Alquanto malagevole ed aspretta, Per mezzo im bosco presero la via, Che, oltra che sassosa fosse e stretta, Quasi su dritta alla collina gia. Ma poiche furo ascesi in su la belta Usciro in spaziosa pratiera— Dover il piu bel Palazzo e'l piu giocondo, Vider che mai fosse vecluto al mondo. Orlando Furioso. In proportion as Mrs. Galton and Augustus approached Eltondale, their regrets increased from their anticipation of so soon parting with Selina; whilst, on the contrary, her spirits seemed to rise with the varying scene. Almost every object was new to her, and, as such, was a fresh source of enjoyment. It would be impossible to describe Selina's astonishment when she entered Leeds. She had never before been in any large town; for though York was within thirty miles of the Hall, it had been, in point of intercourse, as much beyond Sir Henry's circle as London itself. The throng of people, the constant bustle of passengers, the gaiety of the shops, and above all the comfort, and even elegance of the hotel where they slept—were all to her subjects of agreeable surprise. Even the rapid motion of the carriage whirled on by the post horses, whose pace was so different from the sober gait of poor Sir Henry's antiquated steeds, animated and delighted her. And will the confession be forgiven?—such was her ignorance, or perhaps her frivolity, that she not only felt, but was vulgar enough to acknowledge a childish pleasure in the races the postillions frequently entered into with the stage coaches. Augustus was enchanted with the naÏvetÉ of her observations, and gazed with delight on her sparkling eyes and changing colour, which needed no interpreter to express her varying emotions. But Mrs. Galton sighed to think how that pliability of disposition, that now rendered her so bewitching to others, might hereafter become dangerous to herself. Lady Eltondale, finding Mrs. Galton and Mordaunt were determined to accompany Selina to the end of her journey, had written a polite invitation to them to remain at her house some days; but they had both resolved not to avail themselves of this tardy civility, even for one night; however, unforeseen delays having occurred, they did not reach Eltondale till past nine o'clock in the evening. It was a dark stormy night; the wind, which blew in tremendous gusts, had extinguished the lamps of the carriage, and they with difficulty found their way through a thick wood, that climbed the side of a hill on which the house was situated; but when they emerged from this Cimmerian darkness, the superb mansion broke upon their view in an unbroken blaze of light. The exterior rivalled the elegance of an Italian villa from the lightness of its porticoes, the regularity of its colonnades, and the symmetry of its whole proportion. Nor was the interior less elegant. Almost before the carriage reached the steps of the porch, the ready doors flew open, and a crowd of servants welcomed their approach: and such was the brilliancy of the scene into which they were thus suddenly introduced, that it was some minutes before the travellers could face the dazzling glare of this sudden day. When, however, they were enabled to look round, the coup d'oeil called forth involuntary admiration. Three halls, en suite, lay open before them, all illuminated, particularly the centre one, which contained a light stone stair-case, that wound round a dome to the top of the house, only interrupted by galleries that corresponded to the different floors. Out of the hall in which they stood, a conservatory stretched its length of luxuriant sweetness. The roses, that were trained over its trellised arches, were in full blow, and formed a beautiful contrast to the icicles that hung on the outside of the windows, whilst the blooming garden itself was equally contrasted by the winter clothing of the adjoining halls. In them large blazing fires gave both light and heat; whilst thick Turkey carpets, bearskin rugs, and cloth curtains to every door, bid defiance to the inclemency of the severest season. Before Selina had time to express half her rapture and surprise, the Alcina of this enchanted palace approached to welcome them. And such was the elegance, the fascination of Lady Eltondale's address, particularly to Mrs. Galton and Augustus, that they for a moment almost doubted whether they had indeed rightly understood her prohibitory letter. Lord Eltondale had not yet left the dinner table; but the moment he heard of the arrival of his guests, he bustled out, napkin in hand, to bellow forth his boisterous welcome: "Gad, I'm glad to see ye all. How do? how do? Why, Mrs. Galton, you're thinner than ever; but this is capital fattening ground. Selina, my girl, what have you done with the rosy cheeks you had last summer? Come, child, don't cry; you know you could not expect Sir Henry to live for ever—and you've plenty of cash, eh?" Lady Eltondale, perceiving her Lord's condolences by no means assuaged Selina's tears, took hold of her hand and that of Mrs. Galton, and with a kindness much more effectual, though perhaps not more sincere, led them away from her unconscious Lord, who, without waiting for reply or excuse, seized Mordaunt by the arm, and dragged him into the eating parlour, as he said, "to drink the ladies' health in a bottle of the best Burgundy he ever tasted." The drawing-room, to which Lady Eltondale introduced her guests, was perfectly consistent with its beautiful entrance, for here, in short, all that taste and extravagance could procure to combine comfort and elegance. Before Lady Eltondale drew aside the curtain that screened the door of the anteroom, a few chords on the harp were distinguished—and on entering the apartment they perceived two ladies. One was an old woman, dressed in mourning, with a large black bonnet, which almost entirely concealed her face, whom Lady Eltondale introduced as Lady Hammersley. She looked up, for a moment, from a book she appeared to be perusing intently, and after saluting the strangers with an obsequious inclination of the head, resumed her studies in silence. The other lady, who was reclining against the harp, was dressed in the extreme of French fashion. Her face, though not youthful, appeared, at that distance, handsome, from the judicious arrangement of white and red, with which it was covered. But a closer inspection proved the only charms it could really boast were a pair of large black eyes, that could assume any requisite expression, and a set of teeth, which, whether natural or artificial, were certainly beautiful. Her dark hair was crowned with a wreath of roses en corbeille, the colour of her cheeks; and her tall slim figure was covered, not concealed, by a loose muslin robe À la Diane. At first the Viscountess took no notice of the fair minstrel; but having placed Mrs. Galton close to the fire in a Roman chair, and ordered coffee, and an opera basket for her feet, she drew Selina's arm through her own, and, approaching the stranger, addressed her, saying, "At last, Mademoiselle Omphalie, here is my niece: have I said too much of her?" "Ah! mon Dieu, qu'elle est belle!" returned the complaisant foreigner. "Ma foi, elle est fail À peindre. END OF VOL. I.And by her walk the queen of love is known. Dryden. From mem'ry's length'ning chain to part The object that we love, How vain the pang that rends the heart, What fruitless grief we prove! The dear idea, cherish'd yet, Returns still o'er and o'er, And thinking that we should forget, Impresses it the more. Sicilian muse, begin a loftier strain; The lowly shrubs and trees that shade the plain Delight not all. Dryden. They through the wood their path descried, Which climb'd the shaggy mountain's side; Dark, narrow was the winding way, O'er many a piercing stone it lay. But when they left the forest's shade, A spacious platform stood display'd, On which a palace rose in sight, The smiling scene of gay delight. Printed by S. Hamilton, Weybridge, Surrey. [Transcriber's Note: Hyphen variations within volume and between volumes left as printed.] Books published by Baldwin, Cradock, and Joy. WORKS RECENTLY PUBLISHED. ROSABELLA, or A MOTHER'S MARRIAGE. In 5 vols. By the Author of "Romance of the Pyrenees;" "Santo Sebastiano, or the Young Protector;" "Adelaide, or the Countercharm;" and "Forest of Montalbano." HARRINGTON, a Tale; and Ormond, a Tale. By Maria Edgeworth; Author of "Tales of Fashionable Life," &c. &c. 3 vols. PATRONAGE. By the same Author. Third Edition. COMIC DRAMAS. By the same Author. 1 vol. SARSFIELD, or the Wanderings of Youth; an Irish Tale. By John Gamble, Esq. Strabane. 3 vols. HOWARD. By the same Author. 2 vols. WARWICK CASTLE, an Historical Novel. By Miss Prickett; containing, amongst other desultory information, the Descent and Achievements of the ancient Earls of Warwick, from the earliest period of their creation to the present time. With some Account of Warwick, Birmingham, Lemington, &c. &c. interspersed with Pieces of local Poetry, incidental Biography, and Anecdotes of English History. 3 vols. MODERN TIMES, or the Age We Live In; a Posthumous Novel, dedicated by Permission to the Right Honourable Countess Cowper. By Elizabeth Helme; Author of "The Pilgrim of the Cross," &c. 3 vols. THE BRITISH PLUTARCH; containing the Lives of the most Eminent Divines, Patriots, Statesmen, Warriors, Philosophers, Poets, and Artists of Great Britain and Ireland, from the Accession of Henry VIII. to the present time. A new Edition, re-arranged and enriched with several additional Lives. By the Rev. Francis Wrangham, M.A. F.R.S. 6 large vols. Besides presenting at least one distinguished example, and frequently several, in nearly every respectable division of society, this collection of one hundred Lives exhibits an almost continuous view of the English annals. |