The pleasant reflections excited by the interesting conversation of the evening were cruelly interrupted by my faithful Edwards. "Sir," said he, when he came to attend me, "do you know that all the talk of the Hall to-night at supper was, that Miss Stanley is going to be married to young Lord Staunton. He is a cousin of Mrs. Carlton's, and Mr. Stanley's coachman brought home the news from thence yesterday. I could not get at the very truth, because Mrs. Comfit was out of the way, but all the servants agree, that though he is a lord, and rich and handsome, he is not half good enough for her. Indeed, sir, they say he is no better than he should be."

I was thunderstruck at this intelligence. It was a trial I had not suspected. "Does he visit here, then, Edwards," said I, "for I have neither seen nor heard of him?" "No sir," said he, "but Miss meets him at Mr. Carlton's." This shocked me beyond expression. Lucilla meet a man at another house? Lucilla carry on a clandestine engagement? Can Mrs. Carlton be capable of conniving at it? Yet if it were not clandestine, why should he not visit at the Grove?

These tormenting reflections kept me awake the whole night. To acquit Lucilla, Edward's story made difficult; to condemn her my heart found impossible. One moment I blamed my own foolish timidity, which had kept me back from making any proposal, and the next, I was glad that the delay would enable me to sift the truth, and to probe her character. "If I do not find consistency here," said I, "I shall renounce all confidence in human virtue."

I arose early, and went to indulge my meditations in the garden. I saw Mr. Stanley sitting under the favorite oak. I was instantly tempted to go and open my heart to him, but seeing a book in his hand, I feared to interrupt him, and was turning into another walk till I had acquired more composure. He called after me, and invited me to sit down.

How violent were my fluctuations! How inconsistent were my feelings? How much at variance was my reason with my heart! The man on earth with whom I wished to confer invited me to a conference. With a mind under the dominion of a passion which I was eager to declare, yet agitated with an uncertainty which I had as much reason to fear might be painfully as pleasantly removed, I stood doubtful whether to seize or to decline the occasion which thus presented itself to me. A moment's reflection however convinced me that the opportunity was too inviting to be neglected. My impatience for an eclaircissement on Lord Staunton's subject was too powerful to be any longer resisted.

At length with a most unfeigned diffidence, and a hesitation which I feared would render my words unintelligible, I ventured to express my tender admiration of Miss Stanley, and implored permission to address her.

My application did not seem to surprise him. He only gravely said, "We will talk of this some future day." This cold and laconic reply instantly sunk my spirits. I was shocked and visibly confused. "It is too late," said I to myself; "happy Lord Staunton!" He saw my distress, and taking my hand, with the utmost kindness of voice and manner said, "My dear young friend, content yourself for the present with the assurance of my entire esteem and affection. This is a very early declaration. You are scarcely acquainted with Lucilla; you do not yet know," added he smiling, "half her faults."

"Only tell me, my dear sir," said I, a little re-assured and grasping his hand, "that when you know all mine, you will not reject me. Only tell me that you feel no repugnance; that you have no other views; that Miss Stanley has no other"—here I stopped, my voice failed; the excess of my emotion prevented me from finishing my sentence. He encouragingly said, "I know not that Lucilla has any attachment. For myself, I have no views hostile to your wishes. You have a double interest in my heart. You are endeared to me by your personal merit, and by my tender friendship for your beloved father. But be not impetuous. Form no sudden resolution. Try to assure yourself of my daughter's affection before you ask it of her. Remain here another month as my welcome guest, as the son of my friend. Take that month to examine your own heart, and to endeavor to obtain an interest in hers; we will then resume the subject."

"But, my dear sir," said I, "is not Lord Staunton—" "Set your heart at rest," said he. "Though we are both a little aristocratic in our political principles, yet when the competition is for the happiness of life, and the interests of virtue, both Lucilla and her father think with Dumont, that

So saying, he quitted me; but with a benignity in his countenance and manner that infused not only consolation but joy into my heart. My spirits were at once elated. To be allowed to think of Lucilla! To be permitted to attach myself to her! To be sure her heart was not engaged! To be invited to remain a month longer under the same roof with her; to see her; to hear her; to talk to her; all this was a happiness so great that I did not allow myself to repine because it was not all I had wished to obtain.

I met Mrs. Stanley soon after. I perceived by her illuminated countenance, that my proposal had been already communicated to her. I ventured to take her hand, and with the most respectful earnestness intreated her friendship; her good offices. "I dare not trust myself with you just now," said she with an affectionate smile; "Mr. Stanley will think I abet rebellion, if through my encouragement you should violate your engagements with him. But," added she, kindly pressing my hand; "you need not be much afraid of me. Mr. Stanley's sentiments on this point, as on all others, are exactly my own. We have but one heart and one mind, and that heart and mind are not unfavorable to your wishes." With a tear in her eyes and affection in her looks, she tore herself away, evidently afraid of giving way to her feelings.

I did not think myself bound by any point of honor to conceal the state of my heart from Sir John Belfield, who with his lady joined me soon after in the garden. I was astonished to find that my passion for Miss Stanley was no secret to either of them. Their penetration had left me nothing to disclose. Sir John however looked serious, and affected an air of mystery which a little alarmed me. "I own," said he, "there is some danger of your success." I eagerly inquired what he thought I had to fear? "You have every thing to fear," replied he, in a tone of grave irony, "which a man not four-and-twenty, of an honorable family, with a clear estate of four thousand a year, a person that all the ladies admire, a mind which all the men esteem, and a temper which endears you to men, women, and children, can fear from a little country girl, whose heart is as free as a bird, and who, if I may judge by her smiles and blushes whenever you are talking to her, would have no mortal objection to sing in the same cage with you."

"It will be a sad dull novel, however," said Lady Belfield: "all is likely to go on so smoothly that we shall flag for want of incident. No difficulties, nor adventures to heighten the interest. No cruel step-dame, no tyrant father, no capricious mistress, no moated castle, no intriguing confidante, no treacherous spy, no formidable rival, not so much as a duel or even a challenge, I fear, to give variety to the monotonous scene."

I mentioned Edwards's report respecting Lord Staunton, and owned how much it had disturbed me. "That he admires her," said Lady Belfield, "is notorious. That his addresses have not been encouraged, I have also heard, but not from the family. As to Lucilla, she is the last girl that would ever insinuate even to me, to whom she is so unreserved, that she had rejected so great an offer. I have heard her express herself with an indignation, foreign to her general mildness, against women who are guilty of this fashionable, this dishonorable indelicacy."

"Well, but Charles," said Sir John "you must positively assume a little dejection, to diversify the business. It will give interest to your countenance and pathos to your manner, and tenderness to your accent. And you must forget all attentions, and neglect all civilities. And you must appear absent, and distrait and rÉveur; especially while your fate hangs in some suspense. And you must read Petrarch, and repeat Tibullus, and write sonnets. And when you are spoken to, you must not listen. And you must wander in the grove by moonshine, and talk to the Oreads, and the Dryads, and the Naiads; oh no, unfortunately, I am afraid there are no Naiads within hearing. You must make the woods vocal with the name of Lucilla; luckily 'tis such a poetical name that Echo won't be ashamed to repeat it. I have gone through it all, Charles, and know every highway and byway in the map of love. I will, however, be serious for one moment, and tell you for your comfort, that though at your age I was full as much in for it as you are now, yet after ten years' union, Lady Belfield has enabled me to declare

A tear glistened in her soft eyes, at this tender compliment.

Just at that moment, Lucilla happened to cross the lawn at a distance. At sight of her, I could not, as I pointed to her, forbear exclaiming in the words of Sir John's favorite poet,

"This is very fine," said Sir John, sarcastically; "I admire all you young enthusiastic philosophers, with your intellectual refinement. You pretend to be captivated only with mind. I observe, however, that previous to your raptures, you always take care to get this mind lodged in a fair and youthful form. This mental beauty is always prudently enshrined in some elegant corporeal frame, before it is worshiped. I should be glad to see some of these intellectual adorers in love with the mind of an old or ugly woman. I never heard any of you fall into ecstasies in descanting on the mind of your grandmother." After some further irony, they left me to indulge my meditations, in the nature of which a single hour had made so pleasant a revolution.