Yesterday Lady Gwyn took me, at my particular request, to visit Monkton Castle, an old ruin, within three miles of us; and as it forms part of that property which she holds at present, it is mine to all intents and purposes.

The door-way was stopped up with stones, so that I could not take a survey of its interior; but outside it looked desolate enough. I mean, at some future period, to furnish it like Udolpho, and other castles of romance, and to reside there during the howling months.

After dinner her ladyship went to superintend the unpacking of some beautiful china, which had just arrived from London; and I was left alone on the sofa. Evening had already begun to close: a delicious indolence thrilled through my limbs, and I felt all that lassitude and vacuity which the want of incident ever creates.

'Were there even some youth in the house,' thought I, 'who would conceive an unhappy attachment for me;—had her ladyship but a persecuting son, what scenes might happen! Suppose at this moment the door were to be thrown open, and he to enter, with a quick step, and booted and spurred. He starts on seeing me. Never had I looked so lovely. 'Heavens!' murmurs he, ''tis a divinity!' then suddenly recollecting himself, he advances with a respectful bow. 'Pardon this intrusion,' says he; 'but I—really I—.' I rise, and colouring violently, mutter, without looking at him: 'I wonder where her ladyship can be?' But as I am about to pass him, he snatches my hand, and leading me back to the sofa, says:—'Suffer me to detain you a moment. This occasion, so long desired, I cannot bring myself to relinquish. Prevented by the jealous care of a too fond mother, from appearing before you, I have sought and found a thousand opportunities, on the stairs—in the garden—in the shrubbery—to behold those charms. Fatal opportunities! for they have robbed me of my peace for ever! Yes, charming Cherubina, you have undone me. That airy, yet dignified form; those mild, yet sparkling eyes; those lips, more delicious than the banquet of the gods——' 'Really, Signor,' says I, in all the pleasing simplicity of maiden embarrassment, 'this language is as improper for me to hear as for you to express.' 'It is, it is improper,' cries he, with animation, 'for it is inadequate.' 'Yes,' says I 'inadequate to the respect I deserve as the guest of your mother.' 'Ah!' exclaims he, 'why should the guest imitate the harshness of the hostess?' 'That she may not,' says I, 'countenance the follies of the son. Signor, I desire you will unhand me.' 'Never!' cries he; 'never, till you say you pity me. O, my Cherubina; O, my soul's idol!' and he drops upon his knee, and grasps my hand; when behold, the door opens, and Lady Gwyn appears at it! Never were astonishment and dismay equal to her's. 'Godfrey, Godfrey,' says she, 'is this the conduct that I requested of you? This, to seek clandestine interviews, where I had prohibited even an open acquaintance? And for thee, fair unfortunate,' turning towards me, with that mild look, which cuts more than a thousand sarcasms; 'for thee, lovely frail one, thou must seek some other asylum.' Her sweet eyes swim in tears. I fling myself at her feet. 'I am innocent,' I cry, 'innocent as the little fawn that frisks itself to repose by the bubbling fountain.' She smiles incredulous. 'Come,' says she, taking my hand, 'let me lead you to your apartment.' 'Stay, in mercy stay!' cries Godfrey, rushing between us and the door. She waves him aside. I reach my room. Nothing can console me. I am all despair. In a few minutes the maid taps at my door, with a slip of paper from Godfrey. 'Oh, Cherubina,' it says, 'how my heart is torn for you! As you value your fame, perhaps your life, meet me to-night, at twelve, in the shrubbery.' After a long struggle, I resolve to meet him. 'Tis twelve, the winds are abroad, the shower descends. I fling on something, and steal into the shrubbery. I find him there before me. He thanks me ten thousand, thousand times for my kindness, my condescension; and by degrees, leads me into the avenue, where I see a chaise in waiting. I shrink back; he prays, implores; and at length, snatching me in his arms, is about to force me into the vehicle, when on a sudden—'Hold, villain!' cries a voice. It is the voice of Stuart! I shriek, and drop to the ground. The clashing of swords resounds over my contested body, and I faint. On recovering, I find myself in a small, but decent chamber, with an old woman and a beautiful girl watching over me. 'St. Catherine be praised,' exclaims the young peasant, 'she comes to herself.' 'Tell me,' I cry, 'is he murdered?' 'The gentleman is dead, sure enough, miss,' says the woman. I laugh frantic, and point my finger. 'Ha! look yonder,' I cry; 'see his mangled corpse, mildly smiling, even in death. See, they fight; he falls.—Barbarous Godfrey! valiant, generous, unfortunate Stuart! And hark, hear you that! 'Tis the bell tolling, tolling, tolling!' During six weeks I continue in this dreadful brain-fever. Slowly I recover. A low melancholy preys upon me, and I am in the last stage of a consumption. But though I lose my bloom, illness touches my features with something more than human. One evening, I had got my chair on the green before the door, and was watching the sun as he set in a blaze of gold. 'And oh!' exclaimed I, 'soon must I set like thee, fair luminary;—when I am interrupted by a stifled sigh, just behind me. I turn. Heaven and earth! who should be leaning over me, with looks of unutterable love, but—Stuart! In an instant, I see him, I shriek, I run, I leap into his arms.——

Unfortunate leap; for it wakened me from a delicious reverie, and I found myself in the arms,—not of Stuart,—but of the old butler! Down we both came, and broke in pieces a superb china vase, which he was just bringing into the room.

'What will my lady say to this?' cried he, rising and collecting the fragments.

'She will smile with ineffable grace,' answered I, 'and make a moral reflection on the instability of sublunary things.'

He shook his head, and went on with his work of affliction; while I hastened to the glass, where I found my face flushed from my reverie, my hair dishevelled, and my long eyelashes wet with tears. I perceived too that my dress had got a terrible rent by my fall.

Hardly had I recomposed myself, when her ladyship returned, and called for tea.

'How did you tear your robe, my love?' said she.

'By a fall that I got just now,' replied I. 'Sure never was such an unfortunate fall!'

'Nay, child,' said she, rallying me, 'though a martyr to the tender sensibilities, you must not be a victim to torn muslin.'

'I am extremely distressed, however,' said I.

'But why so?' cried she. 'It was an accident, and all of us are awkward at times. Life has too many serious miseries to admit of vexation about trifles.'

'There now!' cried I, with delight. 'I declare I told the butler, when I broke the china vase, that you would make a moral reflection.'

'Broke the—— Oh! mercy, have you broken my beautiful china vase?'

'Smashed it to atoms,' answered I, in a tone of the most assuasive sweetness.

'You did?' exclaimed she, in a voice that stunned me. 'And pray, how dared you go near it? How dared you even look at it? You, who are not fit company for crockery, much less china;—a crazed creature, that I brought into my house to divert my guests. You a title? You a beauty?'

'Dear Lady Gwyn,' said I, 'do be calm under this calamity. Trust me life has too many serious miseries to admit of vexation about trifles.'

Her ladyship rose, with her cheeks inflamed, and her eyes glittering.

I ran out of the room, in much terror; then up stairs, and into the nearest bed-chamber. It happened to be her ladyship's; and this circumstance struck me as most providential; for, in her present mood, she would probably compel me to quit the house; so that I could never have another opportunity of ransacking her caskets and cabinets, for memorials of my birth.

I therefore began the search; but in the midst of it was interrupted by hearing a small voice cry, 'get out!'

Much amazed, I looked up, and perceived her ladyship's favourite parrot in its cage.

'Get out!' said the parrot.

'I will let thee out, cost what it will,' cried I.

So with much sensibility, and indeed, very little spleen, I took the bird, and put it out at the window.

After having accurately examined several drawers, I found a casket in one of them; opened it, and beheld within (O delightful sight!) a miniature set round with inestimable diamonds, and bearing a perfect resemblance to the portrait in the gallery,—face, attitude, attire, every thing!

'Relic of my much injured house!' exclaimed I, depositing the picture in my bosom.' Image of my sainted mother, never will I part with thee!'

'What are you doing in my room?' cried Lady Gwyn, as she burst into it. 'How is this? All my dresses about the floor! my drawers, my casket open!—And, as I live, here is the miniature gone! Why you graceless little thing, are you robbing me?'

'Madam,' answered I, 'that miniature belongs to my family; I have recovered it at last; and let me see who will dare take it from me.'

'You are more knave than fool,' said her ladyship: 'give it back this instant, or, on my honour, I will expose you to the servants.'

'What is the use of bullying?' said I. 'Sure you are ruined should this swindling affair come to be known, not that I would, for the world, hang your ladyship;—far from it,—but then your character will be blasted. Ah! Lady Gwyn, where is your hereditary honour? where is your prudence? where is your dignity?'

'Where is my parrot?' shrieked her ladyship.

'Ranging the radiant air!' exclaimed I—'inhaling life, and fragrance, and freedom amidst the clouds! I let it out at the window.'

Her ladyship ran towards me, but I passed her, and made the best of my way down stairs; while she followed, calling, stop thief! Too well I knew and rued the dire expression; nor stopped an instant, but hurried out of the house—through the lawn—down the avenue—into a hay-field;—the servants in hot pursuit. Not a moment was to be lost: a drowning man, you know, will grasp at straws, and I crept for refuge under a heap of hay.

But whether they found me there, or how long I remained, or what has become of me since, or what is likely to become of me hereafter, you shall learn in my next.

Adieu.