thought those feelings might be man's as well as a woman's, and I, possibly, some time or other, that man; and then I might feel all the bitterness of her pathetic exclamation,

'I am from humble, he from honour'd name;

No note upon my parents, his all noble.'"

I thought Bertha seemed struck with this, for she lost her smile, and looked pensively on the ground; but Miss Mansell said with liveliness, "Then you can repeat Helena's confession, and will, I hope, favour

us."

"If you command me, certainly," returned I. "The speech is to the Count of Roussillon's mother.

'Then, I confess,

Here on my knee, before high heav'n and you,

That before you, and next unto high heav'n,

I love your son.

My friends were poor, but honest:

Be not offended; for it hurts not him
That he is loved of me : I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit,

Nor would I have him till I do deserve him,
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope.

Thus, Indian like,

Religious in mine error, I adore

The sun that looks upon his worshipper,
And knows of him no more.'

During this recital I observed Bertha's eyes were fixed upon the ground, and she scarcely breathed, as if she feared losing a word; and, whether the feeling, now deeper than ever, that this was my own case, gave

any peculiarity to my manner (I certainly never felt so much affected by the lines); or whether their own impressed the listeners as it did, they all seemed pathos moved.

Granville's natural sensibility showed he was much affected; but I wished to penetrate, if I could, how the passage had wrought upon her whose impression was alone of consequence to me. She said little, but was peculiarly thoughtful, till her eyes glistened with feeling. Mrs. Mansell, however, from her age, less affected, and inclined perhaps to banter, observed,

"So, then, Mr. De Clifford, you feared the poor lady's case might be your own. As I know the play, and that she in the end succeeded, I give you all my good wishes for the same termination."

Bertha seemed struck, though she spoke not a word, but from that time was wrapt in her own reflections. Indeed the whole party, from I know not what cause, appeared after this to prefer silence to conversation, till I took my leave, when Mrs. Mansell, by way of a parting remark, said,

"Mr. De Clifford, you must allow us to thank you for more than your Shakspeare, for I think you have pretty well told us who was the author of the stanzas we have so much admired."

I was startled, and her daughter laughed en espiègle, which seemed rather her nature. Bertha, still grave, only said, when I wished her good morning, "We have indeed had a charming walk;" and, reminding me

of our readings together at Foljambe, she observed, "you have made me love Shakspeare better than ever;" words which, though they long tingled in my ears, did not, I fear, in the end do me good.

Granville, whose good-will seemed to increase, on my leaving him with the ladies, begged I would breakfast with him the next day, the last of the assizes, when he was to return to Oxford.

CHAPTER XX.

GRANVILLE'S ADVICE TO ME TO FORGET BERTHA,

WHICH I PROMISE TO FOLLOW.

Be ruled by me: forget to think of her.

O! teach me how I should forget to think.

SHAKSPEARE.-Romeo & Juliet. PROUD as I was of my brook, I found that it had not repaid my fondness well; for, on my return to the hotel to prepare for leaving York, I felt an unusual heaviness on my mind. It seemed to me that I had passed, in the walk I had left, the sweetest moments I had ever known, only to lose them for ever. Yet there was something in the sweetness which I would not have exchanged, to be released from all the bitterness I underwent. I felt like the great Ormond, when, though worn with grief for the loss of the gallant Ossory, he exclaimed with exultation, he would not exchange his dead son for any living son in Christendom. So I, though my reverence for Bertha had been enhanced a hundred-fold, and the thought of parting from her, perhaps for ever, was almost insupportable, yet this farther advance to intimacy with her engaging character brought along with it a de

light, which more than balanced the grief of losing her. I thought of my own couplet

"The bliss of sensibility

Doth richly overpay the pain."

In the evening there was another ball, which it cost me fifty changes of resolution before I could decide to attend it or not. As it was, I came to a sort of compromise. I would not enter the room, but determined to see what passed in it, without being seen, and I actually disguised myself in the great coat of the landlord of the inn, and took my stand among those of the servants who were allowed to wait at the door, just within the room.

My design was at least fulfilled; for though I could not see far into the gay throng, I occasionally discovered the only thing I sought for-the movements of ber who now so entirely absorbed me. Strange to say, though she again danced with Sir Harry Melford, and could not fail of dancing with her usual elegance, it was not with her usual spirit; and when she reached the bottom of the dance, close to the entrance where I was standing, she begged to sit down, to which, with proper politeness, her partner agreed. Yet there seemed a constraint in the manner of each towards the other, which surprised me.

What a situation for a lover, to be standing unknown within ear-shot (for there was but one person between us), of my mistress and my rival; for rival Sir Harry to my fears evidently appeared. Nor, had I been even his equal, or superior, was he to be slighted. He was a man of uncommon elegance and