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have seen you
Might he not have been so occupied as not to
? “ Yes; occupied, I say, with a duke, whose tool he is. Psha! It is too ridiculous to defend him. Pass to any other subject.”
Seeing he grew angry, to appease him, I answered, “ You are at least safe in this new residence you have chosen, and escape the heart-burnings you have experienced.”
But here also I failed; for, like other people who have weaknesses of which they do not wish to be reminded, he is extremely jealous of being thought jealous.
“I have no heart-burnings,” said he, “and never had ; and to say so, only makes you out one of those d—d good-natured friends,' al ways on the quest for faults, under pretence of curing them.”
I found I had received my quietus, and henceforward gave up my intention to reclaim him.
If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel.
I am he who was so love-shaked;
SHAKSPEARE.—As You Like It.
The heroes of my last chapter have too long detained me from persons of more consequence to my own heart and mind. For such a friend as Granville, I have neglected the mention of him too long. He came to me often, and did me much good in polishing off Oxford rust, and putting me au fait of things and characters which were quite new to me.
I rewarded him by talking to him, and allowing him to talk to me, of Lady Hungerford. In this
I had a fellow-feeling, for it was evident he loved that superior person both with fondness and admiration, yet with very little hope, even had he been in circumstances to address her.
When I combated this, and observed upon the complacency with which she always spoke to, and of him, he would shake his head, and say, it was merely her good-nature towards a person who she could not help seeing was her slave.
For,” said he, “ with a thousand in her train, I acquit her of all coquetry. I only wish her nature was not so kind. Could I think myself illused, as you once said in regard to Bertha, I possibly might get free. You have, however, got free without ill-usage."
“If I have done so," returned I, with a sigh, “ it has been from despair; but you have shewn me no reason why you should despair. You have at least never been dismissed."
“ I have never been delirious," answered he, smiling, “ in the presence of a waiting gentlewoman.'
This produced much talk both of Bertha and Lady Hungerford, in which Granville owned to me that his hopes, or rather his feelings (for hopes he had none), were as chimerical as mine had been for Bertha.
“ That fatal winter at Paris !” said he. “Who could see her, the admired, par excellence, for
elegance, tournure, and brilliancy, even in that brilliant capital, and not love, though despairing of success? Pronounced by the queen (herself a perfect judge) the most perfect woman of fashion among all the foreigners ; loved by her own sex, idolized by ours; courted in marriage by more than one noble of the highest rank in France ;-who could fail to give her his heart, and drink the sweet poison of her beauty and manners, though he knew it would destroy him ? Yet are those manners and that beauty the least of her attractions. It is the mental charm of her conversation, her sense and rectitude, that take and imprison you, só sweetly, that from your prison you do not even wish to get free. In the youth of Bertha
• There is a prone and speechless dialect,
Such as moves men ;' but this maturer, though still lovely lady, hath also
• Prosperous art,
You yourself have felt her persuasive eloquence.”
“ That is not more warmly said than true," observed I; “ and I now fully understand what it was that shielded your heart from one who so entirely filled mine.”
Perhaps,” said he, 6 we are not of the same dispositions in these points. You are little used
yet to the world yourself, and a retired beauty, like that lovely, secluded flower we talk of, has therefore more charms for you than for one ten years older, and almost blasé by his knowledge of artificial life. I love diamonds, you a simple rose. I acknowledge Bertha is the sweetest rose that ever bloomed ; but allow on your part, that Honora is the most polished diamond that ever shone."
“ I cannot stand this poetry,” said I; “I who am a poor matter-of-fact secretary ; but
it to Lady Hungerford, who is herself full of poetry and genius, and she will accept it; probably reward ġou for it.”
“ Reward me!” exclaimed he. “ Yes; probably as great men used formerly to reward poor poets for dedication, with a few guineas. How little more, in comparison, am I to Lady Hungerford, than one of these poor poets ?”
“ Away,” returned I, “ with this humility. You are nobly born as well as herself."
“Yes! and a younger brother.”
old.” 66 What then ?
“ I have heard her say no man should dance after thirty, or woman after four-and-twenty.”
“ The girls of twenty-five must be much obliged