as I thought, too much self-possession, and talked rather quizzingly of my Yorkshire heartiness. This, however, a more fashionable coat, and what I supposed a more fashionable, that is, rather a less natural, manner than had belonged to him in the wilds of Sedbergh, were the only differences which Eton and absence seemed to have produced. In all other respects, he appeared the same warm, friendly fellow he had been; and in the eagerness of our mutual inquiries, and the joy of meeting again, we forgot, if either had remembered, the difference in lot which subsisted between the squire's and the decayed gentleman's son. I have, however, more reasons for remembering this epoch. In proceeding up the avenue, something sped towards us which at first I took for a young fawn, so swift was its motion, so graceful its bound. It appeared of the air, for it seemed not earthly. What was my surprise, when, advancing nearer, I plainly observed it was a young human being, for it had a human form, and a face dazzling with animation: and yet not human either; for it was more like one of the fairies I had read of, and if so, surely of fairies the queen herself. Foljambe, seeing my surprise, said, “It is my sister Bertha: she has not seen me to-day, and is impatient to join me. I dare say she has played truant from her governess to do so." By this time the graceful girl, in all the bloom and vivacity of sweet sixteen, had come up to us, and playfully reproached Foljambe for going out without as usual coming to see her. Her playfulness, however, fled when I was presented to her; and the necessity for the artificial ceremonial she had been taught on the salutation of a stranger seemed to put her natural frankness to flight; she was seized with timidity; curtesied, hesitated, and blushed. That blush, however, spoke, though her voice had stopt; yet, in the few words she had uttered, that voice was so silvery sweet as to affect me with I knew not what sensations of pleasure, for I knew not why I was so pleased. All that I was certain of was, that it was a voice more sweet than I had ever heard before (and certainly than I ever heard afterwards, except from her)—so that I was almost about to exclaim, "O, lady! speak again." But the blush spoke too; and I could translate it, though new to the language of blushes. It seemed to say, among other things, " And is this your friend ?" and then I thought I was an object of curiosity, and wished to appear to advantage to my friend's sister, but did not know how-and then I blushed in my turn, yet did not know why-only I was sure that I had never seen such a blush, and would have given the world to have had such a sister. I was very fond of Dryden's Tempest, and a favourite passage rushed into my mind, personified as I felt by this beautiful vision "At first it stared upon me and seem'd wild, This never happened to me with the Misses Crackenthorpes, nor even with the Misses Goff, nor could I then analyze the difference; but I felt it in my heartwhere, truth to say, it remained ever afterwards. We now advanced to the house, which had an imposing look of opulence and substantial grandeur; and this, and the grace and beauty of the young fairy, made my mind dart with sensible mortification to my own parental home, and my own personal insignifi cance. That this should be inspired by a fine house and park, and a sort of consequent reverence for the owner, was not surprising. What did surprise me was, that not one-half, nay not a tenth part, of my fear or mortification arose from this, but from a feeling totally new, springing from the sudden comparison of myself with this daughter of rank and fortune, whom I had just seen. That her loveliness should make me love her, I could understand; but why I should feel the complex sensations of awe, humility, and despair, which so instantly got possession of me, was at the time totally inexplicable. I accounted for it, Heaven knows, well enough afterwards, when, to my cost, I got better acquainted with the nature of love, pride, ambition, and independence, all struggling together; but this was the result of riper years. What now puzzled me was the influence which this wild young beauty, high as she was above me, could have acquired in such an instant, so as to make me feel bashful, helpless, and humbled, and all, as I thought, without a cause. But to return-my friend Foljambe, still accompanied by his sister, conducted me across a large hall, into a large room, where a large and very noble looking man sat in a large arm-chair of crimson velvet. "Father," said Foljambe, with a sort of flippancy, which my jealousy did not like, because I attributed it to Eton, "this is my friend Clifford : I assure you, though he looks so bashful and backward, there a great deal in him.” is "Of course," said Mr. Hastings, "as he was your friend at Sedbergh. He has at least an honourable name; though that perhaps is little recommendation in these days. I believe, young Sir (that is, my son tells me), you descend from the old Lords Bardolfe, as well as the Cliffords, for whom I ought myself to feel an interest, from being an unworthy successor to part of their domains. Though the domains have been lost, I hope you don't undervalue descent, as it is becoming a fashion to do. Possibly, indeed, it will be of little use to you in the world; and yet I don't know At this he fell into a sort of musing, while I was absorbed with what seemed an interest taken by his daughter in this introductory speech. For she watched her father with peculiar attention while he made it, and during his reverie afterwards. Of this reverie, at the time, I knew not the cause, and even when I did, did not perhaps well understand it; for I knew nothing of English aristocrats or democrats, though my school books had already taught me the difference between them among the ancients; and certainly I soon found that the awful master of Foljambe Park, though, from peculiar views, he had mixed the hardihood of a plebeian with an aristocratic education for his son, was, in his principles, certainly no democrat. He was, as I have before stated, of the old school, and he was so in dress, and address. As to the first, it was so different from any I had hitherto seen, that it made an impression, as indeed every thing about and belonging to him did, upon one so total a stranger to his higher lot. I remember even his coat, which had a very low collar, was of a light stone colour; singlebreasted, and very plain: but its plainness was relieved by a most magnificent waistcoat of crimson velvet, with gold button-holes, denoting, as I thought, uncommon grandeur. Its pockets reached nearly to his knees, large and roomy, and out of them he ever and anon conveyed, and returned to them again, a ponderous gold chased snuff-box, of large dimensions. This seemed the perpetual employment of his slender hands, whose whiteness and delicacy shewed how little they had ever been exposed even to the sun, much less to toil. A small head, with a keen blue eye, and bushy eye- . brows, gave him a penetrating, or at least a pensive, look, and a black solitaire, and little bag, or rather rosette, in which he confined his grey hair, completed the outward man. When he rose from his chair, which he did, with a sort of condescending politeness, I perceived that his figure was tall, commanding, and well proportioned. Upon the whole, he had an imposing and dignified air. How much of this was owing to my consciousness of his superior station, how much to his personal merits, I did not discover, for I was too much dazzled with the first real man of quality I had ever seen to think of inquiring. He was engaged, on our entering, in a conversation, which was afterwards resumed, and what I heard, I did not fail, because sufficiently characteristic, to remark and remember. It was with a gentleman, who, though the clergyman of the parish, rather surprised me by the obsequiousness he shewed; for it was very unlike the manner of our own curate, who always, on his visits to us, seemed at his ease, and as perfectly at home as one of ourselves. This gentleman, the Reverend Mr. Darling, was |