"If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning."

Lady Albina Somerset's arrival in London was greeted by the immediate visits of all the persons in town who had been esteemed by the late Countess of Tinemouth, or on intimate terms with the baronet's family. It was not the gay season for the metropolis. Amongst the earliest names that appeared at her door were those of Lord Berrington, the Hon. Captain and Mrs. Montresor, and the Rev. Dr. Blackmore. Under any circumstances, either in the country or in town, Mr. Somerset and his young bride did not propose opening their gates to more general acquaintances until Miss Beaufort and the count were married, and both bridal parties had been presented at court in the spring. To this little select group of friends who were to assemble round Mr. Somerset's table on the appointed day, Thaddeus informed him, with frank pleasure, that he had taken the liberty of adding Dr. Cavendish and Mr. Hopetown of Dantzic.

Lady Albina received the two strangers with graceful hospitality. The affianced Mary, with an equally blushing grace, presented her hand to the generous protector of Saladin, accompanying the action with a modest acknowledgment of her interest in an animal so deservedly dear to the Count Sobieski. He had turned to meet Lord Berrington and the ever lively Sophia Egerton (now Mrs. Montresor), who both advanced to him at the same instant, to express their gratulations not only at seeing him again, but in a situation of happy promise, so consonant to his avowed rank and personal early fame.

Thaddeus replied to their felicitations with a smiling dignity in that ingenuous manner peculiarly his own. He was not a little surprised when Dr. Blackmore soon after recognized him to be the noble foreigner whose appearance had so much excited his attention, about a twelvemonth ago, at the Hummuins, in Covent Garden. The count did not recollect the circumstance of having seen the good doctor there; but the venerable man recapitulated the scene in the coffee- room through which the count had passed, describing, with no little animation, "a pedantic mannered person, dressed in black, and wearing spectacles (whose name he afterwards learned was Loftus), an M.A. of one of the colleges, who took the liberty to make some not very liberal remarks on the number of noble strangers then confiding themselves to the honorable sanctuary and sympathy of our country."

Pembroke could hardly hear the benevolent speaker to the end; stifling any audible expression of his re-awakened indignation, he whispered to the baronet, "My dear father! recent happy events have made us almost forget that villain's baseness; but I pray, let him not remain another week a blot upon our house's escutcheon."

"All shall be done as you wish," returned his father, in the same subdued tone; "but let us remember how much of that recent happiness the goodness of Providence hath brought out of this wretched man's offence. Were I extreme to mark what is done amiss, how could I abide the sentence that might be justly pronounced against myself? To- morrow we will talk over this matter, and settle it, I trust, with satisfaction to all parties."

Pembroke gratefully pressed his father's hand, and then, walking up the room, addressed Mrs. Montresor. In a few minutes her brave husband joined them. While talking of his late victorious and happily-completed homeward-bound voyage, he spoke with great regret of the threatened absence from England of his late colleague on the battle-field of the ocean, his old friend Captain Ross.

"How—whither is he going?" asked his wife, in a tone of interest.

Montresor replied, "The ill state of Lady Sara's health requires a milder air, and poor Ross means to take her without loss of time to Italy. I met him this morning, in despair about the suddenness of some alarming symptoms."

Thaddeus too well divined that this increased indisposition owed its rise to his recent return to town, and inwardly petitioning Heaven that absence and her husband's devoted tenderness might complete her cure, he could not repress a sigh, wrung from his respectful pity towards her, in this deep bosom-struggle with herself.

No one present except the future partner of his own heart marked the transient melancholy which passed over his countenance. She, who had suspected the unhappy Lady Sara's attachment, loved Thaddeus, if possible, still dearer for the compassion he bestowed on the meek penitence of the unhappy victim of a passion often as inscrutable as destructive.

When the party descended to dinner, Miss Dorothy, who sat next to the Count Sobieski, rallied him upon the utter desertion of one of his most pertinacious allies or adversaries—she did not know which to call the fair delinquent. "For admiring or detesting seemed quite the same to some ladies, so they did but show their power of mischief over any poor mortal man they found in their way!"

This strange attack, though uttered in perfect good humor by the lively old lady, following so closely the information relative to Lady Sara Ross, summoned a fervid color into the count's face; he looked surprised, and rather confused, at the revered speaker, who soon gayly related what she had been told that morning by her milliner, of "Miss Euphemia Dundas being on the point of marriage with a young Scotch nobleman in Berwickshire; and in proof, her elegant informant, Madame de Maradon, was making the bridal trousseau."

"So much the better for all straight-going people, ma chere tante" cried Pembroke; "little Phemy was no contemptible assailant either way. Besides," added he, turning airily to his own gentle bride, "you, my young lady, may congratulate yourself on the same good hope. I hear that an old turf-comrade of mine is going to take her loving sister off my hands. Come, Lord Berrington, you must verify my report, for I learned it from you."

His lordship smiled, and answered in the affirmative, adding that a friend of his in Lincolnshire, had written to him as most amusing news, "That the most worthy Orson, heir of all the lands, tenements, stables, and kennels of the doughty Sir Helerand Shafto, of that ilk, and twenty ilks besides north of the Humber, had been discovered by the wonderful occult penetration possessed by the exceedingly blue sorceress-lady Miss Diana Dundas (of as many ilks north of the Tweed), to be no Orson at all; but her very veritable Valentine, to whom she was now preparing to give her fair and golden-garnished hand in the course of the forthcoming month; that is, when the season of hunting and shooting is past and gone, and the chase-wearied pair may turn themselves, with their blown horses and hounds, to a little wholesome rustication in their homestead fields."

"I would not be their companion for Nebuchadnezzar's crown!" reiterated Pembroke, laughing.

Sobieski, not suppressing the smile that played on his lips at the whimsical description given by Lord Berrington's correspondent, wished the nuptials happy, as far as the parties could comprehend the feeling. The viscount in return protested that their Polish friend "was more generous than just in such a benediction."

"I vow to heaven," cried his lordship, "that I never knew people the aim of whose lives seemed so bent on sly mischief as those two sisters. Euphemia, pretty as she is, is better known by her skill in tormenting than by her beauty. And as for the poor squire Diana has conjured into matrimony, I have little doubt of his future baited fate when she springs her dogs of war upon that petted deer!"

"Ah, poor fool!" exclaimed Mrs. Montresor, "I warrant he will not escape the punishment he merits, for stepping between the goddess and her delectable Endymion, Lascelles."

"Quarter for an old acquaintance!" whispered Miss Beaufort, in a beseeching voice.

"She does not deserve it of you!" returned the lady, pursuing her ridiculous game, until both Miss Dorothy and Sir Robert petitioned for mercy from so fair a judge.

Thaddeus, who possessed not the disposition to exult in the misconduct or mischances of any one who had injured him, felt this part of the conversation the least pleasant on that happy day, and to change its strain, he, in his turn, whispered to his father "to prevail on Lady Albina to indulge his friend Mr. Hopetown by singing a few passages from that beautiful ballad of the Scottish borders, 'Chevy Chase,' which had so delighted their own family party the preceding evening."

He did not ask this "charmed resource" from his own betrothed, because it was only at the close of that very preceding evening he had for the first time heard her voice, "in sweetest melody," chanting forth the parting anthem for the night, "From the ends of the earth, I will call upon thee, O Lord," and with tones of a kindred pathos, too thrilling to a son's startled ear and memory, to be invoked again in a mixed company.

Strange, indeed, it might be, but it was a sacred balm to his soul when these recurring remembrances discovered to his heart in the young and lovely future partner of his life a bond of union with that angelic mother who had given him being; and perhaps this devoted filial heart alone could appreciate the joy, the comfort, the bliss of such a similitude! But in after days he shared those feelings with his father, bringing to his regretful bosom a soothing perception of the likeness.

Lady Albina instantly complied, casting a sweet glance at Sir Robert, who immediately led her to the piano-forte, followed by the Scottish merchant of the Baltic, whither the noble symphony of "The Douglas," "hound and horn," soon gathered the rest of the company. The remainder of the evening passed away delightfully in the awakened harmony. Mrs. Montresor joined Lady Albina in some touching Italian duets; Pembroke supported both ladies in a fine trio of Mozart's; Mr. Hopetown requested another favorite son of his country, "Auld Robin Gray," and himself repaid Lady Albina's kind assent by a magnificent voluntary on his part, "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled." Mary accompanied that well known pibroch of "The Bruce" with a true responsive echo from her harp; but she declined singing herself, and when Thaddeus took the relinquished instrument from her hand, he pressed it with a silent tenderness, sweeter to her than could have been the plaudits of all the accomplished listeners around. That soft hand had stroked the branching neck of his recovered Saladin the same morning, and the happy master now marked his feeling of the gentle deed.

In the course of a few days, Pembroke's wishes with regard to Mr. Loftus were put into a train of fulfilment, Dr. Blackmore having undertaken to find a fitting tutor for the young Lord Avon, and in the interim would receive him into his own classical instruction, whenever it should be deemed proper to terminate his present holiday visit in Bedfordshire. But whilst Sir Robert had thus adjudged the guilty, he was careful not to expose him to fresh temptations, nor to suffer his crimes to implicate the innocent in its punishment. Hence, in pity to age and helplessness, he determined to settle two hundred pounds per annum on the wretched man's mother and sisters, who dwelt together in Wales. Shortly after, in consequence of his contrite confessions, "that all Mr. Somerset's allegations against him were too true," the humane father and son appointed one hundred pounds more to be paid yearly to the culprit himself, so that at least he might not be induced to lighten his honest labors for a suitable subsistence by renewed villanies. With reference to the benefice of Somerset, which had been the ill-sought price of this base pretender to sanctity and truth, Sir Robert decided on presenting it to the exemplary Dr. Blackmore whenever it should become vacant.

Meanwhile, the baronet's sojourn in town became indispensably prolonged, not only by the simple nature of the affairs that brought him thither, but by certain unlooked-for intricacies occurring in making a final adjustment of the various settlements and consequent conveyances to be effected on account of the two felicitous marriages in his family. During these lingering proceedings amongst the legal protectors of "soil and surety," Miss Beaufort remained the cherished and cheering guest of the already espoused pair, one of whom, indeed, still wore the garb of "a mourning bride," but all within was clad in the true white robe of nuptial purity and peace. Sobieski was the now no less privileged abiding inmate in the home and heart of Sir Robert Somerset. Increasing daily in favor with "good aunt Dorothy," the presiding mistress of his father's house, he soon became nearly as precious in her sight as had long been the pleasant society of her nephew Pembroke. And all this her ingenuous and affectionate nature avowed to Mary, in their frequent visits between the two houses, with a sort of delighted wonder at her heart's so prescient recognition of the new nephew her sweet niece was to bestow upon her. For it had not yet been revealed to her that Thaddeus did stand in that same tender relationship to her by a former marriage of her beloved brother with the lamented mother of the noble object of her cherished esteem. And what was the double joy of the blessed moment when that happy secret was confided to her bosom.

The last busy month of autumn in London had not only laid down its wearied head under the dark canopy of a murky atmosphere, lit with dimmed street-lamps to its slumbers, but its expected refreshment in the country did not offer much more agreeable materials for repose and vernal renovation. There were blustering winds strewing the recently green earth with beds of withered leaves of every foliage, stripped and fallen from the shivering woods above. And there were drenching rains, laying the lately pleasant fields in trackless swamps, and swelling the clear and gentle brooks into brawling floods, rending asunder the long-remembered rustic bridges which had hitherto linked the villages together, in convenient passages for wholesome relaxation or useful toil.

Such were the newspaper accounts from the country during the latter part of November; but there was seen a fairer prospect from the carriage windows of Sir Robert Somerset, when he and his gladdened party, one bright morning, on quitting the splashy environs of Hammersmith and Brentford, entered the broad expanse of Hounslow Heath, on their way into Warwickshire, and beheld its wide common covered with a fair carpet of spotless snow. Winter had then seriously, or, rather, smilingly, set in. It was the 10th of December; and the baronet, having signed and sealed all things necessary to transfer with perfect satisfaction himself and family (as was always his custom at this homeward season), now set forth to one or other of his ancient domains, to pass his Christmas in the bosom of an enlarged and a grateful domestic happiness. Thus, year after year, he diffused from each of those parental mansions that bounteous hospitality to high and low which he considered to be an especial duty in an English gentleman, whether in the character of "landlord" to noble guests and respected neighbors, or to wayfaring strangers passing by; or, while graciously mingling with his widely- established tenantry, or his equally regarded daily guests at this "holy festival," the virtuous, lowly peasantry, laborers on the land. Then smiled the cottager, with honest consciousness of yeoman worth, when seated in the great hall, under the eye of his munificent lord, who partook of the general feast. Then, too, did he smile when, at the head of his own little board, he sat with his children and humbler dependents, all furnished with ample Christmas fare by the baronet's still open hand.

When Thaddeus shared these primeval scenes of old England by the side of his British parent, (which festivities are still honorably preserved by some of its most ancient and noblest families,) they brought back to his heart those similar assemblages at Villanow and in Cracovia, where his revered grandfather, the palatine, had reigned prince and father over every happy breast. [Footnote: The writer remembers a similar scene to the above when she had the honor of dining, along with her revered family, on a festival of harvest-home at Bushy Palace, when its royal owner, his late majesty, was Duke of Clarence. Himself moved through his rustic guests in the gracious manner described.]

And happy were now the recollections of all who met at Deerhurst on this their first joyful Christmas season! Week after week glided along in the bland exercise of social duties aided by the more homefelt enjoyments of sweet domestic affections, which gave a living grace to all that was said or done and more intimately knit hearts together, never more to be divided.

But winter's howling blasts and sheltering halls, "where fireside comforts, taste, and gentle love, with soft amenities mingled into bliss," swiftly and fairer, changed their pleasant song, proclaiming in every brightening hue the hymn of nature—

"These, as they change, Almighty Father!
Are but the varied God! The rolling year
Is full of Thee! Forth in the pleasing spring
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love;"

and in the first month of that genial season, when the young grass covers the downy hills with verdure, and the glowing branches of the trees bud with an infant foliage, the sun smiles in the heavens, and the pellucid streams reflect his glorious rays, the day was fixed by Sir Robert Somerset, and approved by the beloved objects of his then peculiar solicitude, in which his paternal hand should plight theirs together before the altar of eternal truth.

The solemnity was to be performed in the village church, which stood in the park of Deerhurst, and the Rev. Dr. Blackmore, who came over from his own private dwelling in Worcestershire, accompanied by his pupil, Lord Avon, vas to perform the holy rite. No adjunct of the Roman Catholic ceremony (then the national church of Poland) was needful fully to legalize it. Thaddeus from his infancy had been reared in the Protestant faith, the faith of his mother, whose own mother was a daughter of the staunch Hussite race of the princely Zamoiski, who still professed that ancient, simple creed of their country. It was also the national faith of him who had given Therese's son being; therefore, to the same pure doctrine of Christianity had she dedicated his deserted child; and should they ever meet again, she believed it must be before the throne of Divine Mercy; and there she trusted to present their solitary offspring with the sacred words—"Here I am, Lord, and the child thou didst give me."

But to return to the marriage-day itself. The hour having arrived in which the soul-devoted Mary Beaufort was to resign herself and her earthly happiness into the power of the only man to whom, having once beheld and known him, she could ever have committed them, she pronounced her vows at the sacred altar with unsteadiness of tongue but with a fixed heart. And when, after embracing all the fond kindred so long dear to her, and now to him, and having received their parting blessings within the walls of her ever-cherished home, —sweet, while familiar Deerhurst,—she was driven rapidly through its gates, while a mixed and awed emotion agitated her breast. But immediately she felt the supporting arm of her husband gently pressing her trembling form; and so, with all that husband's tender sympathy, the hours glided away unperceived, till the august towers of her own native domain appeared on the evening horizon, and soon afterwards she alighted at the mansion itself, having passed along a central avenue of ancient oaks amid the congratulatory cheers of a large assemblage of her tenantry on horseback and on foot, planted on each side, to bid a glad welcome to their "liege lady and her lord."

Within the great entrance of the baronial hall, winch opened to her by the immediate raising of a massive brazen portcullis, the ancient insignia of the Beaufort name, she received the joyful obeisance of the old domestics of her honored parents, hailing her, their beloved daughter, with a humble ardor of affection that bathed her enraptured face with filial tears. Thaddeus felt the scene in his own recollective heart.

Next morning Mrs. Robson and the delighted Nanny (dressed in a white frock for the blissful occasion), on being brought into the countess's private saloon, threw themselves at the feet of their benefactors and sobbed forth their happiness. The still more happy Sobieski raised them in his arms, and, embracing both, accosted the old lady as he would have done a revered relative, and the affectionate little girl like an adopted child.

The same day the vicar of Beaufort, whose large rural parish extended from the Castle to several miles around, rode to the gate, and was announced by name (the Rev. Mr. Tillotson), to pay his pastoral duty to his future noble neighbors and sacred charge, the owners of the land.

"His is a good name," observed Mary, with a gracious smile; "it was borne by one of the brightest luminaries of our Protestant church, Archbishop Tillotson, whose works you will find in the family library, now your own. And his descendant, the revered late vicar, christened me in the dear old church of the adjacent village, to which we go to-morrow, Sunday. Oh, how much have I to bless Heaven for in that holy place!" she tenderly ejaculated. "You, kneeling by my side there—one faith, one heart, one death, one salvation. O, my husband, I am blessed indeed!"

"My Mary, in earth and heaven!" was his soul's response, and with the words he pressed her fervently-clasped hands with a hallowed emotion to his lips.

In a few minutes after this she led the way to the ancient library, tapestried with family portraits, and furnished with book-cases of every past generation. Thither the young vicar, a truly worthy successor to his pious father, had been conducted; and there, being introduced by the countess (who had seen him only once before) to her lord, they found him not merely a clergyman to be respected, but an accomplished general scholar and a polished man.[Footnote: Over the gate-like arch of the library door had been erected, by a recent order from the gentlest hand now within its walls, a simple but exquisitely-carved escutcheon, showing the armorial bearing of the ancient and royal house of Sobieski—a crowned buckler, with the family motto, "God is the shield that covers me."]

Thus was Thaddeus, the long-cherished orphan of a broken paternal vow, by a wondrous providence established in his new British character—a husband, and an owner of large estates in the soil. And he soon became fully sensible to the double commission devolved upon himself. Whether as a son of Poland, in right of the life he had drawn from his mother's bosom, or as one equally claimed by England, in right of his paternal parent, he was well prepared to faithfully fulfil their relative duties, with a zeal to each respondent to the important privileges and blessings of so signal a lot. In two short preceding years he had indeed passed through a host of severe trials; but in all he had been supported by an Almighty hand, and under the same gracious trust he now looked forward to a long Sabbath of hallowed peace, and of grateful service to Him who bestowed it.

He had met it at Deerhurst, when under his father's roof; he maintained it at Beaufort, the seat of his most continuous residence; nor did he neglect its duties at Manor Court, Sir Robert's parental gift, and his own near neighborhood. And when the time came round for the family to revisit London, his pleasures there were of a character to correspond with his pursuits in the country, the happiness of others being the source of his own enjoyments.