CHAPTER V. HONOUR. One in whom The ancient Roman honour more appears, SHAKSPEARE. I PASS the civilities I received the next day from my host and hostess, and the many quick steps by which, with congenial tempers, persons unknown to each other, advance from good will into a sort of intimacy. There must, however, be a warmth of temperament, and even of imagination, to bring congeniality always to bear. Icicles may be frozen together, and seem apparently linked; but it is the warm sun which melts and amalgamates correspondent natures, so that they run into one another, and appear individually the same. Congeniality of feeling is often as sudden in its effects as it is unaccountable. All that we know of it is, that it is a delight which ages of intimacy, and even the nearest relationship, cannot always purchase; and those are wrong who from wariness, or I had almost said, from experience, are afraid to indulge it. Thus spoke my own young heart. If De Vere's was not immediately responsive to it, perhaps he may be forgiven. Both himself and his mother, however, considering their habits, did wonders. Lady Eleanor made me tell all I knew of my father, and the campaigns he had served" with him who was gone." She did this while we lingered alone together in the great dining-room, the morning after I arrived. She did it, too, with her eyes fixed upon the marked and fine portrait I had observed the evening before. There was a high military air in it; an erect crest, and lofty look of rectitude, which fixed the sentiment as the colours did the eye. I was moved, and showed that I was so. Lady Elea nor was pleased, for she did not shrink from the subject; she rather indulged it. No tear came into her eye while it passed over the well-known features; but her lips, spite of herself, quivered when she began to speak of them. "I see all you think," said she, "of this fine resemblance, for such it is. The character of it cannot be mistaken. Never was gentleman more truly stamped, than on that noble brow!" She said this with clasped hands, and an elevated voice. My silent observance showed how I respected her. But she checked herself with a command that was evidently habitual, and we conversed calmly on the topics which the portrait prompted, although there was fire and destruction in all its accompaniments; and General De Vere, as I afterwards discovered, had died the death of a soldier. When I tell my reader that my own father had also died his companion in arms in the same battle, he may understand the suddenness of the sympathy which sprang up between this interesting family and me, and the sort of favour into which I seemed so immediately taken by this excellent woman. In truth, the Lady Eleanor De Vere was a noble gentlewoman. Though little smiled upon by fortune, she was intrenched, if I may so say, in respectability of every kind. She possessed little of the smooth, level, and uniform varnish of untried character, which belongs to most of the women of quality of the present day. She belonged rather to other times. Sprung from a long line of nobles, through both her parents, she traced to the Albinis and Plantagenets, and her ancestors had called cousin with a king. This had in fact never been forgotten, although it had often to struggle with changes, which had both tried and purified her mind. Through one of the sources of her being, she derived from the Cliffords, and though with infinitely more mildness, she was not ill qualified (had she been pushed to it,) to have imitated her famous ancestor, the threefold Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery, in her answer to a secretary of state: "I have been bullied by an usurper, I have been neglected by a court; but I will not be dictated to by a subject."* If from this introduction, the reader loves the Lady Eleanor De Vere, as well as I do, he will perhaps excuse me, if I go on with this sketch; nor perhaps can there be a more convenient time for it, than at this epoch of our acquaintance. Lady Eleanor, then, was the daughter of a nobleman of some parliamentary influence in this division of the kingdom. This influence he generally exerted for the court, and reaped from it the usual benefits which the court conferred in return. The daughter, however, and the father, saw things differently, and Lady Eleanor, while she could not oppose, dared secretly to lament that the descendant of an hundred barons should be content to pass a life in mere parliamentary manoeuvring, sometimes with the minister himself, but more frequently with subalterns, in support of his power. As arbitrary in his family as obsequious at the treasury, the Earl of Mowbray could not brook the dissent of his child from his proceedings. What was worse, he could not bear the superiority of her character. Her presence, her observation, though mute, became irksome; and her perpetual praises of the heroes and patriots of his own blood, who were gone, were so many crimes in his eyes,-so many taunts upon what he feared she might think (for she never expressed it) his degenerate conduct. Under such restraints, she lost the little affection he had ever entertained for her; and he seized with readiness, if not with pleasure, the occasion of what he called an undutiful opposition to his will, in refusing a high alliance, to banish her from his house, as he had previously from his heart. It was in vain that she ventured to assert, not her power of choice, but her liberty to refuse; and to offer, as a composition, never to marry but with his entire approbation. Yet in this she was ready to sacrifice much, for another had then touched her young affection. But the Earl was inexorable; * Her answer to Sir Jos. Williamson, who had written to her to nominate a court candidate for Appleby. She added, "your man shan't stand.' and exiled, portionless, but as unsubdued as beautiful, she thought no duty prevented her from bestowing herself upon one who loved her too well to balance between his prudence, and what he thought affection and honour conjoined. Her union with Colonel De Vere was, as far as union was concerned, of the happiest kind. A descent equal to her own, a spirit which, in other times, had been chivalrous, a lofty contempt for all that was selfish, proved by a regard for family honour, which had comparatively ruined him, commanded her admiration, while the most entire and delicate devotion to herself, sealed her love. The return she made for it was ardent, and kept them always lovers. The conduct of Colonel De Vere in his family story was remarkable. His father, an able but profuse man, in the course of various splendid foreign missions, had contracted debts to an immense amount. Though employed by, and not averse to the government, he could not prevail upon his son, who was in parliament on their own family interest, to give them his support. A dependent friend, then making his way in the career of office, hinted the propriety of a change in politics, with a view to the allowance of many of these debts. It was spurned at. "Let my father's mind be easy," said De Vere ; "if breaking an entail will pay the demands, I am ready to sign, but let us preserve our independence." The father balanced-"It will strip you," said he, "of your finest inheritance, and reduce you to the moated house." "I will live, then," replied Colonel De Vere, "in the moated house." The parent was struck, but would not consent; at least he hesitated, and hesitating, died. Creditors, to the amount of eighty thousand pounds, remained to curse his memory. It was hard upon De Vere: but loftiness of spirit (for I will not call it. pride,) added to principle, directed him to a noble course. He had promised to break the entail, a promise which his friends told him was released, because not accepted by his father. "My promise was virtually to the creditors," said De Vere. In fine, the most considerable estate was sold; the debts were paid, and De Vere retired, as he said he would, to the moated house and comparative poverty. It was shared by Lady Eleanor with cheerfulness, and while she felt the eclipse of her husband, as well as of herself, her admiration as well as approbation were unceasing at the generosity that had caused it. But the alienation of her father preyed upon her heart. She made many efforts to be restored, but in vain; and, sad to relate, the cold and calculating earl, though, as his eyes were closing, he sent her a faint forgiveness, left the world without having admitted her to his presence. Providence had even greater trials for her. The Colonel, now General De Vere, fell in battle, mortally wounded. Lady Eleanor, the moment she heard of it flew to the Continent to attend him, but only arrived time enough to see him die. There is no necessity to pursue the story. Several years had elapsed since that disastrous event, but it was only her firmness, supported by sincere resignation, that enabled her to resume comparative enjoyment. She was left with two sons of very unequal ages, and had now still more straightened circumstances to encounter; for the estate of Talbois, which devolved to her eldest son, little more than sufficed to educate and give him the accomplishments that seemed his birthright. This she could have borne; but the character of that eldest son, which she had carefully concealed from his father, who, in his occupations abroad, knew it not, gave her the greatest uneasiness. In Mortimer, however, she had all comfort; in him she seemed to see his father revived. He had all his parent's high qualities; more than his cultivation; even greater beauty of person; and having fallen from no high expectations, was naturally buoyant. He had, however, one great fault-such at least it was under his peculiar circumstances: he possessed a warm and |