AND LADY HUNGERFORD.-WITH THE LATTER I HAVE
AN INTERESTING INTERVIEW.-OF THE FEELING SHE DIS-
PLAYED, AND OF THE MISTERY WHICH ACCOMPANIED IT.

If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel.

I am he who was so love-shaked;

I

I pray you tell me your remedy.

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 fellowfeeling, 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 ill-used, 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 shown 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 gentle-woman."

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.

"Who could see

"That fatal winter at Paris!" said he. 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, so 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,

When she will play with reason and discourse,
And well she can persuade.'

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, "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 blase by his knowledge of artificial life. I love diamonds, you a simple rose. I acknowledge Bertha is the sweetest rose that ever bloomed; but al low 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 carry it to Lady Hungerford, who is herself full of poetry and genius, and she will accept it; probably reward you 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."

"Ride well!"

"And can scarce af

afford a horse."

"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 to her," said I. Of course she never dances herself?"

"Never in England. But in France, Terpsichore herself not more graceful."

"More of Parnassus still!"

"How can it be helped, when she is herself a Muse ?" In such conversation as this, Granville sometimes beguiled an hour with me'; and seeing that it gave him a sort of melancholy pleasure, I never repressed it, any more than the castles of hope which he sometimes built, when he thought his mistress distinguished him from other men, or Lord Cas

tleton, who was his political patron, flattered him with the expectation of an embassy, which had been for some time designed for him.

It may be supposed that the interest I felt for Granville made me take every opportunity that offered, to penetrate, if I could, Lady Hungerford's sentiments concerning him; but except great suavity in talking of, and a rallying tone in talking to him, I could observe nothing particular.

Meantime, I made use freely of his experience, in training me on to the knowledge I so much wanted of the men and manners in which I was now to be daily conversant. For though I certainly, as I said, progressed even out of doors, and, in the closet, had the delight of finding I gave more and more satisfaction to Lord Castleton, yet there hourly sprang up things, situations, and characters, which wanted more elucidation than my hitherto secluded life enabled me to unravel.

I have mentioned, in the case of the Lord Petronius, which I had by Granville's assistance pretty well made out, how it was possible, in this country, for a mere inefficient voluptuary, by dint of connexions and a fashionable reputation, to be placed in the rank of a minister. But there was also another object of my study in another peer, in whom two most inconsistent qualities seemed so blended, that, to me, he was an absolute riddle.

The first time I saw this nobleman was at one of the evening parties at Lord Castleton's, where were many grandees, foreign ministers, and ladies of the court. Nothing could exceed his lofty demeanour. Scarcely did he vouchsafe a word even to an ambassador, nor more than a slight drop of his chin to ladies of the highest rank. To one of the royal dukes alone did he seem to unbend and listen with complacency.

He was majestic in person, rich in his apparel, aud, in truth, became his garter well.

As he had vouchsafed a conversation of at least five minutes to Lady Hungerford, the only person in the room, except bis royal highness, who had detained him so long, I ventured, when he left her, to ask who he was.

The Duke of Glenmore," whispered she, "the proudest man in England, but also the greatest politician and party