Such is a general outline of the statement Matilda had to make to Mrs. St. Aubyn, and through her, as a mark of due respect to him, to her guardian. To detail the variety of different emotions which flitted. over the still sensitive mind of Catherine, as she listened to it, would be a vain attempt. Disappointment at the loss she herself was to sustain, in the society of one she loved as a daughter, she could perhaps restrain from expressing in any manner calculated to damp Matilda's modest pleasure in her views and prospects. But there was a disappointment of another kind, which with pain and struggle she laboured to conceal. The victim of visions, she had not lived without forming some for Matilda; and to view them thus suddenly overclouded, she knew not how to bear without repining. But after suffering, as we have seen, for the greater part of her life, from the mistake of being guided by impulse, Catherine, in the fifty-second year of her age, was beginning to learn wisdom-the wisdom of self-command. She never with more difficulty exerted it, than when she imprinted a kiss of congratulation on Matilda's cheek, and uttered the words, " I rejoice in your happiness my love; accept my best wishes." She would have added, "I am sure you will receive Edmund's as soon as this is made known to him;" but these were words she could not pronounce.

"I

CHAPTER XIV.

THE present situation of Matilda (who resided with her mother) was not one of much comfort, though diversified with the great and important advantages of the Wimbledon and town house, &c. &c.

It is true, since her mother's second marriage she had occasionally rode out in a carriage, and saw a great deal of company; but the habits and temper of Mr. Belgrave were not such as to promote the happiness of those about him. His wife, perhaps, was as happy as any of his dependents: because, she placed her felicity in such things as Mr. Belgrave imagined it was equally for his own credit as hers that she should possess. Dress and trinkets increased the power of her beauty, and while they bespoke wealth, displayed his consequence as well as her own; and thus, in a round of fine clothes and fashion, two years of her union had passed away; at the end of which time, the addition of two children to his establishment, and the prospect of more, induced Mr. Belgrave to turn a more affable countenance upon his daughter-in-law, in the expectation that she would serve as a substitute for a governess to his rising family, and thus requite him for a protection, which, till the birth of the two little girls, he had somewhat grudgingly afforded her; and Matilda, pleased with Occupying herself in any manner that could preclude thought, and suggest a satisfactory sentiment of use

fulness, had found her chief pleasure in the care and attention she bestowed upon the children.

Amongst the few comforts that fate had allotted her, a mother's love could certainly not be enumemerated. Too attentive to the elegancies of good breeding, to suffer her features to be disturbed by passion openly expressed, it was only by the coolness, and sometimes the disdain of her demeanour, that Matilda painfully remarked, how she was every day becoming more and more the object of her mo. ther's avoidance. Very often she wearied and perplexed her mind, till the powers of thought were lost in endeavouring to discover the meaning of this behaviour: but that was a discovery which she could not well make.

Vanity, she had been obliged to perceive, was the prevailing passion in her mother's mind; but that vanity should have the power to render her jealous of her own child, was a conclusion to which no kind of reasoning could ever have brought her. She studied not to see the instances of unkindness which too often were accumulated upon her, when her exquisite beauty, now in all the bloom of nineteen, drew upon her the attention which Mrs. Belgrave conceived to belong more justly to herself. And when these indications of dissatisfaction were too pointed to be overlooked, she restrained the momentary pang of resentment, by persuading herself that her reserve and diffident manners might wear to her mother, the appearance of that awkwardness and vulgarity with which she reproached her. But, with all the disadvantages which Mrs. Belgrave took pains to persuade her daughter that she possessed, there were

not wanting, amongst the visitors at Wimbledon, those who saw the greatest attractions in Matilda. Those periods of the year when they were in the country, and consequently had generally a house full of company (Mr. and Mrs. Belgrave being too fash-.' ionable to endure being left to themselves,) Matilda had remarked invariably to bring an accession of estrangement in her mother's manner towards her.

She learnt to dread the arrival of guests, though she could not tell why, for she generally found herself treated with a distinction by strangers, which she was not much in the habit of receiving from her domestic connexions. But, doomed from her earliest years to have her inclinations crossed, Mrs. Belgrave being a proficient in the art of ingeniously tormenting, Matilda insensibly acquired a habit of yielding to circumstances an acquisition which is, beyond question, of inestimable value to every one, but absolutely essential to the tolerable comfort of women, in whose destiny it is ordained that submission should be the leading characteristic.

She felt it to be unfortunate for the disclosure she had to make to Mrs. Belgrave respecting her engagement, that her mother was now in that alienated state towards her, which she had observed to occur in a greater degree than usual, when, as was the case at present, the house was crowded with guests; nevertheless, as it was a point of duty to make a communication, which in any case would have been affect-. ing, but in her peculiar circumstances was little less than distressing, she prepared herself on the day following her interview with Mrs. St. Aubyn, to open her heart to her mother. The want of sympathy which from her earliest years had existed between

them, rendered their intercourse so reserved, that it was always more or less of a trial to the feelings of Matilda, to have to solicit Mrs. Belgrave's attention in any manner to herself.

She felt that she was neither properly valued, nor even understood by her mother; for, without being in the slightest degree to be called vain, she could not but be aware that the neglect in which she was held, was as undeserved as it was unnatural. Sometimes, indeed, she reproached herself for not being more open on her side, and bringing before her mother's notice the talents and accomplishments she possessed; but, timid and retiring before every one, she was so in a tenfold degree in the presence of Mrs. Belgrave; and sometimes, in the candour of her heart, she could almost allow that her behaviour gave some colour of justice to the accusations of stupidity which were so often levelled against her.

But right or wrong, her timidity and reserve upon the subject of her own pretensions was perfectly unconquerable.

It is curious, indeed, to remark with what delicacy the mind guards its acquirements, from persons whose coldness prevents them from sympathising with, or appreciating them properly; and herein, perhaps, lies the touchstone of their genuineness. Bold pretenders to talent have not this jealous fear; to such beings the acquisitions of the mind are not valuable for their own sake, but as the means of giving their possessor consequence with others; and are therefore drawn forth on every occasion, without delicacy or discrimination. But it is not thus with the child of genius-the being whom God and nature have truly distinguished! He shrinks from obser