Meliora quitted the dinner parlour; but quickly returned, attired in her shawl and bonnet; when her stern companion seized her arm, and drawing it under his own, they walked away together, in almost unbroken silence, till they reached Chapel Street, and Mrs. Jerningham's. In vain did Meliora request that she might be permitted to prepare her mother for the interview, by announcing the name of her visitor; he assured her, that the surprise would not be unpleasant to Mrs. Jerningham, and Meliora was reluctantly compelled to acquiesce in his intention. 66 On being ushered into Mrs. Jerningham's presence, the stranger said to Meliora, in a whisper, Is that your mother?" but immediately added, "Yes, yes, I see; the eyes,- the same,—the same:" then advancing, and taking her hand with the familiarity of an old acquaintance, he cried, “It is eight-and-thirty years, my dear lady, since you took me by the hand; can you call to mind the occasion? Do you know me, Lady?” "I have not the least recollection of your person, sir," replied Mrs. Jerningham, distantly, and withdrawing her hand. "Look at me again," said the Incognito, his rugged features relaxing into a smile at the look of unfeigned astonishment with which Mrs. Jerningham regarded him. “What won't you know me?" continued he: "don't you remember the little ragged boy who had lost his money,-poor Godfrey Howard? "What, the weaver's boy of Cringleford, in Norfolk?" demanded the lady. "I am he!" said Howard, erecting his figure; "Long have I prayed to Ian. see this day,-it is come at last, as I wished it to come. I am pleased to find you as you are,-I have been carrying a heavy weight upon my shoulders for these many years past,— perhaps I may disburden myself now. Fortune has been a fickle jade to you, I hear." "We have experienced, indeed, a great reverse in our condition." "So have I,-you knew me as I was,-you see me as I am; who do you think worked the change? You ! I was ignorant, you gave me learning; I was degraded, you ennobled me; I was despised, you made me respected; I was in rags, and you drest me in jewels; I was a beggar, and now I'm a banker; I had nothing, and you gave me every thing," exclaimed Howard, with vehemence, but instantly recalling his last words, he added in a choaked voice, no, not every thing; no, not every thing;" and, pressing his hands tightly on his forehead, remained silent for the space of a minute; then, recovering himself, said, in his usual voice, in reply to Mrs Jerningham's exclamation of wonder and delight, "You may perhaps feel interested to hear my story; I'll spend the evening with you, and relate it: 'twill somewhat hurt me,--but never mind that." Mrs. Jerningham expressed her sense of the favour, and her anxiety to learn the adventures of so many years. Meliora sent to Hamilton Place to make excuses for the length of her stay; and after tea had been served, the mother and daughter composed themselves to listen with attention to Mr. Howard's narrative. IANTHE. (To be continued.) A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT. SCENE I. A Saloon in the Palazzo di Rossarno. Enter IANTHE. O DAY of many hours!-O endless night! To shew how once she would have made us all. Not the soul-clothing common mortals wear ;- Strict sentry keep o'er my rebellious eyes, And when 'mongst maidens, each confides her story With silence to dam up my heart's o'erflowings.- I'll not instruct Discretion's tongue to chide me, And Heaven my sole accuser, witness, judge.- Serenely smile t'encourage my revealings. The dew is hot,-the zephyr's breath is withering; Some frigid daughter of the polar north, With bosom frozen as her ice-bound seas. A sickly feebleness creeps through my frame; My foot hath lost it's light alacrity; My tongue grows mute, my nimble hand, forgetting In bringing forth from Memory's treasure house Love's slender, treasured heard of bliss, which I And like th'artificer's hand on ductile ore, While I to him am even less than nothing; [FEL. Desperate resolve! but I will tear me hence.→→→ 'Tis said, are potent charms for love sores: Death self-inflicted, and a felon's grave, Shall remedy and revenge me on myself. Enter the MARCHIONESS. March. How wears the night, Ianthe? Jan. One hour is lacking yet of midnight, madam. March. Lacking yet, say'st thou ? I'faith, I counted not an hour so late; Thy drowsy eyes would have inform'd me better. Why, wench, what makes thee lose so much complexion ? Seventeen should not acquaint herself with sorrow; Ian. Ian. Lay thy right hand on thy left side, thus,-and say, Yet truth in nought should have to do with shame, Thou art wanting in the coquette's artillery; Her eye, lit up, or languishing by turns; Successful,, where a princess sigh'd in vain. 134 Ian. Ianthe. A princess sigh'd in vain? March. E'en as I say. Ian. From other lips than his, my Lord's, I learn'd it; The bright hair'd youth of fair Germania's courts, Thy silence speaks unto my Lord's disparagement. March. Thy thoughts are link'd unto thine own true love. Ian. Paulo is nought to me, madam; a peasant. March. Well, what says that? thy father was no prince, girl : When the sun rising on thy virgin fears, Goes down in haste to hide thy bridal blushes. Ian. No, madam, never, never !— Sooner I'd wed the foul unfeeling grave; Sooner, this hand shall wither, shrink, decay, March. Ha! so; what quarter is the moon in now? Ian. In truth, I have much blame; I do implore you, Lady, pardon me. March. It needeth not thy offence be wash'd with tears; Ian. SCENE II. Lest thou inoculate My merry humour with thy melancholy. EXEUNT. The Tapestry Chamber: LORD HENRY ARDING FORD discovere asleep on a Couch. Enter IANTHE. Great Heaven! and is it he?-Lord Henry sleeping. Is't true thou'rt kin to mere mortality? His hand reposes on his heaveless breast, His brow, as infant's, calm, save the slight frown With the rich pouting of his nether lip; But see the graceful sweep of his pale cheek, Not so; I must be brief; for as I gaze, I feel my wistful lips do blush and kindle, In forethought of the bliss my bold heart prompts to,― 'Tis past, 'tis Falls, and dies. RAYMOND THE ROMANTIC, AND HIS FIVE WISHES. THAT delightful old pastoral writer, rock with old Rosensköld, of Rona's Hill, in the Zetland Islands, I have lain the live-long night, bathed in perspiration, at the thoughts of what, when it existed in all it's terrors, did not even awaken alarm. After rushing out to a wreck, when the waves frequently enveloped me in a glassy green shroud, and sometimes threw me back three feet for every one that I swam forward; when I have pierced down even to the hold of the sinking vessel, the very danger suspended both fear and feeling, but in a subsequent moment of rest, I have felt all the horrors of my former situation, and have passed hours in a terror of mind, that was worse than drowning. In like manner, did all my romantic adventures, and all the most awful tales to which I have listened with such delight, haunt me when they concluded; like spirits of a former age appearing to the men of the present. In many of my wild achievements, my early friend George Harvey was my most fearless companion; a similarity of disposition had united us, until the more serious employ ́ment of life, which breaks hearts, dissolves friendships, deadens the affections, destroys love, and entirely changes the whole soul, by it's separations, called him to the Northern Regions, in the Fire-Drake of Lerwick, and detained me an inhabitant of the Zetland Isles. It will not be wondered at, as there was so strong a bond of unity between George Harvey and myself, that we jointly vowed at parting, not only to keep faith and friendship inviolate, to gaze on the heavenly bodies at the same hours, and exchanged charmed tokens to keep the magician Time from altering the heart; but also that we made |