There is something in those bitter feelings, which are the offspring ofdisappointed love; something in the intolerable anguish of well-foundedjealousy, that when the first shock is over, often hardens, and perhapselevates the character. The sterner powers that we arouse within us tocombat a passion that can no longer be worthily indulged, are neverafterwards wholly allayed. Like the allies which a nation summons to itsbosom to defend it from its foes, they expel the enemy only to find asettlement for themselves. The mind of every man who conquers anunfortunate attachment, becomes stronger than before; it may be for evil, it may be for good, but the capacities for either are more vigorous andcollected. 

The last few weeks had done more for Walter's character than years ofordinary, even of happy emotion, might have effected. He had passed fromyouth to manhood, and with the sadness, had acquired also something ofthe dignity, of experience. Not that we would say that he had subdued hislove, but he had made the first step towards it; he had resolved that atall hazards it should be subdued. 

As he now joined Madeline, and she perceived him by her side, herembarrassment was more evident than his. She feared some avowal, and fromhis temper, perhaps some violence on his part. However, she was the firstto speak: women, in such cases, always are. 

"It is a beautiful evening, " said she, "and the sun set in promise of afine day for your journey to-morrow. "

Walter walked on silently; his heart was full. "Madeline, " he said atlength, "dear Madeline, give me your hand. Nay, do not fear me; I knowwhat you think, and you are right; I loved--I still love you! but I knowwell that I can have no hope in making this confession; and when I askyou for your hand, Madeline, it is only to convince you that I have nosuit to press; had I, I would not dare to touch that hand. "

Madeline, wondering and embarrassed, gave him her hand; he held it for amoment with a trembling clasp, pressed it to his lips, and then resignedit. 

"Yes, Madeline, my cousin, my sweet cousin; I have loved you deeply, butsilently, long before my heart could unravel the mystery of the feelingswith which it glowed. But this--all this--it were now idle to repeat. Iknow that I have no hope of return; that the heart whose possession wouldhave made my whole life a dream, a transport, is given to another. I havenot sought you now, Madeline, to repine at this, or to vex you by thetale of any suffering I may endure: I am come only to give you theparting wishes, the parting blessing, of one, who, wherever he goes, orwhatever befall him, will always think of you as the brightest andloveliest of human beings. May you be happy, yes even with another!"

"Oh, Walter!" said Madeline, affected to tears, "if I ever encouraged--ifI ever led you to hope for more than the warm, the sisterly affection Ibear you, how bitterly I should reproach myself!"

"You never did, dear Madeline; I asked for no inducement to love you, --Inever dreamed of seeking a motive, or inquiring if I had cause to hope. But as I am now about to quit you, and as you confess you feel for me asister's affection, will you give me leave to speak to you as a brothermight?"

Madeline held her hand to him in frank cordiality: "Yes!" said she, "speak!"

"Then, " said Walter, turning away his head in a spirit of delicacy thatdid him honour, "is it yet all too late for me to say one word of cautionas relates to--Eugene Aram?"

"Of caution! you alarm me, Walter; speak, has aught happened to him? Isaw him as lately as yourself. Does aught threaten him? Speak, I imploreyou, --quick?"

"I know of no danger to him!" replied Walter, stung to perceive thebreathless anxiety with which Madeline spoke; "but pause, my cousin, maythere be no danger to you from this man?"

"Walter!"

"I grant him wise, learned, gentle, --nay, more than all, bearing abouthim a spell, a fascination, by which he softens, or awes at will, andwhich even I cannot resist. But yet his abstracted mood, his gloomy life, certain words that have broken from him unawares, --certain tell-taleemotions, which words of mine, heedlessly said, have fiercely aroused, all united, inspire me, --shall I say it, --with fear and distrust. Icannot think him altogether the calm and pure being he appears. Madeline, I have asked myself again and again, is this suspicion the effect ofjealousy? do I scan his bearing with the jaundiced eye of disappointedrivalship? And I have satisfied my conscience that my judgment is notthus biassed. Stay! listen yet a little while! You have a high--athoughtful mind. Exert it now. Consider your whole happiness rests on onestep! Pause, examine, compare! Remember, you have not of Aram, as ofthose whom you have hitherto mixed with, the eye-witness of a life! Youcan know but little of his real temper, his secret qualities; still lessof the tenor of his former life. I only ask of you, for your own sake, for my sake, your sister's sake, and your good father's, not to judge toorashly! Love him, if you will; but observe him!"

"Have you done?" said Madeline, who had hitherto with difficultycontained herself; "then hear me. Was it I? was it Madeline Lester whomyou asked to play the watch, to enact the spy upon the man whom sheexults in loving? Was it not enough that you should descend to mark downeach incautious look--to chronicle every heedless word--to draw darkdeductions from the unsuspecting confidence of my father's friend--to liein wait--to hang with a foe's malignity upon the unbendings of familiarintercourse--to extort anger from gentleness itself, that you mightwrest the anger into crime! Shame, shame upon you, for the meanness! Andmust you also suppose that I, to whose trust he has given his nobleheart, will receive it only to play the eavesdropper to its secrets?Away!"

The generous blood crimsoned the cheek and brow of this high-spiritedgirl as she uttered her galling reproof; her eyes sparkled, her lipquivered, her whole frame seemed to have grown larger with the majesty ofindignant love. 

"Cruel, unjust, ungrateful!" ejaculated Walter, pale with rage, andtrembling under the conflict of his roused and wounded feelings. "Is itthus you answer the warning of too disinterested and self-forgetful alove?"

"Love!" exclaimed Madeline. "Grant me patience!--Love! It was but now Ithought myself honoured by the affection you said you bore me. At thisinstant, I blush to have called forth a single sentiment in one who knowsso little what love is! Love!--methought that word denoted all that washigh and noble in human nature--confidence, hope, devotion, sacrifice ofall thought of self! but you would make it the type and concentration ofall that lowers and debases!--suspicion--cavil--fear--selfishness in allits shapes! Out on you--love!"

"Enough, enough! Say no more, Madeline, say no more. We part not as I hadhoped; but be it so. You are changed indeed, if your conscience smite younot hereafter for this injustice. Farewell, and may you never regret, notonly the heart you have rejected, but the friendship you have belied. "With these words, and choked by his emotions, Walter hastily strode away. 

He hurried into the house, and into a little room adjoining the chamberin which he slept, and which had been also appropriated solely to hisuse. It was now spread with boxes and trunks, some half packed, somecorded, and inscribed with the address to which they were to be sent inLondon. All these mute tokens of his approaching departure struck uponhis excited feelings with a suddenness that overpowered him. 

"And it is thus--thus, " said he aloud, "that I am to leave, for the firsttime, my childhood's home. "

He threw himself on his chair, and covering his face with his hands, burst, fairly subdued and unmanned, into a paroxysm of tears. 

When this emotion was over, he felt as if his love for Madeline had alsodisappeared; a sore and insulted feeling was all that her image nowrecalled to him. This idea gave him some consolation. "Thank God!" hemuttered, "thank God, I am cured at last!"

The thanksgiving was scarcely over, before the door opened softly, andEllinor, not perceiving him where he sat, entered the room, and laid onthe table a purse which she had long promised to knit him, and whichseemed now designed as a parting gift. 

She sighed heavily as she laid it down, and he observed that her eyesseemed red as with weeping. 

He did not move, and Ellinor left the room without discovering him; buthe remained there till dark, musing on her apparition, and before he wentdown-stairs, he took up the little purse, kissed it, and put it carefullyinto his bosom. 

He sate next to Ellinor at supper that evening, and though he did not saymuch, his last words were more to her than words had ever been before. When he took leave of her for the night, he whispered, as he kissed hercheek; "God bless you, dearest Ellinor, and till I return, take care ofyourself, for the sake of one, who loves you now, better than any thingon earth. "

Lester had just left the room to write some letters for Walter; andMadeline, who had hitherto sat absorbed and silent by the window, nowapproached Walter, and offered him her hand. 

"Forgive me, my dear cousin, " she said, in her softest voice. "I feelthat I was hasty, and to blame. Believe me, I am now at least grateful, warmly grateful, for the kindness of your motives. "

"Not so, " said Walter, bitterly, "the advice of a friend is onlymeanness. "

"Come, come, forgive me; pray, do not let us part unkindly. When did weever quarrel before? I was wrong, grievously wrong--I will perform anypenance you may enjoin. "

"Agreed then, follow my admonitions. "

"Ah! any thing else, " said Madeline, gravely, and colouring deeply. 

Walter said no more; he pressed her hand lightly and turned away. 

"Is all forgiven?" said she, in so bewitching a tone, and with so brighta smile, that Walter, against his conscience, answered, "Yes. "

The sisters left the room. I know not which of the two received his lastglance. 

Lester now returned with the letters. "There is one charge, my dear boy, "said he, in concluding the moral injunctions and experienced suggestionswith which the young generally leave the ancestral home (whetherpractically benefited or not by the legacy, may be matter of question)--"there is one charge which I need not entrust to your ingenuity and zeal. You know my strong conviction, that your father, my poor brother, stilllives. Is it necessary for me to tell you to exert yourself by all waysand in all means to discover some clue to his fate? Who knows, " addedLester, with a smile, "but that you may find him a rich nabob. I confessthat I should feel but little surprise if it were so; but at all eventsyou will make every possible inquiry. I have written down in this paperthe few particulars concerning him which I have been enabled to gleansince he left his home; the places where he was last seen, the falsenames he assumed, I shall watch with great anxiety for any fuller successto your researches. "

"You needed not, my dear uncle, " said Walter seriously, "to have spokento me on this subject. No one, not even yourself, can have felt what Ihave; can have cherished the same anxiety, nursed the same hope, indulgedthe same conjecture. I have not, it is true, often of late years spokento you on a matter so near to us both, but I have spent whole hours inguesses at my father's fate, and in dreams that for me was reserved theproud task to discover it. I will not say indeed that it makes at thismoment the chief motive for my desire to travel, but in travel it willbecome my chief object. Perhaps I may find him not only rich, --that formy part is but a minor wish, --but sobered and reformed from the errorsand wildness of his earlier manhood. Oh, what should be his gratitude toyou for all the care with which you have supplied to the forsaken childthe father's place; and not the least, that you have, in softening thecolours of his conduct, taught me still to prize and seek for a father'slove!"

"You have a kind heart, Walter, " said the good old man, pressing hisnephew's hand, "and that has more than repaid me for the little I havedone for you; it is better to sow a good heart with kindness, than afield with corn, for the heart's harvest is perpetual. "

Many, keen, and earnest were that night the meditations of Walter Lester. He was about to quit the home in which youth had been passed, in whichfirst love had been formed and blighted: the world was before him; butthere was something more grave than pleasure, more steady thanenterprise, that beckoned him to its paths. The deep mystery that for somany years had hung over the fate of his parent, it might indeed be hislot to pierce; and with a common waywardness in our nature, the restlessson felt his interest in that parent the livelier from the verycircumstance of remembering nothing of his person. Affection had beennursed by curiosity and imagination, and the bad father was thus morefortunate in winning the heart of the son, than had he perhaps, by thetenderness of years, deserved that affection. 

Oppressed and feverish, Walter opened the lattice of his room, and lookedforth on the night. The broad harvest-moon was in the heavens, and filledthe air as with a softer and holier day. At a distance its light justgave the dark outline of Aram's house, and beneath the window it laybright and steady on the green, still church-yard that adjoined thehouse. The air and the light allayed the fitfulness at the young man'sheart, but served to solemnize the project and desire with which it beat. Still leaning from the casement, with his eyes fixed upon the tranquilscene below, he poured forth a prayer, that to his hands might thediscovery of his lost sire be granted. The prayer seemed to lift theoppression from his breast; he felt cheerful and relieved, and flinginghimself on his bed, soon fell into the sound and healthful sleep ofyouth. And oh! let Youth cherish that happiest of earthly boons while yetit is at its command;--for there cometh the day to all, when "neither thevoice of the lute or the birds" 

 [Quotation from Horace]

shall bring back the sweet slumbers that fell on their young eyes, asunbidden as the dews. It is a dark epoch in a man's life when Sleepforsakes him; when he tosses to and fro, and Thought will not besilenced; when the drug and draught are the courters of stupefaction, notsleep; when the down pillow is as a knotted log; when the eyelids closebut with an effort, and there is a drag and a weight, and a dizziness inthe eyes at morn. Desire and Grief, and Love, these are the young man'storments, but they are the creatures of Time; Time removes them as itbrings, and the vigils we keep, "while the evil days come not, " if weary, are brief and few. But Memory, and Care, and Ambition, and Avarice, theseare the demon-gods that defy the Time that fathered them. The worldlierpassions are the growth of mature years, and their grave is dug but inour own. As the dark Spirits in the Northern tale, that watch against thecoming of one of a brighter and holier race, lest if he seize themunawares, he bind them prisoners in his chain, they keep ward at nightover the entrance of that deep cave--the human heart--and scare away theangel Sleep!