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 GERALDINE ; 
 
 OB, 
 
 ^oDes of JTaiti) anD Ipracticc. 
 
 A TALE. 
 IN THREE VOLUMES, 
 
 BY A LADY. 
 
 Tbere is no virtue more amiable in the softer sex, than that 
 mild and quiescent spirit of Devotion, which, Avithout en- 
 tangling itself in the dogmas of Rehgion, is melted by its 
 charities and exhilarated by its hopes. Cowper. 
 
 To be good and disagreeable, is high treason against virtue. 
 
 Elizabeth Smith. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRLNTLD FOR T. CADELL AND W. DA VIES, 
 
 IN THE STEAND ; 
 AND W. BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH. 
 
 1820.
 
 Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode, 
 Printers- Street, London.
 
 n3 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 ** All is said,'* says La Bruyere, " and we 
 come too late j since it is more than five 
 thousand years that men have reflected.'* 
 
 In the age when this complaint w^as 
 made, the path of literature was compara- 
 tively unbeaten ; many beautiful and un- 
 :i^ frequented spots remained to reward the 
 '; diligent traveller ; many portions of ' terra 
 -^incognita' might still be found rich in 
 ^ golden fruit. 
 
 LP But, though more than a hundred and 
 ■| fifty years have elapsed, since this discou- 
 - raging sentence was pronounced; it has 
 :^'- neither fettered the pen of the author, nor 
 A{ restricted the expectations of the reader ; 
 
 A 2 
 
 ^
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 the charm of novelty is still sought with 
 avidity. 
 
 If such be the hapless lot of authors ; if, 
 as a witty writer has observed, * their best 
 thoughts have been stolen from them by 
 the ancients/ they are to be applauded for 
 the dexterity with which they contrive to 
 work up old materials ; for the gloss, beauty, 
 and variety with which they invest them. 
 
 It is certainly true that a picture of hu- 
 man nature, if faithful, must fundamentally 
 be similar to that which has been exhibited 
 a thousand and a thousand times j but may 
 not the grouping be varied, the figures pre- 
 sented in new attitudes, the light and 
 shade differently managed? Until error 
 has laid aside its Proteus character ; until 
 it ceases to assume an infinite variety of 
 forms, an attentive observer of morals and 
 manners, will probably find something in 
 both, to counteract, and to combat. 
 
 It has been suggested to the author of 
 the following tale, that the gravity of her 
 title-page may alarm the gay : she is quite
 
 PEKFACE. V 
 
 ready to allow that duhiess must be fatal to 
 a work of fiction, and she has been as 
 anxious as the gayest of the gay could de- 
 sire to recommend the truths which she has 
 at heart, without being guilty of this im- 
 pardonable sin. 
 
 The pious reader, if any such should ho- 
 nour this trifling work with their attention, 
 will not, she trusts, mistake the motives by 
 which the writer has been influenced. If 
 she has touched upon those modes of faith 
 or religious belief, which produce errors of 
 practice, it has not been for the unhallowed 
 purpose of depreciating religion itself. The 
 narrow, intemperate, injudicious zeal, pour- 
 trayed in one of her characters, is totally 
 distinct from that holy and humble ear- 
 nestness, without which religion is little 
 more than a form. 
 
 Infidelity, indeed, has resumed its malig- 
 nant activity ; and our feelings have been 
 outraged by hearing all that is sacred in 
 the doctrines, all that is dear and venera- 
 ble in the institutions, of our religion, pro*
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 faned and polluted ; it is not, however, less 
 certain that the profession of earnest piety 
 is no longer either discreditable or un- 
 fashionable. The « dextrous secrecy,' with 
 which Dean Swift contrived to perform his 
 family devotions, would now be as need- 
 less as it was then cowardly. 
 
 But, though Religion forms so prominent 
 a figure on the canvas, she is not always 
 exhibited in her own fair and beautiful 
 proportions 5 the three Christian graces, by 
 whom she should be perpetually encircled, 
 are som.etimes unwisely separated j and 
 thus the sphere of her usefulness is con- 
 tracted, and the brightness of her counte- 
 nance obscured. 
 
 • But if these mistakes have not been 
 passed over in silence, the author hopes 
 that the more fatal error of those who 
 reject, despise, or neglect religion, has 
 not been left in the shade; and that 
 the young and gay who seek entertain- 
 ment in the perusal of this little work, will 
 close it with the impression that weighed
 
 PREFACE. VU 
 
 against pure, active, and enlightened reli- 
 gious principle ; the splendour of rank, the 
 magic of wit, and the fascinations of genius, 
 are but dust in the balance. 
 
 January 13th, 
 1820.
 
 GERALDINE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1 HERE IS no possibility of refusing this 
 request," said Mrs. Mowbray, addressing 
 her husband, as she folded up a letter she 
 had just received — " there is absolutely 
 no possibility — " 
 
 <« Then, my dear," returned Mr. Mow- 
 bray, ** the request has at least [the charm 
 of novelty ; for I never yet heard or met with 
 one, " that it was absolutely impossible to re- 
 fuse." 
 
 '* You have been singularly fortunate, 
 Mr. Mowbray ; my experience has been 
 less happy — by the by, a case in point: — 
 Last night, Georgiana was pounced upon 
 for a partner in a quadrille, the moment 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 ^' GERALDINE, 
 
 she entered the ball-room, by a man almost 
 as ugly as the " veiled prophet 5" and how 
 could she possibly refuse ?*' 
 
 *' I have little doubt, my dear, that she 
 would have danced with the " veiled pro- 
 phet" himself, rather than have missed the 
 quadrille, and been reduced to the alter- 
 native of remaining quiet the whole even- 
 ing ; but the word impossible is ** 
 
 * ' Oh ! spare me, I beseech,** said the 
 lady, with a look of mock-supplicationj 
 « spare me the definitions — tlie derivations : 
 I have an instinctive, irresistible, un- 
 conquerable aversion to them j so lay aside 
 that alarming logical look ; for I defy you 
 and Home Tooke, and Johnson, and 
 Lowth, and all the Pundits and Rabbis 
 that ever existed, to make me like or en- 
 joy a definition.'* 
 
 " Notwithstanding your instinctive hor- 
 ror of them,'* replied Mr. Mowbray, <* I 
 venture to pronounce that they are very 
 useful, satisfactory sort of things." 
 
 << Very possibly, my dear, very possibly ;
 
 OERALDINE. 3 
 
 they may be highly satisfactory to some 
 minds ; to those who Uke to dig, and delve, 
 and dive j but I, who would rather plume 
 my wing, and soar wherever fancy leads, 
 I declare war against them : they are the 
 ruin of eloquence." 
 
 " Of what species of eloquence, my 
 dear ?" said Mr, Mowbray drily, — *< of a 
 lover's, or a lawyer's, or a lady's ?" 
 
 " Of all and every species, genus, and 
 variety. How can a ray of eloquence be 
 expected from that slow, pausing, ponder- 
 ing race, whose sole delight is in defini- 
 tions !" 
 
 " Sole delight," echoed^Mr. Mowbray, 
 quietly — " When you are tired, my dear," 
 continued he, "of twisting that paper into 
 fifty different shapes, perhaps I shall get a 
 peep at its contents. You will at least 
 give me credit for successfully curbing my 
 curiosity." 
 
 " Oh ! but you have no curiosity, not a 
 grain, not an atom," said his lively lady. 
 *• Mrs. Shandy herself, who went out of 
 
 B 2
 
 4 GERALDINE. 
 
 the world without knowing whether it 
 turned round or stood stiU, had ten times 
 more ! and it would be a most provoking 
 deficiency, I assure you, only that I am 
 a perfect Griselda, — not provokable." 
 
 «* I will not call your virtues and per- 
 fections into exercise, now my dear j for I 
 really wish to know the contents of this 
 letter." 
 
 *' They relate to a little girl who is al- 
 most a stranger to us ; but here it is : read, 
 and resist if you can." 
 
 The letter was as follows : 
 
 To Mrs. Mowbray, 
 " I am resolved, my dear sister, to leave 
 England immediately : my spirits will never 
 recover their tone in this region, where 
 every thing reminds me of departed joys. 
 Your long residence on the Continent, and 
 many other circumstances, since my mar- 
 riage, have combined to separate us ; and 
 I do not, I cannot, expect that close and 
 intimate sympathy in my present feelings.
 
 GERALDINE. O 
 
 which you might once have felt ; but I claim, 
 without fear or hesitation, your kindness 
 and protection for my dear Geraldine. 
 
 " Will you take charge of her during my ab- 
 sence ? You will find her amiable and affec- 
 tionate. Though six months have elapsed 
 since her irreparable loss, she has not yet 
 recovered her vivacity, but retains the 
 most tender recollection of her mother. 
 
 " May she one day resemble her ! If pos- 
 sible I will travel with her myself to Wood- 
 lands, and see you all once more : till then, 
 adieu. 
 
 ** Edward Beresford.'' 
 
 " As your brother probably resembles 
 most other human beings, my dear," said 
 Mr. Mowbray, returning the letter, *< his 
 grief, I have a notion, would have evapor- 
 ated, in less time than he imagines, even 
 in our thick English air ! The character of 
 a disconsolate mourner is seldom long: sus- 
 tained or sustainable." 
 B 3
 
 6 GERALDINE, 
 
 ** Happily it is not 1" said Mrs. Mowbray, 
 musing. 
 
 *^ I knew but little of the lady, who ex- 
 cites this overwhelming sorrow ; but doubt- 
 less, she was superlative !'* 
 
 " Oh ! mortal mixture of earth's mould 
 was never half so perfect !" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Mowbray — "A gem I a bird of paradise t if 
 her proneurSy are to be believed, but we, 
 never suited : you know, * two stars keep 
 not their motion in one sphere 1' " 
 
 " Was the dread of eclipse, on your side, 
 or on hers ?" said Mr. Mowbray. 
 
 " Upon my candour ! — why then I am 
 afraid — really, I am afraid, my good father 
 confessor, that it w^as on mine." 
 
 " You might, however^ have consoled 
 yourself, by reflecting, that the Sun him- 
 self occasionally submits to this indignity.** 
 
 " Why — I was heroic enough to forgive 
 her for being ten years younger, and twenty 
 times handsomer, than myself^ but her 
 taste, her feehngs, the tone of her mind, 
 did not accord with mine j there was some-
 
 OERALDIKE. 7 
 
 thing too elevated, too seraphic, too lui- 
 earthly] about it." 
 
 " Fortunately for you, my dear," said 
 Mr. Mowbray, << the existing state of hu- 
 man nature permits us to hope, that you 
 will not often be disgusted, and distanced, 
 by this exuberance of perfection," 
 
 ** So much the better!" rejoined Airs. 
 Mowbray, laughing. ** To live with those 
 sons and daughters of wisdom, is like being 
 shut up in the paJace of ice : all is clear, 
 transparent, and shining-, but then it is 
 dangerous, even to breathe in the chill 
 atmosphere 1 They have such a holy horror 
 of wit and imagination, that our faculties 
 are really fettered, and spell-bound, in their 
 society." 
 
 " As Geraldine is nearly fourteen years 
 of age, she mayperhaps have imbibed rather 
 an alarming taste for this petrifying ex- 
 cellence," said Mr. Mowbray. " Pray what 
 do you mean to do with her ?" 
 
 " She is at a very tiresome age, indeed," 
 replied Mrs. Mow^bray — ^ «< too young for a 
 B 4.
 
 GERALDINE. 
 
 companion ; too old for a pet 5 and grave 
 enough, I suppose, for a philosopher 1 — 
 However, she may «' bestowher tediousness" 
 upon Mademoiselle Dubourg. She is so 
 much younger than Fanny, that there will 
 be nofear of competition between them ; and 
 as to Georgiana — " 
 
 ** What can Georgiana be about ? that 
 we don't see her at breakfast," asked Mr. 
 Mowbray. 
 
 ** Dancing in her dreams, I suppos^e,'^ 
 rejoined his lady; " but pray, my dear, 
 have mercy upon me ! and don't open the 
 newspaper : this is your fifth cup of tea • 
 and I am sure, the cups ai'e large enough 
 for Glumdalclitch." 
 
 «« Exactly so," said Mr. Mowbray; ** and 
 I am sorry to tell you ; that your morning 
 labours are not likely to finish yet; for here 
 comes Colonel Harcourt." iiai::.i' m: 
 
 ** With some sonnet, I j^upposeV to * ^is 
 mistress's eye-brow 1' " 
 
 " In case he should doom me to listen 
 to it," said Mr. Mowbray, " I, and my 
 paper, will escape to the library."
 
 GERALDINE. 9 
 
 ** And leave me to tell him, that his fair 
 lady's eyes are sealed in soft repose ; and 
 that she is probably dreaming of him, or 
 his rupees." 
 
 ** Tell him what you please, my dear ; 
 only let me get rid of him this morning. If 
 I have a dread of any thing in human shape,'* 
 said he, hurrying off, *' it is of a lover in 
 heroics." 
 
 Colonel Harcourt was announced. He 
 was neither very young, nor very tall, nor 
 very handsome ; but he was very rich, and 
 very much in love. 
 
 Mrs. Mow^bray knew his value ! — She 
 had enquired with maternal vigilance, into 
 the length and breadth of his possessions ; 
 had listened with delight, to the history 
 of his thousands, tens of thousands, hun- 
 dreds of thousands ; and concluded, by se- 
 curing him for Georgiana. 
 
 Georgiana was precisely the reverse of 
 the Colonel : — She was very young, very 
 tall, and very handsome ; but not very 
 rich, nor very much in love. 
 B 5
 
 10 GEKALmSTE^ 
 
 She had, however, lent a patient ear to 
 the calculations of her mother j she knew 
 that " pride, and pomp, and circumstance,'* 
 were essential to her happiness. The 
 golden age, alas I was gone : it was no longer 
 practicable to live in fairy bowers, o« love 
 alone ! 
 
 In the " evil days,'* on which she had 
 fallen, roses and honeysuckles, — ** a scrip 
 with herbs, and fruit supplied, and water 
 from the spring,** had lost their fascination. 
 Colonel Harcourt's curricle, his barouche 
 and four, and even his palanquin, were 
 infinitely more bewitching i — It was true, 
 she must leave England, and home ; «* po- 
 lished friends, and dear relations :*' but 
 Georgiana had no redundant sensibility. 
 The decision cost her a sigh, and a tear, 
 quickly chased away, by visions of eastern 
 splendour : — she accepted Colonel Har- 
 court ; and looked forward to life, as to a 
 magnificent festival 1 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray, received him this morn- 
 ing, with her accustomed suavity.
 
 GERALDINE. 11 
 
 " Exactly in time to breakfast with 
 Georgiana, my dear Harcourt/' said she, 
 as he entered the room. ** I don't know, 
 whether it was * poppy, or mandragora, 
 or what drowsy syrup of this world,' you 
 gave her last night ; but she sleeps like the 
 princess in the fairy tale." 
 
 ** The room was so cursedly crowded," 
 said Colonel Har court, ** that there was 
 no breathing in it! — It was enough to 
 fatigue her to death !" 
 
 ** She is not quite killed, however," said 
 Mrs. Mowbray ; «« for here she comes !" 
 
 Georgiana appeared, in a becoming 
 morning di'ess ; — languishing, lovely, and 
 tender ! — She thought herself irresistible ! 
 Colonel Harcourt thought she realised all 
 the dreams of all the poets who had writ- 
 ten since the flood ; — himself included. 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray thought it kind, to give 
 him an opportunity of telling her so. — 
 She left the lovers tete a tetc 5 and went 
 to consult Mademoiselle Dubourg, upon 
 what was to be done with Geraldine. 
 b6
 
 12 eSEIlALDiJ^E. 
 
 CHAR II, 
 
 G"ERALDiNE Beresford, who was thus to 
 exchange the hom^ of her infancy, for the 
 protection of Mrs.., Mowbray, had sus- 
 tained a loss, which tKe tenderness of her 
 nature, already taught her to feel,; hul 
 which time, arid /maturity^ of judginent 
 could alone teach her to estimate. . 
 
 Her short life had hitherto beeii calm,, 
 bright, and cloudless, as a radiant summer 
 morning. The wild spirits and sportive 
 gaiety of childhood, had been gently regu- 
 lated, not roughly checked, by her tender 
 and judicious mother. She had been the 
 subject of many a holy wish, of many'a 
 fervent prayej^. as she frolicked in noisy 
 joy at her side, qt. sprang with' glowiq^ 
 cheek and laughing eyes into her arms V-^
 
 GERALDINE. 13 
 
 She had excited man}? a bright hope, and 
 many a dehghtfal dream ! -^ but the hope 
 was to fade, the dream to vanish, the 
 tender tie to be dissolved, — she was now 
 to breathe in a colder atmosphefe^ 
 
 Mrs. Beresford's character was indeed 
 of no ordinary stamp. Education and 
 circumstances had combined to mould it 
 into beautiful proportion, and mature it to 
 high excellence. 
 
 • Her youth had been saddened by events, 
 which no lapse of years could efface from 
 her remembrance, and embittered by sa* 
 critices occasionally felt and regretted^ even 
 amidst prosperity's most enchanting smiles. 
 
 Many years of her life had been passed 
 in a remote and sequestered village, among 
 the Highlands of Scotland, where her father 
 filled the office of pastor. 
 
 In the choice of a wife, Mr. Campbell 
 had sought only to gratify his taste for 
 virtue and refinement. His lofty, and utter 
 disregard of wealth, had been pronounced by
 
 14 GERALDINE. 
 
 his friends highly imprudent, and by his 
 enemies, absurd and ridiculous. 
 
 Mr. Campbell, however, contemplated 
 life, its purposes, capabilities, and enjoy- 
 ments, in a different point of view. 
 
 A calm, pure, and elevated piety, un- 
 tincturedby bigotry, unclouded by austerity, 
 was the ruling and active principle of his 
 conduct. It dissipated the bewildering 
 mist which falsely magnifies the pleasures 
 and possessions of the world, and threw 
 around them a luminous distinctness, which 
 enabled him to estimate them with precision. 
 He was, therefore, content with an in- 
 come which placed him at an equal distance 
 from disquieting poverty, and ensnaring 
 wealth ; and with a situation, combining 
 active usefulness with the leisur^^ and in- 
 dependence he loved. 
 
 His family consisted of two daughters, 
 who shared his tenderest affection, and most 
 vigilant care. 
 
 Their education he considered as a sa- 
 cred and important duty! He contem- 
 4
 
 GERALDINE. 15 
 
 plated them not merely as gay and lovely 
 creatures, formed to charm and decorate 
 the passing hour ; but with a father's ten- 
 derness, intermingled the holy purposes, the 
 high hopes, the bright anticipations of a 
 Christian pastor ! 
 
 Mrs. Campbell's views harmonised with 
 his own : and they passed many a serious, 
 but not undelightful hour, in watching the 
 expansion of these precious flowers, and 
 training them, not only to bloom in light 
 and loveliness on earth, but in the fond 
 hope of their diffusing a richer fragrance, 
 and disclosing a brighter beauty, in the 
 bowers of Paradise. 
 
 To religious and moral principles, Mr. 
 Campbell added a degree of intellectual 
 cultivation, which a mind of narrower limits 
 would have gravely pronounced idle and 
 superfluous ; but he knew too well the 
 charm of literature, to exclude his daughters 
 from so rich a resource ; and cherished 
 taste, as the ** younger sister of virtue."
 
 16 
 
 GERALDINE, 
 
 As their characters unfolded, tliey ex* 
 hibited a strikhig diversity ; but this diversity 
 did not interrupt the perfect and tender 
 union that subsisted between them. 
 
 The mind of Margaret was lofty, and 
 contemplative, and the intenseness of her 
 feelings and affections Would have been a 
 source of much anxiety to her father, had 
 he not perceived a corresponding strength, 
 and power of principle. 
 
 The home where she had been educated, 
 and the mountain scenery by which she was 
 surrounded, were sacred in her eyes : and 
 there, in the exercise of all the charities 
 of life, she would have been well content 
 to live and die. 
 
 Clara was still more attractive than 
 Margaret. 
 
 " As Hebe gay, as Venus fair, 
 " Youthful, lovely, light as air," 
 
 she seemed formed to charm away grief. 
 Her face was radiant with smiles and 
 health : fancy and hope were busy in her
 
 GERALDINE. 1? 
 
 heart. The peaceful lake, the lofty moun- 
 tain, — her native home, -^ were indeed dear 
 to her ; but still lovelier scenes arose, in the 
 bright perspective that fancy disclosed. In 
 the spring of life — of youth — - of joy, she 
 seemed to forget, that roses without thorns, 
 and skies without a cloud, w^ere not to be 
 found on earth. 
 
 The retirement in which they lived did 
 not amount to seclusion ; for the beautiful 
 scenery in their immediate. neighbourhood, 
 attracted the attention of travellers j and as 
 Mr. CampMl's hospitable house generally 
 afforded them accommodation, they had a 
 frequent succession of guests during the 
 summer months. It was on a bright and 
 balmy day of July, that, for the gratification 
 of a newly arrived visitor, an excursion was 
 planned to a beautiful little island, at some 
 distance from their residence. The path 
 they pursued w^ound through a narrow 
 pass, of singular sublimity, surrounded on 
 every side by lofty rocks, shooting abruptly 
 from the dell j their summits, rent into a
 
 18 GERALDINE. 
 
 thousand fantastic shapes, were overgrown 
 with a profusion of creeping shrubs, which 
 embahned the air. The grey birch and 
 hght ash quivered to the summer breeze, 
 and the lofty pine flung its shattered trunk 
 from cliff to cliff, almost excluding the 
 bright beams of heaven. 
 
 A steep and tangled mountain-path, con- 
 ducted them to an airy summit, from 
 whence they beheld a combination of 
 scenery at once grand, wild, and enchanting. 
 
 Clara, seated^on a little green knoll, which 
 she called her throne, playfully bade them 
 bow down before her. «* Margaret shall be 
 queen of that fairy spot," said she, point- 
 ing to a small wooded island, which ap- 
 peared to float on the calm bosom of the 
 lake; " but here shall be my palace : I will 
 bribe the spirits of the mountain and the 
 flood, and they shall raise one with the speed 
 of thought : come, Margaret, help me to 
 begin my invocation." 
 
 " You must wait for twihght's charmed 
 hour," replied Margaret. ** Unholy rhyme, 
 and muttered spell will be powerless now."
 
 GERALDINE. 19 
 
 ** Let her consult the fames of her island, 
 my dear Clara," said Mr. Campbell ; ** for, 
 I think, if we loiter here much longer, we 
 shall have some chance of finding them at 
 their nightly revels/' 
 
 «* Yes — I am afraid I must be content, 
 to wait till hallow-eve," said Clara, rising 
 with feigned reluctance ; ** for the viewless 
 forms of air, come not at my bidding." 
 
 They reached the island, and found so 
 many favourite haunts to revisit, that as 
 Mr. Campbell had predicted, it was late, 
 before they could be persuaded to return. 
 
 The sun set in cloudy magnificence j not 
 a leaf stirred among the woods : nor was 
 the smallest ripple seen upon the lake. A 
 profound stillness, and stifling heat an- 
 nounced an approaching tempest. 
 
 Margaret looked with shuddering dread, 
 at the darkening sky, while Mr. Campbell 
 and his friend exerted their most strenuous 
 efforts to gain the shore, before the burst- 
 ing of the storm. Clara alone was fearless, 
 and Hght-hearted. It was stormy twilight
 
 20 GERALDI^^E. 
 
 *^ the very hour, that painters, and poets 
 best love! In a few minutes the moon 
 \vould rise, and with her silver light, chase 
 away every angry cloud— in another hour, 
 they would be at home ! — relating their 
 hopes and fears to Mrs. Campbell. 
 
 Alas ! the Heavens smiled not on the 
 sweet hopes of Clara ! Every succeeding 
 minute deepened the gloom of the lurid 
 clouds, and the awful stillness was broken 
 by a dreadful gust of wind, which seemed 
 to rush at once froni every quarter of the 
 heavens ! 
 
 The placid lake roused into fury, threat- 
 ened their light bark with instant destruc- 
 tion; and the roar of waters, mingled in 
 dreadful tumult with the howling wind and 
 pealing thunder. Mr. Campbell, and Mr. 
 Fullarton redoubled their exertions ; though 
 amid the din of the raging elements, hnman 
 efforts were of little avail. Some of the in- 
 habitants of the glen, had descried the boat 
 from a high point of land, and hastened 
 down to a small bay, where they thought it
 
 GERALDINE. 21 
 
 probable she might effect a landmg ; a 
 vivid flash of lightning discovered her 
 within fifty yards of the spot where they 
 stood ! By another flash, they perceived the 
 boat still nearer the shore ; but amid the 
 loud thunder, and mighty rush of wind that 
 succeeded, a piercing shriek assailed their 
 ears, which left no doubt of the calamity 
 that had taken place.
 
 22 GERALDINE. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 M.RS. Campbell, who, fearful of the op- 
 pressive heat, had declined joining the 
 party, had watched the progress of the 
 storm, with an anxiety which every suc- 
 ceeding moment rendered more intense. 
 
 She had dispatched messenger after mes- 
 senger in quest of tidings, and now remained 
 in entire solitude ; all had left her with the 
 promise and hope of bringing speedy in- 
 telligence; but hour after hour wore 
 away, and not one returned ; nor did a 
 single sound interrupt the dreadful stillness 
 around her. 
 
 The last murmur of the storm, had long 
 since died away ; and she sat in mute 
 agony ! — her eyes fixed on the time-piece, 
 whose slow and regular progress seemed to 
 mock her impatience ! It struck twelve. —
 
 GERALDINE. 23 
 
 With the restless energy of misery she left 
 the house, determined to put an end to a 
 suspense so insupportable. 
 
 The repose of the scene without, ill ac- 
 corded with the tumult of her mind. 
 
 The landscape slept in soft tranquillity ; 
 the winds, hushed into a gentle breeze, 
 scarcely curled the w^aters of the lake, 
 which lay glittering in the calm moon-beam. 
 The flowers were all fragrance, the air 
 all balm ; but the loveliness of nature was 
 unheeded. — She could only listen, in 
 wretched perturbation, for sounds which 
 she dreaded to hear. 
 
 At length, the low murmur of distant 
 voices arose upon her ear, and she heard 
 the tread of many footsteps. As they ap- 
 proached the house, the voices sunk into 
 a low whisper, w hich, as they drew nearer, 
 was exchanged for a mournful silence. 
 The crowed stopped — there was a pause. 
 Mrs. Campbell, trembling violently, was 
 unable to move. In a few moments, a so- 
 litary, reluctant footstep approached the
 
 2i GERALDINE. 
 
 garden-gate : — it was slowly opened, and 
 she perceived Mr. Fullarton. Without 
 speaking he gently led her into the house. 
 She fixed her eyes on his countenance, -^ it 
 was but too eloquent; and the agony of 
 suspense was quickly changed into the 
 anguish of certainty. The horror and 
 agitation it expressed told a dreadful tale ! 
 He struggled in vain to speak j — over- 
 powered by his emotions, he leaned upon 
 the table, and covered his face with his 
 hands. Mrs. Campbell, with a strong ef- 
 fort, and in a voice of unnatural calmness, 
 implored him to speak; and gradually he 
 detailed the heavy tidings. 
 
 Their boat had been upset by a tremen- 
 dous gust of wind : and of those so dear to 
 her, Margaret alone remained ; — she 
 alone was rescued ! Mr. Fullarton could 
 offer no consolation ; at such a moment, it 
 would haA^e been mockery. After con- 
 veying Margaret to her mother's arms, he 
 left them to the full indulgence of their 
 woe*
 
 G^RALDINE. ^O 
 
 In sorrow like theirs, what availed the 
 tenderness of sympathy, or the softness of 
 compassion. The morning had seen them 
 rich in life's best blessings : night cam^, 
 and they were lone and desolate. Mar-^ 
 garet's eye turned from the open book, 
 in which her father had been reading, to the 
 summer nosegay, half sketched by Clara : 
 the flowers were still fresh and fair ; but 
 her light and lovely form vrould never more 
 be seen ; her radiant smile was gone ; her 
 frolic footstep for ever still. Scarcely could 
 Margaret tfeUeve the dreadful reality. Was 
 it indeed true, that the kind beam of her 
 father's approving eye would never more 
 cheer or guide her in the path of duty ?^ — 
 that the voice to which she had so often 
 listened with delighted reverence, was 
 hushed for ever ? 
 
 In these first moments of agonising recol- 
 lection, her own life, so wonderfully pre- 
 served, seemed valueless; and *< would 
 that I had died with them," were the first 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 ^6 GERALDINE. 
 
 words that burst from her full heart ; but 
 better feelings succeeded. 
 
 The conflict between the intensity of 
 earthly affection, and the duty of religious 
 submission was severe, but Christian prin- 
 ciple triumphed. 
 
 Sudden darkness had indeed shrouded her 
 earthly prospects ; but amidst the gloom 
 and desolation by which she was surrounded, 
 that still small voice which can say to the 
 throbbing heart, " Peace, be still," hushed 
 the tumult of her feelings; it told of 
 brighter worlds and fairer scenes :, and the 
 accents of despair were gradually exchanged 
 for those of patient endurance. 
 
 She felt that her mother had a claim 
 upon her exertions, too sacred and powerful 
 to be neglected ; and the whole energy of 
 her character was soon directed to one 
 point. — To subdue her own feelings, to 
 controul her own sorrows, that she might 
 sooth and mitigate the deep affliction of 
 her mother, became her daily and hourly 
 task J and in effecting this, life, however
 
 saddened by grief, or harassed by privation, 
 appeared to her a gift of inestimable value. 
 
 It became necessary, indeed, to make ex- 
 ertions and sacrifices sufficiently formi- 
 dable to put the courage of eighteen to the 
 test. The sudden contraction of their re«. 
 sources by the death of Mr. Campbell, de- 
 manded a minute and rigid economy to 
 which they had hitherto been strangers^ 
 
 Margaret felt that activity and self-denial 
 could alone lessen the pressure of those 
 minor, but constantly recurring evils, which 
 are attendant upon a very limited income ; 
 evils unknown and unintelUgible to the sons 
 and daughters of affluence, but which dis- 
 turb and embitter the stream of life. 
 
 The approaching winter presented no 
 very cheering aspect. Mr. Fullarton had 
 remained in the neighbourhood about six 
 weeks, and they had been soothed, and 
 sometimes even cheered by his judicious at- 
 tentions, his deep and unaffected sympathy ; 
 l)ut he had left them to return to Oxford ; 
 and now that << Noveraber*s sky was chill 
 c 2
 
 ^8 GERALDINE. 
 
 and drear,'* Margaret anticipated with dis- 
 may, the long and lonely winter evenings, 
 which she feared no effort of hers could 
 relieve or brighten. Her spirits would 
 sometimes sink : vivid recollections of the 
 past — of happiness which had fleeted like 
 "morning's winged dream," occasionally 
 burst upon her mind ; but though many sad 
 and weary hours were her portion, firmness 
 of principle sustained her ; and if in the 
 solitude of her chamber, silent tears of an^ 
 guish sometimes escaped her, the holy 
 meekness of Christian feeling more fre- 
 quently enabled her to say, «« Father, thy 
 will be done," 
 
 The dreary winter passed away, and 
 spring with its bloom and beauty, would 
 have brought with it something like cheer^ 
 fulness, had not Margaret felt a secret 
 ch-ead that her mother's health was de- 
 clining. 
 
 Mrs. Campbell, gentle and uncomplain- 
 ing as was her nature, could not entirely 
 conceal the hectic symptoms that alarmed
 
 GERALDINE. 29 
 
 her daughter; but she treated them lightly, 
 attributed them solely to the severity of the 
 winter, and prophesied that they would be 
 completely dispelled by the warmth and 
 softness of summer. 
 
 Margaret's fears were tranquiUised, and 
 she was soon farther cheered by a visit from 
 Mr. FuUarton. Though his presence con- 
 jured up a thousand melancholy images, 
 yet there was a charm in his society, which 
 beguiled her grief. 
 
 She felt her intellect called into delight- 
 ful exercise by the richness of his convers- 
 ational powers, her taste gratified by his 
 quick perception and enjoyment of the 
 loveliness of nature, and her religious feel- 
 ings animated by contemplating his vigor- 
 ous and powerful mind, controlled, re- 
 gulated, and refined by the pure principles 
 of Christianity. 
 
 Her favourite walks and occupations be- 
 gan to be again dear to her : she could 
 listen to the " melodies of morn" and de- 
 c 3
 
 30 CERALDINE* 
 
 light in "all the dread magnificence of 
 Heaveu." 
 
 The heavy mist which had obscured 
 every surrounding (Aject gradually melted 
 away, and they appeared bright with sun- 
 shine. The bloom of health revisited her 
 cheek, and the light of hope once more 
 sparkled in her eye.
 
 CEBALDINE. SI 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Mrs, Campbell rejoiced, with trembling, 
 in the returning smiles of her daughter. 
 Unwilling to disturb the soft serenity that 
 had gradually stolen over her mind, she was 
 too clear-sighted not to anticipate the pos- 
 sible consequences of intercourse between 
 two young persons whose characters har- 
 monised in almost every point. 
 
 Mr. Fullarton inherited from his father, 
 the younger son of a family of some con- 
 sequence, a very small patrimony, just sut- 
 ficient to procure him the education of a 
 scholar and a gentleman. His preference 
 of the church to the army had offended the 
 few friends who felt any interest in his wel- 
 fare, and he was left to attain the prefer- 
 c 4
 
 35 GERALDINE* 
 
 nient and distinction at which he aimed, 
 by the energy of hi& character, and the 
 brilliancy of his talents. 
 
 Intent upon classical and literary emi- 
 nence, he had hitherto seen nothing to la- 
 ment in his lot ; but his solitary meditations 
 had lately assumed a new character. Softer 
 feelings blended with his ardent aspirations 
 after fame ; a paradise, in which he loved to 
 linger, had suddenly burst upon his view, 
 and sweet visions of domestic happiness 
 charmed his fancy. He gazed upon them, 
 till he recoiled with disgust from his lonely 
 fire-side, and from the absti'act studies in 
 which he had hitherto been absorbed. 
 
 Every hour increased the anxiety of Mrs. 
 Campbell. She knew that years must pro- 
 bably elapse, before Mr. Fullarton could 
 command even a respectable competence : 
 at any time, she would have objected to 
 the entanglement of an engagement to be 
 fulfilled only at a distant period ; but in 
 the present state of her health, which she 
 too surely knew to be uncertain, if not de»
 
 GERALDINE. 
 
 dining, it would entail upon her daughter 
 certain misery. Young as she was ! un- 
 protected as she soon might be, could she 
 hope that prudence would be her guiding 
 star ? If an engagement were now per- 
 mitted, it would probably then be hastily 
 ratified, and Margaret encompassed by dif- 
 ficulties, and doomed to the thousand evils 
 of poverty. 
 
 Her painful ruminations on this subject 
 were interrupted by a letter, announcing a 
 visit from Mr. Beresford, a young man dis- 
 tantly related to her, whom, in his child- 
 hood and youth, she had known intimately, 
 and loved dearly. 
 
 The ten years which had elapsed since 
 they met, he had passed in the great and 
 gay world, and she longed to see how his 
 character had stood the fiery ordeal. 
 
 Margaret felt little curiosity, and no in- 
 
 terest upon the subject. As her mother's 
 
 friend, she welcomed their new visitor 
 
 with the gentlest urbanity j but her beam- 
 
 c 5
 
 ^ GERALDINE* 
 
 ing smiles and "pleased ear" were not 
 for him. 
 
 Upon Mr. Beresford, their introduction 
 had a very different effect. Accustomed 
 to the monotonous polish of fashionable 
 society, to the fritter of fashionable con- 
 versation, and the frippery of showy ac- 
 complishments, the chaste and unblemished 
 purity of Margaret Campbell's mind, the 
 unpretending simplicity of her manners, 
 at once original and refined, excited in him 
 an admiration not wholly unmixed with 
 wonder ! The charm of novelty was the 
 first attraction : it was refreshing after the 
 glitter and stage-effect to which he had 
 been accustomed j to contemplate the win- 
 ning courtesy, " the thousand decencies,*' 
 that flowed in all her words and actions. 
 If she could throw so many charms and 
 graces round the humble home in which 
 he found her, how would she embeUish 
 and cheer a more elevated station, a more 
 enlarged sphere. A closer intimacy and
 
 GERALDINE. 85 
 
 daily intercourse increased the strength of 
 this conviction. 
 
 The gentlemen made frequent excursions 
 together, to the beautiful scenes in the 
 neighbourhood, and Mrs. Campbell sus- 
 pected, that " the pomp of groves, and 
 garniture of woods," did not always form 
 the subject of their conversation ! It soon 
 became obvious to her watchful eye, that 
 inquietude, and depression began to cloud 
 the countenance of Mr. FuUarton. At 
 length, after a longer ramble than usual, 
 he suddenly announced his intention of 
 returning immediately to Oxford. 
 
 Mrs. Campbell rejoiced that her daugh- 
 ter was not present at this moment, and 
 determined with judicious kindness, quiet- 
 ly to impart the news before they met at 
 dinner. 
 
 " I am sorry to tell you, my dear," said 
 
 she, (after seeking her daughter in her 
 
 own apartment,) *< that our pleasant party 
 
 will soon be lessened ! Mr. FuUarton, has 
 
 c 6
 
 36 GERALDINE. 
 
 just been telling me, he must leave us, to 
 
 morrow." 
 
 Margaret's colour rose for a moment to 
 her temples, and then left her pale as 
 death; without a single word of regret, 
 or reply, she seemed intent upon arranging 
 tlie work she held in her hand, and listened 
 without once raising her eyes. 
 
 ** He has paid us already a long visit, 
 and we cannot reasonably expect from 
 him the sacrifice of a greater portion of 
 his time," continued her mother. 
 
 Margaret tried to smile, and to say, 
 <* certainly not ;" but the words were not 
 audible, and the smile became a convul- 
 sive quivering of the lip. 
 
 " It would probably have appeared 
 short to us," resumed Mrs. Campbell, 
 without noticing her emotion, ** had it 
 been extended to a much longer period. 
 
 ** In any family where Mr. Fullarton 
 has been domesticated, his absence must 
 create a chasm not easily repaired; and
 
 GERALDINE. 37 
 
 he has so many claims to our friendship, 
 ahnost to our gratitude, that it is quite 
 natural we should feel reluctant to part 
 with him." 
 
 Margaret dared not trust herself to 
 speak : her eyes were still earnestly 
 fixed on her work, and Mrs. Campbell 
 wisely left her to the relief of solitude. 
 
 No sooner was the door closed, than the 
 full tide of emotions, no longer to be sup- 
 pressed, burst forth : the acute anguish 
 of this moment, was incomprehensible, 
 even to herself: she seemed suddenly 
 bereft of every sense but suffering ; a 
 thousand feelings combined to harass and 
 irritate her. The secret revealed by this 
 agonising emotion humbled and shocked 
 her. She felt wretched and degraded. 
 All that was maidenly, all that was femi- 
 nine in her nature, revolted from the con- 
 viction that she had not been wooed, '« but 
 had unsought been won." 
 
 Nothing had escaped Mr. Fullarton that 
 could justify her in her own eyes. It was
 
 38 GERALDINE. 
 
 true that there was a remarkable conform- 
 ity in their tastes and feelings. How often 
 had the loveliness of nature, the magic of 
 poetry, the moral beauty of character, ex- 
 cited, at the same moment, kindred feel- 
 ings of enthusiasm and admiration in their 
 minds ! How often had a smile at the sud- 
 den, involuntary meeting of their eyes, 
 expressed their consciousness of this sym- 
 pathy ; but love — love, had never once 
 been named between them. 
 
 She walked up and down her room in 
 restless perturbation, amazed at the violence 
 of her feelings, full of anguish and self- 
 upbraiding. To her pure and sensitive 
 conscience, error seemed too soft a word 
 for this unsolicited surrender of her affec- 
 tions ; she bewailed it as a sin, and to hide it 
 from every human being, — to subdue, to 
 forget it, if possible, herself, was the first 
 wish of her heart. 
 
 The earnestness of this desire rekindled 
 in some degree the energy of her character : 
 it enabled her to regain outward composure
 
 GERALDINE. 39 
 
 before she joined the dinner party, and 
 sustained her through the evening. 
 
 Little was said of the approaching separa- 
 tion by either party. Mrs. Campbell was 
 careful to engross as much as possible of 
 Mr. Fullarton*s attention, and Mr. Beres- 
 ford was always happy to devote himself 
 to Margaret. 
 
 The breakfast of the ensuing morning 
 was infinitely more trying ; and when the 
 moment of separation came, — when the 
 parting farewells were exchanged, when the 
 sound of the last lingering footstep died 
 upon her ear, and all was silent, she may 
 be forgiven, if a keen sense of misery, a 
 forlorn feeling of wretchedness succeeded. 
 
 That light which can shine but once on 
 <* life's dull stream'* was extinguished, and 
 hope and joy seemed for ever faded. For 
 a time, all the pleasures and duties of life 
 appeared ** stale, flat, and unprofitable:" 
 conversation wearied her 5 books v/ere te- 
 dious, as a " twice told tale." But this 
 was a state of feeling not long to be in-
 
 40 GERALDINE. 
 
 dalged by the high-principled and consci- 
 entious Margaret. 
 
 Human hfe she felt was indeed a state 
 in which " much was to be endured, and 
 little to be enjoyed;" but she had been 
 early taught that this world was not her 
 home, was not her Canaan ; and ought she 
 tlien to murmur, if in her pilgrimage 
 through the desert, the fruits and flowers 
 of Eden were denied to her. 
 
 Tears poured down her cheeks while she 
 reflected and resolved ; but the path of 
 duty once seen, her resolution to pursue it 
 was invincible. She did not indulge in 
 the enfeebling luxury of solitude : she 
 sought no moonlight bowers : she took no 
 lonely walks : but with steady earnestness 
 courted occupation and amusement. 
 
 Exercise, study, household cares, divided 
 her busy days ; and she was repaid, if not 
 with happiness, at least with many a self- 
 approving hour»
 
 GERALDINE. 41 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 To these unceasing exertions, was too 
 soon superadded a source of anxiety, which 
 proved of all correctives the most powerful. 
 
 Mrs. Campbell's health slowly but 
 visibly declined ; and the woe which a few 
 weeks before had appeared so terrible and 
 overwhelming, she now thought fantastic 
 and imaginary, compared with the dismal 
 apprehensions which began to press upon 
 her heart. 
 
 The autumn was rapidly wearing away : 
 still Mr. Beresford did not talk of leaving 
 them. Margaret had been too much ab- 
 sorbed in her own personal feelings ; and 
 was now too much occupied with fears for 
 her mother, to penetrate the motive that 
 prompted this lengthened visit : but she 
 rejoiced in it, as a source of amusement
 
 4S GERALDiNE* 
 
 and interest to Mrs. Campbell, and her 
 wannest gratitude was excited by his sym- 
 pathy in her own feelings and fears ; and 
 his unremitting and almost filial attention 
 to her mother. 
 
 The best medical aid had been procured, 
 and a softer air was prescribed as the only 
 remedy likely to be at all effectual. 
 
 Mrs. Campbell listened quietly to the 
 recommendation J but aware that their in- 
 come was totally inadequate to expenses of 
 this nature ; she affected to doubt the ne- 
 cessity of a measure, with which she posi- 
 tively refused to comply. 
 
 Mr. Beresford with a warmth and ear- 
 nestness difficult to silence, pressed Mrs. 
 Campbell to pass the winter at a small 
 estate of his in Devonshire ; but she felt 
 the delicacy of her situation as it respected 
 Margaret ; and gently, but decidedly, de- 
 clined the accommodation. 
 
 Mr. Beresford, however, was not to be 
 thus repulsed j he renewed his solicitations; 
 the conversation became confidential, af'
 
 GERALD INE. 48 
 
 fectionate, animated; they talked of past 
 and future days ; and at length his admir- 
 ration and affection for Margaret, his hopes, 
 fears, and feelings on the subject, were all 
 revealed. 
 
 Mrs. Campbell heard his confession with 
 great emotion, and undisguised pleasure. 
 Her piety, fervent and unaffected as it was, 
 had been insufficient to shield her from a 
 poignant sense of anguish, as she contem- 
 plated the desolation and forlornness that 
 awaited her daughter. Vainly had she 
 struggled to still the throbs of maternal 
 feeling ; its tender sigh mingled with the 
 accents of resignation, and its tremulous 
 tear escaped, amid the aspirations of faith 
 and hope. 
 
 With a heart inexpressibly lightened, she 
 gave her sanction to Mr. Beresford's ad- 
 dresses, and undertook to be his advocate 
 with her daughter. 
 
 When they retired for the night, an op- 
 portunity presented itself for entering on 
 the subject. As Margaret was pouring out 
 a cordial draught, and fondly urging her
 
 44 GERALDINEi 
 
 mother to take it, Mrs. Campbell, looking 
 affectionately at her, exclaimed, " This is 
 not the only cordial, my dear child, that 
 has been offered to me to-day. A most 
 powerful one has been presented to me by 
 another kind hand; but it must depend 
 upon you to determine whether I shall ac- 
 cept or reject the charmed cup." 
 
 ** Upon me, my dear mother," said Mar- 
 garet ; " are you not quite sure of my de- 
 lighted concurrence in any plan that can 
 promote your comfort." 
 
 " Not quite sure, in this instance, my 
 dear Margaret. There are points upon 
 which even you and I may differ. The hand 
 which offers this cup may not be valuable 
 in your eyes." 
 
 Margaret felt the sickness of apprehen- 
 sion steal over her, and listened with a 
 fluttering heart. 
 
 " I have been a silent but deeply inter- 
 ested witness, my dearest child," said Mrs. 
 Campbell, tenderly taking her hand, " of 
 the conflicting feelings by which you have 
 been lately harassed. Your secret w^as safe
 
 OERALDINE* 45 
 
 from other eyes ; but the veil must be im- 
 penetrable indeed, which maternal tender- 
 ness cannot pierce. I did violence to my 
 feelings ; for I knew that expressions of 
 sympathy would tend to soften and ener- 
 vate your mind ; and I therefore left you to 
 combat alone, convinced that delicacv and 
 principle would be victorious. Richly am 
 I repaid by the dejightful conviction, that 
 the purity of your mind exceeds even its 
 
 sensibility ! What may not be reasonably 
 
 expected from a strength of principle, so 
 
 active, so effectual, so triumphant ? 
 
 Margaret hid her face (almost convulsed 
 
 w4th contending emotions) on her mother's 
 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Look up, my dear child, you cannot 
 
 for a moment distrust my tenderness, or 
 
 believe that I can urge any sacrifice from 
 
 which your heart revolts/' 
 
 Margaret replied only by an affectionate 
 
 pressure of her mother's hand. 
 
 " You must be aware, by this time,'* 
 
 continued Mrs. Campbell, " of the subject
 
 46 GERALDINE* 
 
 of Mr. Beresford's conversation with me, 
 this morning — tell me ?" 
 
 «« Oh! I know; Igiiess— I understand, 
 my dear mother," said Margaret; " but 
 it is so sudden, so unexpected, so un- 
 wished-for an occurrence." 
 
 Mrs. Campbell looked mournfully at her 
 for some moments, and then said, " May 
 you never know, my dear girl, the intense- 
 ness of a mother's tenderness and fears for 
 the sole remaining darling of her affections ; 
 when it is the will of God that the earthly 
 tie between them shall be dissolved !" 
 
 " Oh ! say not so, my dearest mother," 
 said the weeping Margaret. " I trust, I 
 shall not lose you; my prayers will be 
 heard ; you will be spared to me ; you will 
 live." She threw herself into her mother's 
 arms in an agony of grief. 
 
 «* Would it were possible, my love," said 
 Mrs. Campbell. — " Cheerfully, thankfully, 
 would I encounter a thousand evils to shield 
 you from the tempests of life ! WilHngly 
 w^ould I forego, for a season, that heavenly
 
 GERALDINE. 4-7 
 
 joy for which I humbly hope to be your 
 earthly refuge and shelter ; but it wall not 
 be ! — She paused, with an expression of 
 anguish and affection in her countenance, 
 which spoke volumes to the heart of JMar- 
 garet. It beat quickly with powerftd 
 emotions. Image after image, crowded in 
 tumultuous and rapid succession before her 
 view ; but her eyes rested on the faded 
 cheek, and sinking frame of her mother, 
 and all other feelings were subdued ; — all 
 other regrets became mute. That heart, 
 which trembled with anxiety for her, had 
 been pierced through with many sorrows, 
 and could she refuse to hush it into calm- 
 ness, when only a personal sacrifice was 
 necessary ? Speaking rapidly, and with a 
 manner full of energy, — 
 
 *' I have ceased, my dearest mother," 
 said she, " to expect great happiness in 
 this world ; but there are pleasures still 
 within my reach ; — to bestow happiness, 
 is perhaps better than to enjoy it. If the 
 respect, the esteem, the approbation of a
 
 48 GERALDINE* 
 
 grateful heart, will satisfy Mr. Beresford, 
 I will cheerfully receive him as my hus- 
 band/' 
 
 " Blessed may your union be, my be- 
 loved child !" exclaimed Mrs, Campbell, 
 ** and may you be rewarded, where re- 
 wards are just and permanent.'* 
 
 They separated for the night ; but the 
 agitating nature of their late conversation 
 banished sleep. Mrs. Campbell's medi- 
 tations were full of hope and peace. The 
 clouds whicli had dimmed the future, were 
 dispersed and all was bright and cheering. 
 Mr. Beresford's habits and manners, had 
 already w^on her daughter's esteem ; his 
 tenderness would awaken her affection, 
 his disinterestedness command her grati- 
 tude, and his easy fortune secure her from 
 privations and perplexities. Some repug- 
 nant feelings were indeed natural ; but for 
 her ultimate happiness she had no longer 
 any fear. 
 
 Serenely now could she contemplate the 
 hour of their final separation and her 
 
 14
 
 GERALDINE. 49 
 
 spirit, no longer fettered by mortal solici- 
 tude, was prepared to wing its way to 
 faii'er worlds. 
 
 The meditations of Margaret, were of 
 a different character ; the promise she had 
 just given had decided her fate ; to with- 
 draw it was impossible ; to repent it vain ; 
 to fulfil it — alas! how painful! Re- 
 flection, however, while it awakened a thou- 
 sand tender recollections, had no power to 
 chill the energy of fiHal love, and the in- 
 terview which Mr. Beresford solicited the 
 succeeding day was decisive. Satisfied 
 with her gentle assurance of esteem and 
 gratitude, he attributed all that might ap- 
 pear cold to her retired habits, and the 
 unaffected modesty of her nature; and 
 felt only increased anxiety, to secure and 
 exhibit to the world this -»' pearl of great 
 price.'* 
 
 In less than two months after this period 
 the marriage took place, and they imme- 
 diately rem.oved to Devonshire for the 
 benefit of Mrs. Campbell's health. A soft 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 ^0 GERALDIN^, 
 
 air, and perfect repose of mind, effected a 
 partial restoration ; and for some months 
 Margaret indulged the delightful hope of 
 her recovery ; but this hope was not to be 
 realised; the malady was alleviated, not 
 subdued, and a slight cold occasioned a 
 renewal and increase of every alarming 
 symptom. Gradually, and almost by im- 
 perceptible degrees, her strength wasted 
 away ; but the decay which shattered her 
 earthly frame extended not its ravages to 
 the mind : there all was bright, and calm, 
 and clear. -^ Sustained by faith, animated 
 by hope, she seemed superior to the pangs 
 of mortal suffering ; she rested on the Rock 
 of Ages. To the last moment her heart 
 retained its warm affections, her mind its 
 clearness and vigour ; like the setting sun 
 of a summer sky, which sinks amidst 
 brightness and beauty, to rise again in 
 j-'adiance and joy_.
 
 GERALDINE, 01 
 
 CHAP. VL 
 
 A PROFOUND and solemn impression was 
 left on the mind of Mrs. Beresford by the 
 events we have now detailed. 
 
 Death, resistless and unrelenting, had 
 seized upon the dearest objects of her 
 affection. Circumstances had blighted and 
 crushed the secret hope of her heart. To 
 her, therefore, life had lost much of the 
 freshness of its colouring. She felt a deep 
 conviction of the fragility of its blessings, 
 and the intenseness of its woes. But if 
 the touch of affliction had scattered tlie 
 gay hopes, and quelled the light spirits of 
 youth, it had imparted a tenderness of 
 sympathy, an activity of benevolence, a 
 real unaffected superiority to the daily 
 D 2 
 
 u 
 
 • v^'
 
 5Q GERALDINE. 
 
 trials and petty cares of life, which gave 
 an inexpressible charm to her character. 
 
 Intent only upon promoting the happir? 
 ness of others, no selfish feelings disturbed 
 the equanimity of her mind, or checke4 
 the flow of her benevolence. 
 
 Intellectual superiority was in her so 
 beautifully relieved by unvarying sweetness 
 of temper, that she excited very general 
 admiration in the society to which she was 
 introduced, and inspired an attachment 
 tender, and almost devoted, in the circle of 
 familiar friends among whom she might be 
 said to preside. 
 
 The character of Mr. Beresford's mind 
 was inferior to her own j his tone of thought 
 less clear and forcible : his views less lofty 
 and decided. 
 
 Margaret could not be insensible to this, 
 nor could she entirely check the recol- 
 lections that occasionally obtruded ; but 
 these feelings did not for a moment lessen 
 the beautiful consistency of her conduct 
 as a wife. Her influence over the mind of
 
 GERALDI^^E. 55 
 
 her husband was boundless ; but, like the 
 agency of a guardian spirit, it was as de- 
 licate and imperceptible, as it was effective. 
 
 Mr. FuUarton had received the tidings 
 of her marriage with more pain than sur- 
 prise. The warm admii'ation expressed 
 by Mr. Beresford had prepared him for 
 the event ; it had prompted his own abrupt 
 departure from Scotland ; and from that 
 moment he had endeavoured to become 
 familiar with the idea. 
 
 Still, in spite of himself, a feeling, some- 
 thing like hope, had lingered about his 
 heart, till the letter announcing her mar- 
 riage was put into his hands. 
 
 At that decisive moment, a bitter sense 
 of disappointment pervaded his mind. He 
 struggled to shake it off: he tried to reason 
 away his keen emotions ; to persuade him- 
 himself that he rejoiced in her happy pro- 
 spects. It would not do : he could only 
 quarrel with the selfishness of his o'^ti 
 nature, and pray, w^ith unutterable ten* 
 derness for her happiness. 
 D 3
 
 54 GERALDINE, 
 
 With the consciousness of such feelings, 
 it was natural that he should withdraw, as 
 much as possible, from any immediate in- 
 tercourse with the Beresfords. 
 
 He wrote a short letter, expressive of the 
 unaffected interest he must always feel in 
 all that concerned them ; and, from that 
 time, resisted, with admirable steadiness, 
 the cordial invitations which he repeatedly 
 received from Mr. Beresford. 
 
 The intelligence of Mrs. Campbell's 
 death affected him exceedingly, Happily 
 he was too distant to yield to the strong de- 
 sire it excited of once again seeing Mar- 
 garet, and he was afterwards reasonable 
 enough to rejoice that the temptation had 
 been spared him. 
 
 In the expression and indulgence of 
 sympathy, when both hearts were softened 
 by grief, he was aware that his tenderness 
 might have betrayed itself. 
 
 It was not till the fourth year after her 
 marriage, that he ventured upon more than 
 a short hurried visit.
 
 GfERALDINE. S5 
 
 He will not perhaps be forgiven by those 
 who contend for the undecaying nature of 
 real love ; but it is certain, that at the end of 
 that period, time and hopelessness had con- 
 siderably tranquillised his feelings ; and that 
 he contemplated Mrs. Bciresford, as a wife 
 and mother, with quiet admiration, and 
 with as little em^ of her husband as could 
 reasonably be expected. 
 
 To compensate in some degree for such 
 a deficiency, it must be acknowledged^ 
 that he felt a decided indisposition to m.ar-* 
 riage, and his perception of female charms 
 and attractions became singularly slow and 
 obtuse. 
 
 His friendship with the Beresfords once 
 renewed, continued for many a year to 
 be the charm of his leisure hours ; and he 
 was ultimately indebted to it for advan- 
 tages of a more solid and permanent nature. 
 
 The living of Hartley (of which Mr. 
 Mowbray was patron) became vacant ; and 
 through the solicitation of his friends, it 
 was presented to him. 
 D 4
 
 56 GERALDINE* 
 
 When admiring the pleasant situation of 
 his new dvvelHng, and making the necessary 
 preliminary arrangements, it is probable 
 that regrets and retrospections mingled 
 with the grateful feelings of his mind ; but 
 they were of a silent and quiet character : 
 they did not obstruct his view of the lofty 
 purposes of life, or diminish the energy 
 with which he devoted himself to the sacred 
 duties of his profession. 
 
 The events of Mrs. Beresford's married 
 life proved that the quiver of affliction had 
 not been exhausted by her early sorrows. 
 She had suffered as a daughter ; she was to 
 experience the more keen and piercing 
 sorrows of a mother ; she lost successively, 
 many lovely children, whom she had che- 
 rished as precious gifts from Heaven : they 
 were snatched from her, some in the en- 
 dearing helplessness of infancy, others in 
 the prattling hours of childhood. 
 
 Over all, she had watclied and wept with 
 a mother's tenderness and anguish : but 
 she sorrowed not as one without hopej
 
 GERALDINE. SJ 
 
 she did not refuse to be comforted ; affliction 
 could blight the sweet buds of earthly hope, 
 but could not dim the radiant prospects 
 which opened to the eye of faith. 
 
 From every new trial she arose more 
 pure in spirit, more bright in sanctity ; but 
 she felt that frail indeed were the " silver 
 links and silken ties" which bound her to 
 earth ; and though for the sake of her only 
 surviving child, her deai' Geraldine, she 
 was content to linger in this land of sihadows ; 
 yet her heart, hopes, and affections, in- 
 sensibly detaching themselves from earth, 
 became fixed on heaven. 
 
 Mr. Beresford felt no surprise at the ab- 
 straction and seriousness which had stolen 
 over her mind. He attributed it chiefly to 
 her situation , as she was in daily ex- 
 pectation of giving birth to another child ; 
 and he looked forward to the event with 
 more of hope than fear. 
 
 Soon, and suddenly were these hopes 
 exchanged for the bitterest anguish. She 
 D 5
 
 5S GERALDINE. 
 
 died in less than two hours after the birth 
 of a still-born son. 
 
 During the short interval that succeeded 
 htr keen and protracted sufferings, she ex- 
 pressed a wish to see her daughter. Too 
 feeble for speech, she fixed on her a look 
 of unutterable tenderness ! a keen, but mo- 
 mentary pang seemed to agitate the dying 
 mother ; it was the last throb of earthly 
 feeling. Raising her eyes to heaven, she 
 continued for some minutes absorbed in 
 prayer. 
 
 Again her eye rested upon her child, 
 but its expression had changed ; no trace 
 of human weakness remained ; it beamed 
 brightly with faith and hope ; a refulgent 
 smile lighted up her features, and, with a 
 gentle sigh, her purified spirit escaped from 
 the trials of earth to the blessedness of 
 heaven. 
 
 Mr. Beresfbrd remained stunned and 
 overpowered by the suddenness of this 
 blow. For six months he rather indulged, 
 than struggled v. ith his grief.
 
 GERALDINE. 59 
 
 At length, yielding to the persuasion of 
 his friends, he resolved to leave England 
 for some months, and confide his daughter 
 to the care of Mrs. Mowbray. 
 
 This plan was put into immediate exe- 
 cution. 
 
 He conducted Geraldine to Woodlands, 
 and very soon after embarked for the 
 Continent. 
 
 D 6
 
 Co CERALDINE, 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 I SUPPOSE, my dear," said Mr. Mowbray, 
 to his lady, (about a week after the arrival 
 of Geraldine,) " that you have by this 
 time completely decyphered the character 
 of your niece. A few days must certainly 
 have enabled so renowned a physiognomist 
 and craniologist as yourself to decide, 
 what she is, and is to be." 
 
 " No ; I have been too much occupied 
 with Georgiana's pearls, and diamonds, and 
 Valenciennes lace to think much about 
 her ; besides, her face puzzles me : it is. 
 full of incongruities, and inconsistencies." 
 
 ** So secure am I, in the bliss of igno- 
 rance," rejoined Mr. Mowbray, " that to 
 me it appears full only of beauty and 
 sweetness."
 
 GERALDINE. 61 
 
 " Why, as far as the eyes and mouth 
 are concerned, this may be true enough ; 
 she certainly has, * Les yeuoo bleu, tou- 
 jour s delicats, qui lancent une douce 
 jiammey et une sourire celeste, mais, pour 
 le reste.*' 
 
 *' That shake of the head, I suppose, 
 Mrs. Mowbray, would convey to one of 
 the initiated quite as much instruction 
 as Lord Burleigh's did ; but to me, it is 
 entirely unintelligible : not a single ray of 
 light has it communicated to my bewilder- 
 ed mind. Will you have the goodness to 
 interpret it ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I see, I shall have you for a dis- 
 ciple at last," exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray ; 
 " you will certainly become my pupil in 
 these abstruse sciences." 
 
 " God forbid!" ejaculated Mr. Mow- 
 bray ; "I should as soon think of turning 
 alchemist." 
 
 " Your indifference springs from indo- 
 lence, pure genuine indolence, my dear," 
 replied Mrs. Mowbray. " It is really foitu-
 
 62 GERALDINE. 
 
 nate for you, that there is no truth in the 
 doctrine of the transmigration of souls : 
 unquestionably, some day or other you 
 would animate a tortoise. How you, in- 
 dependent gentlemen," continued she, 
 " contrive to get rid of your time, is a 
 profound mystery to me/' 
 
 " And how you, independent gentle- 
 women, contrive to crowd so many em- 
 ployments into the short space of a short 
 life, is a profound mystery to me," re- 
 joined Mr. Mowbray ; *^ compared to a 
 modern fine lady, the Mrs. Bustle of for- 
 mer days was quite a quiescent^ ruminating 
 animal." 
 
 '« It is a great pity, my dear," said his 
 lady, ** that you were not born a century 
 and a half ago ; for I fully believe you re* 
 gret the decline and fall of cross-stitch 
 and confectionary." 
 
 ** I certainly shall not regret the decline 
 ^nd fall of their successors' presumption 
 and pretension 5" returned Mr. Mowbray* 
 
 " Oh ! Silence, Silence ! that is high
 
 GERALDIN'E. 63 
 
 treason against modern systems ; but 1 sus- 
 pect that you, uncourteous champions of 
 dull and drowsy ignorance, feel a twinge or 
 two of jealousy, in presence of a learned 
 lady. Do, confess it now — just a slight 
 twinge." 
 
 " Ask the sun,*' retorted he, ** if he be 
 jealous of the atoms that dance in his 
 beam." 
 
 " Oh ! worse, and worse ! — You are fit 
 only for Diogenes and his tub !" 
 
 " And the young women of the present 
 day," returned Mr. Mowbray, " in spite of 
 the universal clamour about education, are 
 fit only for Houris in the paradise of Ma- 
 homet." 
 
 *' It is a libel, Mr. Mowbray, a complete 
 libel : education is better understood and 
 better conducted now, than it ever was since 
 the creation !" 
 
 *« Give me proof j I demand proof, Mrs. 
 Mowbray." 
 
 ** Oh ! the misery of being linked to a 
 mathematician!" exclaimed she. <* Where
 
 64 GERALDINE. 
 
 could my good genius be, when such a fate 
 was reserved for me ? Must I never utter a 
 single sentence that has not a dismal Q. E. D. 
 attheendofit?'* 
 
 " Assertion, without proof, my dear, is 
 like a beautiful phantom ; it looks well at a 
 distance, but approach to touch it, and it 
 vanishes into thin air." 
 
 " Quite a poetical flight, really, Mr. 
 Mowbray ; but, as to proof, I don't pretend 
 to be gifted with miraculous powers 5 I can't 
 open the eyes of the blind !" 
 
 " I suppose," said Mr. Mowbray, after 
 a short pause, *' that Geraldine is to unite 
 all the compatible and incompatible acquire- 
 ments which modern innovation has ren- 
 dered essential." 
 
 « I desired Mademoiselle Dubourg to 
 take care of les graces and les Menseances, 
 and to give her all sorts of masters." 
 
 *« As there is some chance of her being 
 an heiress," said Mr. Mowbray, " might 
 not some of the * thousand and one' accom- 
 plishments have been dispensed with?
 
 GERALDINE. 65 
 
 Tinsel may be spared, where there is plenty 
 of sohd gold." 
 
 " Oh! the jewel will be all the better for 
 a brilliant setting ! Who knows, that on 
 some fair future day, it may not enrich the 
 Mowbray line ? If my brother will but 
 have the goodness to remain a disconsolate 
 widower for the rest of his days, Geraldine 
 will make the best of all possible wives for 
 Montague.'* 
 
 " Let me advise you, my dear,'^ said Mr, 
 Mowbray, " to limit your schemes for the 
 present to your daughters. When Geor- 
 giana is safe off your hands, you can look 
 round at your leisure for another Nabob 
 for Fanny. As there are English mothers 
 who might feel some reluctance at sending 
 their daughters to wither in a foreign land, 
 ycu will have a good chance of success.'* 
 
 " Whither ! — in that land of softness and 
 beauty, — what absurdity ! Her life will be 
 one fairy scene of splendour and magni- 
 ficence."
 
 66 OERAIDINE* 
 
 " Then it will be unlike any life I eve^ 
 heard of." 
 
 " As to Fanny — ^^but I will not reveal 
 my pet scheme for her," said Mrs. Mow- 
 bray; 
 
 <^ As you please, my dear ; I cafi wait 
 with perfect patience ; for, doubtless, it will 
 reveal itself." 
 
 " You certainly are the most provoking 
 of your provoking race," said Mrs. Mow- 
 bray J " but, to punish your insensibility, 
 ydii shall listeti to my scheme. Knowy 
 then, (but come a little nearer, lest the 
 rushes should hear,) that I intend that 
 bright and particular star. Lord William, 
 and his fifteen thousand a-year, for Fanny." 
 
 " Lord William 1" exclaimed Mr. Mow- 
 bray. 
 
 " Yes ; Lord William Grlenmore, Vis- 
 count and Baron Glenmore, of Glenmore- 
 Hall, in Cumberland.- You could not look 
 liiore incredulous, if I had proposed the 
 Emperor of China, or the Cham of Tar- 
 tary !"
 
 GERALDINE. 67 
 
 " It will never do j it will be all lost 
 labour, Mrs. Mowbray : you may, perhaps, 
 entangle Lord William in your nets ; but^ 
 take my word for it, he will never be en- 
 ticed into a cage.'' 
 
 ** Ah, that raven note of yours, shall 
 not frighten me. I have set my h^art 
 upon it.'' 
 
 " Whether Fanny's heart be set upon it, 
 is, of course, quite a secondary concern." 
 
 *< Heart!" exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray,- 
 *< what has Hymen to do with hearts now J 
 there might be time for all that in the 
 days of Hilpa and Zilpa ; but a union of 
 hearts, as it is called, is quite out of the 
 question in the nineteenth century ! It is 
 preposterous even to think of it." 
 
 " Do you suppose it probable," said 
 Mr. Mowbray, " that Montague will be- 
 come a convert to the truth and beauty 
 of this system ?" 
 
 " Very probable ! — The age of poetry 
 and heroics, and nonsense, will pass away 
 in time. He will be glad enough, like the
 
 68 gera'ldine. 
 
 rest of the world, to exchange the flower^ 
 of Parnassus for golden fruit. Pray have 
 you written to him to announce that the 
 wedding day is fixed ?" 
 
 " Not I ! I leave all the glory of the 
 Communication to you, who pique your- 
 self upon rivalling Madame de Sevigne." 
 
 " Very well ; I shall summon him forth- 
 with to forsake the Muses and mathe- 
 matics, and appear at our Saturnalia." 
 
 " Have you determined, my dear,'' said 
 Mr. Mowbray^ " how long it is necessary, 
 that we should manifest, by outward and 
 visible signs, our delight in getting rid of 
 Georgiana ?" 
 
 « Why, the Colonel told me yesterday, 
 that they must sail in about six weeks ; so, 
 till then, you may give up all hope of re- 
 pose 'y till then, fetes and festivals will be 
 the order of the day. Shall I give you a 
 sketch of our plans ?" 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself, my dear; it 
 will be sufficient fatigue to me, to witness 
 their execution."
 
 GERALDINE. 60 
 
 " Intolerable,'* exclaimed Mrs. Mow- 
 bray ; ** nothing will ever animate you, 
 You really resemble prodigiously that un# 
 happy king of the Black Isles, who wa^ 
 half man, half marble." 
 
 ** As I have not the slightest objection 
 Mrs. Mowbray, to your being prima donna^ 
 upon every occasion 5 I shall be obliged to 
 you, to leave me to play personage mueU 
 whenever I please." 
 
 " Oh! by all means," returned Mrs. 
 Mowbray, laughing, and rising to leave the 
 room ; *' only I hope that when you have 
 quite forgot yourself to stone -, you will be 
 so obliging as to nod occasionally, when 
 you are spoken to, like the statue in Doi^ 
 Giovanni."
 
 70 GERALDINE. 
 
 CHAP. VIIL 
 
 Jlhe important day arrived, and, like all 
 other days, important and unimportant, 
 passed away ; every thing went off, with 
 eclat. 
 
 It had been admitted, by most of the 
 numerous and courteous guests, that Mrs, 
 Mowbray was all grace and gaiety ; Georr 
 giana all blushes and beauty : that the 
 :entertainment had been magnificent. 
 
 The Colonel, to be sure, was nothing 
 particular, except particularly rich. A 
 few old ladies slyly insinuated that Mrs. 
 Mowbray had played her cards well. A 
 few young ones whispered, and wondered 
 together in a corner, and vowed with rather 
 needless earnestness that all the pearls of 
 Persia, and diamonds of Golconda, woi\ld
 
 GERALDINE. 71 
 
 not have tempted them to accept Colonel 
 Harcourt ; but altogether and with these 
 few exceptions, it was considered a well- 
 appointed, well-conducted affair. 
 
 The bride and bridegroom, according to 
 established custom, were to pass a week at 
 a villa at some distance ; and Mr. Mowbray 
 congratulated himself, that there would at 
 least be breathing time, — a slight cessation 
 of the outward demonstrations of felicity, 
 till their return. 
 
 The remaining part of the family met in 
 high good humour, at a late breakfast the 
 following morning. 
 
 " I will thank you for a slice of tongue, 
 Montague," said Mr. Mowbray— " I hope 
 you rejoice as I do, in the prospect of a 
 day of peace, and fragments." 
 
 *' Most cordially, Sir," returned Mon- 
 tague. <^ My eyes ache with the dazzling 
 lustre of yesterday : a family party is quite 
 refreshing." 
 
 *' If you were guilty of going to sleep 
 last night," said Mr. Mowbray, ^* you will
 
 7^ GERALDINE. 
 
 have some trouble in making peace with 
 your mother ; for she has risen in Ml ex- 
 pev^'tation of an epithalamium from your 
 pen," 
 
 ** There has been so much marrying and 
 giving in marriage, ever since the world 
 began, saicj Montague, that the subject is 
 threadbare.-' 
 
 *« What is the use of a poet in the family," 
 said Fanny, ** if his muse refuses to visit 
 him on these solemn occasions ; besides, I 
 am sure Georgiana might have inspired you. 
 You could have compared her to Venus ; for 
 if she had borrow^ed the divine cestus itself, 
 she could not have looked more lovely." 
 
 " Georgiana would like very well .to be 
 Venus, Fanny, I dare say," replied Mon- 
 tague ; " but it might not be quite so flat- 
 tering to the Colonel, to come in for the 
 honours and glories of Vulcan." 
 
 '« Why, no ; I don't know what you are 
 to do with the Colonel, indeed," said Fanny; 
 "he is not exactly the person to be
 
 GERALDINE. 73 
 
 crowned with roses, or to grace a car drawn 
 by doves.'* 
 
 " Doubtless/* said Montague, with an 
 arch emphasis, " he is a very valuable man; 
 but not precisely calculated for poetic in- 
 spiration.** 
 
 ** Something has inspired you, Geraldine, 
 i am sure," said Mrs. Mowbray, as her eye 
 caught the expression of her animated face : 
 *« those are some of the first smiles and 
 dimples that I have detected playing round 
 your solemn little mouth, since your arrival 
 at Woodlands.*' 
 
 The timid Geraldine's stniles and dim- 
 ples, were in a moment exchanged for 
 blushes ; and, too shy to make any reply, 
 she applied herself with great earnestness 
 to the business of breakfast. 
 
 " I begin to hope," said Mrs. Mowbray, 
 addressing herself to Montague, (w^ith a 
 glance at Geraldine,) <' that the snow and 
 ice will disappear, and verdure and flowers 
 peep forth at last." 
 
 VOL. I, E
 
 74 GERALDINE, 
 
 Geraldine's blushes deepened : " To say 
 thetruth, Montague/' said she, after looking 
 at her again for half a minute, " I cannot 
 understand these sensitive plants ; they are 
 pretty shrinking things enough too, but the 
 genus is new to me : I make mine over to 
 your care while you remain at home.'* 
 
 Geraldine's smiles returned ; she seemed 
 quite contented to be made over to her 
 cousin Montague. 
 
 The month that had elapsed since her 
 arrival at Woodlands, had been to her a 
 period of secret mortification and misery* 
 Accustomed to the anxious tenderness of 
 her lamented mother, to the indulgent 
 fondness of Mr. Beresford, she was not 
 prepared for indiiFerence, or satisfied with 
 the kindness of mere good will. 
 
 Hitherto the object of warm and concen- 
 trated affection; she was suddenly trans- 
 ported to a region in which she was of \ 
 little or no importance. Every body was 
 gay and good-humoured about her. It 
 might be the island of felicity in which she
 
 GERALDINE. 75 
 
 was placed ; but, like the prince in the 
 fable, she felt that it was not her home. 
 
 The habits of the family presented a 
 striking contrast to those in which she had 
 been educated. The duties she had been 
 sedulously taught to fulfil, the sacred 
 institutions she had learned to reverence, 
 were here wholly forgotten, or alluded to 
 with a levity which astonished and dis- 
 mayed her. Too young for decision, too 
 timid for opposition, she felt an incessant 
 conflict in her mind, between her own 
 sense of right and the fear of appearing 
 ** righteous over much :" — She saw, that 
 every thing was measured by a standard 
 entirely different from the one to which 
 she had been taught to refer j and she felt 
 bewildered and unhappy. 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray, was unsuspicious of all 
 this : her long residence on the Continent 
 had destroyed even the outward reverence 
 for sacred things, which might have en- 
 dured had she remained in England ; and 
 
 E ^
 
 76 GERALDINE* 
 
 she had not the sHghtest idea of Geral* 
 dine's feehngs. 
 
 . Mr. Mowbray considered reUgion as no- 
 thing more than a useful political engine. 
 Hope and fear were powerful auxiliaries 
 in governing the minds of men, and whe- 
 ther these passions were brought into 
 play by the doctrines of Moses or of 
 Christ, of Brahma or of Mahomet, appeared 
 to him matter of perfect indifference. 
 The spirit of patient research, with which 
 he investigated a theory of the earth, or 
 solved a mathematical question, had not 
 extended itself to his religious enquiries ; 
 he had early adopted a certain set of 
 opinions, and his general course of read- 
 ing tended to strengthen and confirm 
 them. He would have combated the doc- 
 trine of the fall of man, and the consequent 
 corruption of human nature, as the idle 
 dream of visionary minds ; and yet, with an 
 inconsistency by no means uncommon, he 
 scarcely believed in the existence of dis- 
 interested and noble feelings. Enthusiasm
 
 GERALDINE. 77 
 
 in the cause of religion or of humanity, he 
 constantly referred to some hidden motive 
 either of selfishness or vanity. In his opi- 
 nion, by far the greater part of mankind 
 might be comprised in the two large classes 
 of fools and knaves. The one had the address 
 to govern the other , and he considered the 
 priests of every religion under the sun, as 
 a set of jugglers, who understood their art. 
 It was one of his maxims that ** Tons les 
 Pretres, dans tons les cultes, ont totcjoiirs un 
 pen de charlatanisme." 
 
 He did not, however, often bring forward 
 these opinions ; seldom attacked those of 
 others, and testified no desire of making pro- 
 selytes. A contemptuous smile generally 
 lurked round his mouth when Missionaries, 
 Bible Societies, &c. were mentioned ; but 
 he rarely engaged in any controversies on 
 the subject, contenting himself with a sly 
 inuendo, or occasional sarcasm. 
 
 Fanny united a little of her father's scep- 
 ticism to all her mother's indifference ; and 
 Mademoiselle Dubourg made over aU re- 
 E 3
 
 78 GERALDINE. 
 
 ligion to les gens de peuple; affirming that 
 tlie notion of rJEnfer,et leDiabky were quite 
 comme iljaut, pour la canailk / 
 
 But, independently of these consider, 
 ations, a sense of forlornness had pressed 
 upon her heart. 
 
 The moment of her introduction at Wood- 
 lands was not a happy one. Mrs. Mowbray 
 could think only of Georgiana's marriage ; 
 the Colonel of her beauty j Mademoiselle 
 Dubourg and Fanny, of her bridal array. 
 
 Georgiana thought alternately of^ all 
 three —much of her marriage, more of her 
 beauty, but most of her " costly gear." 
 
 Mademoiselle Dubourg, to whose special 
 care Geraldine was consigned, received her 
 graciously ; affirmed, with a condescending 
 smile, that she had decidedly la jfigure 
 Franfoise ; and then resumed her rapturous 
 examination of the important Trotisseau. It 
 was superbe, magnifique! unquestionably 
 tout a fait Frangoise I It reminded her of 
 a, day — a happy day ! — a day " couleur de 
 rose" when she was almost squeezed to
 
 GERALDINE. 79 
 
 death, in getting a sight of the Duchesse 
 
 De 's Trousseau, She must have been 
 
 ahsolument abime, if it had not been for the 
 extreme politeness of un Chevalier, ** beau 
 cornme le joury" who extricated her from 
 the crowd. Details of the incredible num- 
 ber of articles comprehended in this Trous^ 
 seaUj and of their surpassing beauty, suc- 
 ceeded. " C^etoit du dernier gout r^ Des- 
 cription — panegyric — exclamation poured 
 in. She addressed herself occasionally to 
 Geraldine, who, confounded by the rapi- 
 dity of her utterance, and wholly ignorant 
 of the subject, made no attempt to reply, 
 but looked, as she felt, bewildered and 
 weary. 
 
 Before the end of the day Mademoiselle 
 had decided, that though she had la figure 
 Frangoise, she had le caractere Anglois; 
 froid comme la glace ; and Fanny was certain 
 she must have been shut up for a month at 
 least, in the cave of Trophonius. 
 
 They could make nothing of her ; she 
 blushed whenever Mrs. Mowbray looked at 
 E 4
 
 80 GERALDINE. 
 
 her ; appeared absolutely terrified when 
 Mr. Mowbray asked her a question ; and 
 seemed chiefly anxious to escape from them 
 all, and hide herself with a book in some 
 quiet corner of the house. 
 
 It was not till the arrival of Montague 
 that she seemed to recover something like 
 ease and composure ; but Montague was^an 
 old acquaintance, her very dear friend, wha 
 had played wdth her from pure good nature 
 many an hour : his name was connected in 
 her mind with all the joys and endearments 
 of home ; and to Montague she could talk 
 of the past, and detail the grievances, of the 
 present. 
 
 During the long absence of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Mowbray from England, he had remained 
 at Eton ; and Mr. Beresford's house had 
 been his home during some successive va-. 
 cations. 
 
 He had loved and admired Mrs. Beres-. 
 ford; and her powerful, but unobtrusive 
 influence, had for a time been productive 
 of the best effect.
 
 GERAI/DTNK, 81 
 
 Geraldine, he had been accustomed to 
 treat with the sportive fondness of an elder 
 brother, and the sight of a face so dear and 
 famihar, had re-opened the springs of joy 
 in her heart. 
 
 A long stroll in the park with him did 
 much to relieve and quiet her mind: he 
 understood all her feelings and scruples; 
 and she was soothed by his sympathy, and 
 cheered by his counsel. 
 
 She was somewhat surprised to find 
 Montague much less scrupulous on some 
 points than herself. He did not seem to 
 attach so much importance to the suspen- 
 sion of her religious habits. " It will be 
 but for a short time" said he 5 " Mr. Beres- 
 ford will probably return to England in a 
 few months, and you will then be able to 
 resume your old habits, and to be as good 
 as you please ; in the mean time, try to 
 dwell less on the past, and the tone of your 
 spirits will insensibly rise : of course, you 
 will for a time miss the devoted tenderness 
 to which you have been accustomed j but 
 E 5
 
 S2 GfiRALDINE. 
 
 there is a pjayiiilness in my mother's man- 
 ner, an equanimity in her temper, that is 
 resistless; sooner or later, you will feel its 
 charm. I never converse with her without 
 feeling animated. Endeavour to be amused 
 with the scene before you ; you will find 
 much in it that is both new and harmless. 
 As to Fanny, she has so many engaging 
 qualities, that I am half afraid, you will 
 either not see her faults at all, or learn to 
 love them/' 
 
 Geraldine felt grateful for his kindness, 
 and resolved to try and laugh with Mrs* 
 Mowbray ; talk French with Mademoiselle 
 Dubourgj and sing and play duets with 
 Fanny. 
 
 She found all this much easier than she 
 expected ; but the most easy, and the most 
 delightful of her employments, was to ride 
 or ramble with her cousin Montague ; and 
 at the end of a week she acknowledged, 
 that if he could be always at home, she 
 should not be so veri/ unhappy at Wood^ 
 lands*
 
 GERALDINE. SS 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 The return of Colonel Harcourt and his 
 bride, interrupted these quiet enjoyments. 
 It was the signal of a renewal of festivity, 
 and congratulatory visits poured in from 
 every quarter. 
 
 Fanny, at the summit of happiness, sum- 
 moned Geraldine to assist her in filling up 
 the cards of invitation that were to be dis- 
 persed through the neighbourhood. 
 
 ** I can never be grateful enough to 
 Georgiana,'' said she, ** for marrying that 
 dear dingy colonel: she deserves to be 
 worshipped for it ; it was the greatest act of 
 sisterly kindness that could be performed.*' 
 
 " What has excited this extraordinary 
 burst of gratitude, Fanny ?" enquired Mon* 
 tague^ 
 
 E 6
 
 »4^ GERALD I NTE. 
 
 " Why, you must know, on our return to 
 England, my father, in tlie plenitude of his 
 wisdom, had issued a decree that I was not 
 to appear in public, or visit with my mother, 
 till I had completed my nineteenth year. 
 Now, as he does not trouble himself to 
 make a decree above once in twenty years, 
 he piques himself upon its resemblance to 
 the laws of the Medes and Persians, which 
 alter not, and there was no hope of its 
 being reversed." 
 
 ** I suppose he flattered himself that a 
 little seclusion would give you some stability 
 of character," said Montague. 
 
 "^ Seclusion ?" exclaimed Fanny — ** Se- 
 clusion ! at Woodlands ; that is too ridi- 
 culous ! No, it was a most inconceivable 
 whim. At first, I thought he meant to 
 shut me up with Mademoiselle Dubourg ; 
 and I gaped so much at the mere idea, of 
 it, that I expected my mouth would never 
 recover its beauty." 
 
 '< Well ; what did you da at this critical 
 moment?" said her brother.
 
 GERALDINE. 85 
 
 «* 1 walked into his study, interrupted 
 him in the midst of a mathematical pro- 
 blem, and petitioned and remonstrated as 
 the Parliament did with Charles the First." 
 ** And what was the result?" 
 "Why, at first, he had the air of not under- 
 standing me the least in the world. He 
 looked precisely as you may imagine a per- 
 son would do on waking from a trance. At 
 length, by a great effort, he extricated his 
 poor head from the labyrinth of angles and 
 triangles in which it was wandering, and 
 his face assumed its usual sarcastic expres- 
 sion. * Poor Fanny,' said he, * so you 
 think you shall be soon tired of yourself 
 and Mademoiselle Dubourg. ' To death, 
 my dear sir,' said I, * I assure you I am 
 unfortunately already so perfectly familiar 
 with that good lady's face, that when I 
 have a pencil in my hand, I unconsciously 
 make a sketch of it; and it is always the most 
 * inveterate likeness' you can imagine. 
 The face is not a hair's breadth longer 
 or shorter, or broader or narrower than 
 the original.'*
 
 86 GERALDINE. 
 
 ♦« * To say the truth, Fanny,* replied my 
 fether, gravely, * you entered into society 
 much earlier than I liked in France ; and I 
 think it wiser not to follow up the system 
 in England. Two years of quiet applica- 
 tion will give you a little of the sobriety you 
 want.' " 
 
 *< Most alarming sounds to your ear, in* 
 deed," said Montague. 
 
 " Oh ! I can't possibly describe my dis- 
 may," replied Fanny. 
 
 " •Sobriety, my dear father,' said I; 
 * why, it must be the dense atmosphere of 
 England that has inspired you with such a 
 barbarous thought. I shall become an ab- 
 solute petrifaction before the expiration of 
 two years ! Is it not enough to turn any 
 one to marble to see nothing for that 
 space of time but Mademoiselle Dubourg 
 tapping her snuff-box?' *You mistake, 
 Fanny,' said my father, <my system of 
 seclusion is not so absolute. You will still 
 associate with your family, and occasionally
 
 GERALDINE. 87 
 
 with their intimate friends." Having said 
 this, he turned, with the most invuhierable 
 look imaginable, to his darling problems, 
 and left me to my fate. I retreated in 
 despair ; and for four or five months this 
 precious system was acted upon. 
 
 " I grew as meagre as a shadow, and was 
 pining myself into a consumption, when 
 my good genius contrived that Colonel 
 Harcourt, the delectable, should dance 
 with Georgiana at a ball •, dream of her all 
 night 5 and, in short, be entirely at her 
 disposal, at the end of a few days. 
 
 When this grand affair was decided, my 
 mother took pity upon me, and repre- 
 sented my hard case with such irresistible 
 and persevering eloquence to my father, 
 that, for the sake of what he cares for 
 more than his daughter's weal, (peace and 
 quietness,) he yielded.'* 
 
 " It was with a very ill grace though,'* 
 said Mrs. Mowbray, (who had entered the 
 room in the midst of this explanation,) for 
 you know —
 
 88 GERALDINE. 
 
 " He that's convinced against his will, 
 Is of the same opinion still." 
 
 " But yield he did," replied Fanny ; 
 " and that was enough for me ; I recovered 
 my liberty." 
 
 ** Is dissipation, then, so essential to your 
 happiness, Fanny ?" asked Montague, after 
 listening to this history. " How radically 
 do our tastes differ.'* 
 
 " The Antipodes are not more opposed," 
 said Mrs.JMowbray. " Fanny has no taste 
 for ' heavenly pensive contemplation ;' she 
 has never felt those * mystic transports of 
 solitude and melancholy bom ;' however, 
 she knows her sentence ; she need not woo 
 the muse. " 
 
 " No, indeed, I don^t intend to woo any 
 thing 5 least of all a muse," said Fanny ; 
 •* but if I woo at all, I will follow Juliet's 
 example, and choose some charming Romeo ; 
 not that he was much worth wooing, to be 
 sure, — always sighing and complaining to 
 the moon." 
 
 <« The race of modern lovers will not be
 
 GERALDINE. 89 
 
 likely to annoy you in this way, Fanny," 
 observed Montague. " Love is not so formi- 
 dable a deity, now as he was in the days of 
 Romeo and Petrarch. The waters of Lethe, 
 I believe, are more accessible ; or hearts 
 are made of * sterner stuff.' " 
 
 " Very likely," replied Fanny ; ** but 
 I care little either for love or lovers at 
 present. I am delighted that my cage-door 
 is open, and that I may go into the world 
 and look about me. Now, Geraldine, I 
 make my most graceful and grateful curtsey 
 to Mademoiselle Dubourg, and bequeath 
 her and Lindley Murray, and Leviz^c, 
 and Veneroni, and all those worthies to 
 you ; hoping, with the most noble disinter- 
 estedness, that you will become as w^ise 
 as the admirable Crichton." 
 
 " I hope," said Montague, rather graveljj, 
 ** she w^ill at least derive from her edu- 
 cation, a taste for literature : she will find 
 it rather more valuable than a passion for 
 seeing and being seen."
 
 90 GERALDINE. 
 
 ** I beg, my dear Geraldine," said Fanny, 
 " that you will draw no false inference 
 from Montague's sober sayings and actual 
 gravity. I think it right to let you know, 
 that he is a perfect camelion, and reflects 
 all hues, like that charming animal, which 
 I have always admired amazingly. About 
 four or five years ago, when he passed his 
 vacations in Devonshire with Mrs. Beres- 
 ford, he grew as grave as a judge, and used 
 to write the most edifying letters you can 
 conceive to mamma and me. We always 
 called them Montague's sermonettes. Mam- 
 ma was really quite alarmed by them ; for 
 she fully expected that he would turnfield- 
 preacher. To prevent such a misfortune, a 
 new arrangement was thought of, and he 
 was made over to an old unde of purs, a 
 sort of natural philosopher andconchologist, 
 a man with his house full of curiosities and 
 his head full of theories. There Montague 
 learnt to be a great naturalist, and we had 
 no more sermonettes,"
 
 GERALDINE. 91 
 
 ** Have you done, Fanny ?" asked Mon- 
 tague, calmly. 
 
 " Not quite," replied Fanny^ ** At Ox- 
 ford he happened to meet with a literary 
 set ; and now literature is all the rage. By 
 and by, love will have his turn, and pleasure 
 her revenge : so he will just end where 
 other people begin.'* 
 
 " Who empowered you, Fanny, to dive 
 into the book of fate, and decide upon 
 things to come ?" said Montague, in a tone 
 of some pique. 
 
 " Oh ! I like you all the better for this 
 charming variety," exclaimed Fanny. <* I 
 am merely anxious to prove to Geraldine, 
 that you are not one of those tiresome, 
 sombre, ever-green sort of characters, the 
 same in April, July, and December." 
 
 ** Without prolonging this disquisition 
 on my character," said Montague, " tell 
 me, wliicli do you think is most likely to 
 end in satiety, — a love of pleasure, or a 
 love of literature ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I can't possibly tell till I have
 
 92 GERALD INE. 
 
 tried," replied Fanny. ** I dare say they 
 both end alike. At any rate, I shall begin 
 with pleasure: so finish those enchanting 
 cards, Geraldine ; and then go if you please, 
 and conjugate the verb ennuyer with Ma- 
 demoiselle Dubourg." Geraldine smiled ; 
 Montague shook his head j and Fanny ran 
 away to prepare for a dinner party, which 
 had been invited for that day.
 
 OEftALDINEi 93 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray was eminently gifted with 
 t esprit de societe ; and she understood so 
 well the happy art of breaking a circle, 
 that she could even animate that awful 
 half-hour before dinner, usually produc- 
 tive, in an English party, of constrained 
 monosyllables or silent reconnoitring. 
 
 When Geraldine accompanied Fanny to 
 the drawing-room, she found various groups 
 engaged in animated conversation ; and 
 secretly hoping that she might be seated 
 next to her cousin Montague, at dinner, 
 she joined a party of young ladies who 
 were listening, with great attention, to an 
 argument iii which the merits of some 
 author were discussing. 
 
 As she approached, she heard Mr. Mow^ 
 bray say *' No, I have not read, nor do I 
 desire to read it."
 
 94 GERALDINE* 
 
 " If that be really the case," said Men* 
 tague, in a tone of commiseration, " I 
 pity you, Sir, with all my soul : I con* 
 sider a person, destitute of a taste for 
 poetical excellence, as a most unfortunate 
 being, — as shut out from the purest and 
 most exquisite enjoyment that this world 
 can offer." 
 
 " My case is certainly hopeless, Monta* 
 gue,'* said Mr. Mowbray j " for I am ut- 
 terly insensible of my deplorable con*, 
 dition, and probably shall remain so, unless 
 you prove incontestibly the truth of these 
 high-sounding superlatives*'* 
 
 " We must allow a little for poetical en* 
 thusiasm," said Mr. Maitland, (a young 
 clergyman who formed one of the group.) 
 ** Purest and most exquisite may require 
 some qualifying \ but don't imagine, Mon* 
 tague, that it is necessary to extend your 
 compassion to me j for I have read the 
 poem in question, and am as perniciously 
 pleased with it as I have been with all the 
 former works of this extraordinary man/*
 
 GERALDiNE. 95 
 
 " Fleasedy^ said Montague, in an irritated 
 tone; " I pass over the word * perniciously j' 
 that point we will contend by and by : 
 but how can a man, with a grain of taste 
 or feeling, apply so cold, so pointless an 
 expression to such lines -^ to poetry, that 
 is enough to wake the dead ?'* 
 
 ** Such an effect," said Mn Mowbray^ 
 drily, "would, I suspect^ be remarkably 
 unwelcome to many of the living* If this 
 peerless poet of yours, Montague, were 
 to rouse any of my ancestorSj I should 
 wish him in the Red Sea.'* 
 
 *< I hope he will live,'' said Montague, 
 fervently, " many a long year, to enchant 
 us with his lay. Rich as we are in poets 
 just now, he is the last we could spare.'* 
 
 " The world would do vastly well with^ 
 out them," said Mr. Mowbray* " They 
 have been perpetrating mischief and mis» 
 chief only, from the days of Homer to the 
 present hour." 
 
 There was a general outcry against Mf 
 Mowbray. The gentlemen were eloquent
 
 §6 OERALDINE* 
 
 the ladies clamorous. Mr. Mowbray listened 
 to the tumult with an tlnmoved couti- 
 tenance ; and when it had a little subsided, 
 Said, in an undaunted tone, " I affirm 
 that they have done much mischief to 
 man, and more to women. To begin with 
 woman — what do their favourite poets do 
 fo^ them, but brighten their eyes and soften 
 their hearts ?" 
 
 The bright eyes of the ladies were, in a 
 moment, modestly fixed upon the carpet. 
 They seemed to acknowledge, by their 
 silence, the truth of the position. 
 
 *« A most charming effect, too !'' ex- 
 claimed Colonel Harcourt. " Faith, I think 
 a man must be confoundedly hard to |)lease, 
 who is not satisfied with bright eyes and 
 hearts brimful of love !" 
 
 " He must be strangely constituted, in- 
 deed,'' said Mr. Maitland, "who denies 
 their enchantment ; but something more is 
 desirable for beings who, all delicate and 
 lovely as they are, must endure the wear 
 ami tear of life." 
 
 *« If to soften and enervate the mind
 
 G'FRAtDINE. §7 
 
 were the sole tendency of poetry,*' said 
 Montague warmly ; ** I would willingly 
 commit it all to the flames ; but, at any rate, 
 the assertion <;an be applicable only to a 
 certain class of poets, and even then, the 
 pernicious effects of their works is grossly 
 exaggerated. 
 
 Surely, few can doubt that it is the ten* 
 dency of poetry in general to refine, purify, 
 and elevate the mind." 
 
 " Elevate ! yes, yes," said Mr. Mowbray, 
 with a smile ; ** I will not dispute that point 
 with you. Poets and their worshippers 
 easily transport themselves into the clouds, 
 bnut they descend very reluctantly to the 
 business and interests of this dim speck 
 called earth." 
 
 ** We need not alarm ourselves, I believe. 
 Sir," said Montague ; ** there will always 
 be hum-drums enough to plod on in the 
 common v/ay. The race of mere hewers 
 of wood and drawers of water is in no 
 danger of becoming extinct." 
 
 *< It is not fair, 1 think," said Mr Mait^ 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 GERALDINE* 
 
 land, ** to assume as a fact, that the culti- 
 vation of the imagination is incompatible 
 with that of the judgment 5 or that it inca- 
 pacitates for the performance of the com- 
 mon and every-day duties of life/' 
 
 ** Do you think,'' replied Mr, Mowbray, 
 ** the ' eye in a fine frenzy rolling,' is likely 
 to fix with interest on any thing merely 
 mundane ! Is it not employed in glancing 
 from heaven to eaith, from earth to 
 heaven?" 
 
 . " But poets have their lucid intervals, 
 Sii'," said Mr. Maitland, smiling. 
 
 "Very possibly," returned Mr. Mow- 
 bray ; " but they are like * angel visits, 
 few and far between/ " 
 
 " We are not obliged to accept assertion 
 founded on prejudice instead of reasoning," 
 said Montague, indignantly ; ** and putting 
 modern and living instances out of the 
 question, can we not bring forward a thou* 
 sand to prove the compatibility of ima- 
 gination and judgment ? Who under- 
 stood human nature in every shade and 
 
 *3 ......
 
 eERALmNE, 99 
 
 gradation, better than the man you hav6 
 so ungratefully quoted ? 
 - " Did the sublime genius of Milton in- 
 capacitate him for assisting to regulate the 
 government of a commonwealth ? 
 
 *« Did Sir Philip Sydney fight the battles 
 of his country with less ardour because he 
 was a poet ? Did not Lord Chatham write 
 verses ?" 
 
 Montague's defence of poets and poetry 
 was here interrupted. Dinner was an- 
 nounced, and Mrs. Mowbray begged him to 
 lead some lady to the dining-room ; if, in- 
 deed, he could condescend to taste any 
 thing inferior to nectar and ambrosia, 
 
 Geraldine, seated between her cousin 
 Montague and Mr. Maitland, felt relieved 
 from the dread of being obliged to talk 
 when she had nothing to say; flattering 
 herself that Mr. Maitland would be too 
 much engaged with Fanny, who was his 
 next neighbour, to think of addressing her. 
 
 For some time she thought herself as 
 happy as she could possibly be at a large 
 F S
 
 KX) GEBALDINE. 
 
 dinner-party. The exuberant spirits of 
 Fanny, excited and occupied the two 
 gentlemen in her vicinity. She laughed 
 with one, appealed to the other, and en- 
 tertained both. 
 
 Geraldine was allowed the privilege of 
 listening as quietly as she pleased. 
 
 As usual, little was said during dinner- 
 time worth listening to or recording. 
 
 Lord William Glenmore, who sat on Mrs. 
 Mowbray's right hand, congratulated her 
 with a glance of satisfaction at the various 
 dishes, on having been so fortunate as to 
 retain the inestimable French cook who had 
 lived with her on the Continent ; and to this 
 observation succeeded a dissertation on 
 French cooks and cookery, and com- 
 parisons between English and French 
 sauces and wines. 
 
 It was remarked, that the difference 
 apparent between the two nations, in 
 Fart de faire la cuisine^ was perfectly 
 characteristic ; that the infinite and in- 
 genious variety with which the French 
 multiplied and masqued their dishes, dis-
 
 GERALDINE. 101 
 
 tanced the invention, and bewildered the 
 comprehension of an Englishman. 
 
 " Really we ought to be lost in wonder 
 and admiration," said Mr. Mowbray, 
 " when we reflect that it is to the restless- 
 ness of this inventive faculty we owe the 
 science of dressing an egg six hundred 
 and eighty-five different ways ! Vitellius 
 would have decreed a statue to such 
 genius !'* 
 
 Mr. Wentworth, an elderly gentleman, 
 who sat near the bottom of the table, had 
 listened with visible restlessness and im*. 
 patience to the whole conversation. He 
 was one of the few remaining specimens of 
 the old-fashioned English country gentle- 
 man, a class whose peculiar characteristics 
 have nearly disappeared amid the rapid pro^ 
 gress of refinement, and the general dif- 
 fusion of literature. 
 
 His father had been a hard-drinking, fox- 
 hunting squire, with some instinctive bene- 
 volence, which expanded itself upon his 
 tenants, horses, and dogs 5 an excessive di?- 
 F 3
 
 102^ GERALDIN^E* 
 
 like to London, and aprejudice strengthened 
 by peculiar family circumstances, amount- 
 ing almost to abhorrence of every thing 
 French. These habits and prejudices de- 
 scended, with an unimpaired estate, to his 
 son, modified, however, by a better educa- 
 tion, and softened by more comprehensive 
 benevolence. He, in general, contented 
 himself witli having every thing about him 
 exclusively English, and by sturdily main- 
 taining the superiority of England, in all 
 that was really valuable, over every sppt, 
 habitable or uninhabitable, in the known 
 world. The eulogiums, however, upon all 
 that was French, which he had just heard,, 
 provoked him to express the enmity which 
 lurked secretly about his heart ; and in 
 answer to Mr* Mowbray's last observation, 
 he abruptly exclaimed, ** I dare say that 
 half their abominable compounds are not 
 fit to eat/*' 
 
 " Oh 1 1 assure you. Sir," said Mrs. Mow- 
 bray, " that I have tasted them nearly all» 
 without any visible injury to my healti^
 
 GERALniNE. 103 
 
 You must excuse my standing on the de- 
 fensive, when the honour of my French 
 cook is in question/' 
 
 " Well, Madam," said Mr, Wentworth, 
 ** I glory in professing myself a thorough- 
 bred Englishman ; and, as such, I have no 
 particular predilection for French dishes^ 
 and French fashions, manners, and ways." 
 
 The lady who sat next him, Avhispered 
 that Mademoiselle Dubourg, who was at 
 table, was a Frenchwoman. 
 
 " Madam,'* said he, turning immediately 
 to her, and addressing her abruptly, <* I by 
 no means intended saying any thing ofFeni- 
 slve to you J for, in the first plac€, I did 
 not know you were a Frenchwoman; 
 and in the next, it is a fault you ^an't 
 help y for I dare say you would have been 
 born an Enghsh woman if you could." ^^- 
 Mademoiselle Dubourg, having indulged 
 herself with the private exclamation, «* Ah / 
 qu'il est bete,'' assured him with smiling 
 courtesy, ** that she thought the very best 
 thing, next to the felicity of being nea 
 F 4
 
 104 GERALDINE* 
 
 Fran^oise, would have been the honour 
 of being une Aiigloise ; but that malheu- 
 reusement, she could not unite both ad- 
 vantages, and therefore, en conscience, she 
 must confess she was contente to be tout a 
 fait Fran^oiseJ'^ 
 
 Fanny^ who had listened with great 
 glee to this address, and its answer, said 
 in a laughing whisper to Mr. Maitland, 
 " Was not that cleverly managed ? You, 
 and I, mere dull English people might 
 have blundered and hesitated between our 
 amor patrice, on one side, and a feeling of 
 politeness on the other ; but she won her 
 way triumphantly between Scylla and 
 Charybdis." 
 
 *^ You are not so unjust,." said Captain 
 Forrester, who sat on her right hand, and 
 had overheard the whisper — " you are not 
 quite so unjust, I hope, as to class your- 
 self in the number of mete dull EngUsh 
 people. You," added he, in a lower tone> 
 « who combine so bewitchingly, French 
 vivacity and English simplicity/*
 
 GERALDINir. 105 
 
 « Wliat is the given rule, on these oc- 
 casions, Captain Forrester ?'' said Fanny ; 
 ** am I to blush, or say ' thank you,' or turn 
 away and talk to Mr. Maitland ? You would 
 have saved me a great deal of trouble, if 
 you had only called me charming. Every 
 young lady of seventeen or eighteen ex- 
 pects to be called charming; but for this 
 flourish I was not prepared." 
 
 Captain Forrester, protested with all due 
 earnestnessj that he spoke the simple 
 truth, and Mr. Maitland just recollected 
 that it would be as well to talk a little to 
 Geraldine." 
 
 " You are acquainted, I believe^ Miss 
 Beresford," said he, " with Mr. Fullarton?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir,'' was Geraldine's laconic 
 answer. 
 
 " I dare say you r^ret that he should 
 be absent during your visit at Woodlands.'" 
 
 ** Very much, indeed," replied Geral- 
 dine. 
 
 ** Every body who knows Mr. Fullar- 
 ton must value his friendship and society,'*^^ 
 F 5
 
 106 GBRALDIKE- 
 
 continued Mr. Maitland. He paused; 
 Geraldiiae made no answer, but felt all the 
 confusion of knowing that one was expect- 
 ed* After a silence of some minutes, in 
 which siie had mentally repeated half-a 
 dozen times, ' how very stupid Mr. Mait- 
 land must think me !' she ventured to ask 
 if Mr. FuUarton was expected to return 
 soon ? 
 
 «* No ; I am afraid,'' said Mr. Maitland, 
 ** he will be detained a long time. A 
 smaU estate in the West Indies has lately 
 devolved to him, which he wishes to dis-^ 
 pose of 5 but, as he is anxious, if possible, 
 to secure the freedom and comfort of the. 
 slaves employed on it, he thought it would 
 be most effectual to undertake the arrange- 
 ment of the business in person." 
 
 Geraldine silently admired Mr. Fullar- 
 ton's benevolence, and another pause en- 
 sued ; to her inexpressible relief, it was 
 interrupted by Fanny. 
 
 <« Mr. Maitland," said she, " do, pray, 
 have pity upon me : Captain Forrester is-
 
 GERALDINE. 107 
 
 dilating on my virtues and perfections ; ©f 
 course an inexhaustible theme, and I, 
 who love variety, am in danger of falling 
 asleep." 
 
 " Am I to prove to him that he is de- 
 ficient in gallantry," said Mr. Maitland,. 
 "'thus to dwell on so hacknied a subject? 
 or shall 1 solace you by pointing out a few 
 faults?" 
 
 " Oh, few is much too comprehensive- 
 a word ;, had you modestly said, one, or 
 two, I might have endured you, but for 
 fcuo^ you know, in this sense, we always 
 read many.'^ 
 
 " No," said Mr. Maitland, " that is 
 your own erratum, I should have used the 
 same word, in the ' palace of truth.' 
 
 ** Few, as they are, however," said 
 Fanny, " I dare say it would cost me some 
 trouble to part with them." 
 
 *' Is not the experiment worth making ?" 
 asked Mr. Maitland. . 
 
 " Why, I don't know what to say to it," 
 replied she j «* you know woman was long 
 F 6
 
 108 GERALDINE. 
 
 ago described as a * fair defect/ and hi 
 spite of Madame de StaePs eloquence, I 
 have no faith in the perfectibiHty of human 
 nature." 
 
 " You are probably too well satisfied 
 with yourself at present, to care whether 
 the doctrine be tme or false." 
 
 ** Thank you^ Mr. Maitland, that speech 
 would really do for the Palace of Truth. 
 It must be confessed," said she, rather 
 piqued, ** that my bane and antidote are 
 both beside me. By-the-by Captain For- 
 rester, it is very lucky for you, that same 
 Palace is in fairy-land." 
 
 " Possibly," said Mr. Maitland, « Miss 
 Mowbray's weariness of flattery might be 
 less apparent, if she were transported 
 thither." 
 
 " You ought to hope," said Fanny, " only 
 you have not a grain of charity, that my 
 impatience of sincerity would disappear 
 there." 
 
 " I do not despair of you," said Mr. 
 Maitland, smiling : <* I never can," added
 
 GERALDIN£. 109 
 
 he, in a graver tone, " of one who has can- 
 dour and feeUng ; but — " 
 
 " Oh! that Httle conjunction spoils all,*' 
 said Fanny ; '' and you look so amazingly 
 inclined to sermonise and do me good, that 
 I won't listen to a word more. Captam 
 Forrester, when do you go to France?" 
 
 " lam afraid," replied he, with a tender 
 air " that I must be there in less than a 
 fortnight." 
 
 *' Will it be any consolation to you, to 
 know that I shall think of you with envy 
 during your visit," said Fanny. 
 
 " I would rather you thought of me 
 with pity," returned Captain Forrester ; 
 ** for pity, you know, is akin to love." 
 
 *' Pity 1" exclaimed Fanny, ** do you ima- 
 gine I shall waste my pity upon you when 
 you are going to visit the land 1 love. I 
 assure you," continued she, " I left it 
 quite as reluctantly as the beautiful Queen 
 Mary did." 
 
 Captain Forrester whispered something 
 about the toucliing effect of beauty in tears.
 
 110 GERALDINE. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know all you mean to say,** 
 said Fanny ; *« that my tears were quite as 
 becoming as Queen Mary's ; but you will, 
 allow me to doubt the fact, all I am sure of* 
 is, that my heart was as heavy." 
 
 Mr. Went worth, who sat nearly opposite 
 to Fanny, could no longer restrain his in-- 
 dignation. 
 
 " You will excuse me. Miss Fanny, for 
 saying, that I can't understand what you 
 found to grieve about in returning to- 
 your own country. It was unnatural 
 enough in a Scotchwoman, but in an 
 Englishwoman it is not to be borne." 
 
 " Oh ! I was so happy m France, Sir," 
 said Fanny, in a conciliating tone. 
 
 <« So much the worse ; so much the 
 worse !" exclaimed Mr. Wentworth. " L 
 can't say much for your taste ; I don't ad-- 
 mire those who can be happy among a set, 
 of people without morals and without re- 
 ligion : what do you think of it, Mr. Mait- 
 land?" 
 
 «< Miss Mowbray, Sir," said he, " was.
 
 GERALD1NE> 111 
 
 scarcely old enough to estimate these things 
 at their real value." 
 
 " She was not very likely to learn any 
 thing about their value there," returned 
 Mr. Wentworth. *' I beg Ma'am," said he, 
 (as his eye suddenly caught Mademoiselle 
 Dubourg's,) I beg you won't think I meant 
 what I have said as applicable to you ; for 
 I quite forgot you were in the room ; and 
 besides, I dare say there may be an ex- 
 ception here and there." 
 
 To his philippic against the morals and 
 religion of her country. Mademoiselle Du- 
 bourg had listened with the most perfect 
 composure. '* Ce rCetait pas son affaire,'^ 
 It was a sort of general reflection, which 
 neither wounded her vanity, nor disturbed 
 her self-complacency ; but that he should 
 take the liberty of forgetting that she was 
 in the room, was a crime, all but atrocious; 
 and the expressive shrug with which she 
 exclaimed " Mon Dieu ! c'est incroyable /" 
 spoke volumes of angry contempt. 
 
 " Though Mr. Wentworth's views are
 
 11^ GERALDINE*. 
 
 rather distorted by prejudice," said Mr;. 
 Maitland, in a low voice, turning to Fanny", 
 " yet they are not destitute of truth; and 
 I hope that though hitherto, you have 
 thought and cared little about subjects of a 
 serious nature, the day is not far distant 
 when you will think them worth attention." 
 
 *« That is a very proper pastor-like speech, 
 Mr. Maitland," said Fanny ; " but hope 
 nothing about me. It will be all * a flattering 
 tale,' I assure you. I don't desire to be* 
 come a steady, quiet, fire-side sort of per- 
 soHw Yes, you look very much shocked y. 
 but it is the precise truth;'^ 
 
 " I regret," said Mr. Maitland, *< that' 
 you have so little taste for real happiness.'*' 
 
 *< Real happiness!" echoed Fanny ; **in* 
 my opinion, there is no standard either of 
 taste or happiness. Why then should not 
 my sort of happiness do as well as yours." 
 
 <* If it be * more sweet than perma- 
 nent,' the perfume and suppliance of a^ 
 moment," said Mr. Maitland, *< it will not; 
 be very valuable."
 
 GERALDINE. 113 
 
 ** Well/' said Fanny, smiling, '* I must 
 take my chance : you can do me no good. 
 1 defy you, unless, indeed, you had studied 
 necromancy under the wizard Michael 
 Scott, to change a butterfly into an animal 
 of the steady ruminating class." [ 
 
 << At any rate, I must lament," said Mr. 
 Maitland, looking at her earnestly, '* that 
 the brilHant butterfly is seen but for a 
 summer." 
 
 " Do not pity her," said Fanny,. " pray, 
 do not pity her. If her summer life be 
 short, is it not bright and beautiful ? Is it 
 not enchanting to roam from flower to 
 flower, and to live only to be admired and 
 sought after." 
 
 *« But winter and its snows will come at 
 last," persisted Mr. Maitland. 
 
 <« Well, let them come," said Fanny; 
 " the butterfly and her friends must con- 
 sole themselves as they can ; and at any 
 rate they can say — - 
 
 * Be fair or foul, or rain or shine, 
 The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, a.re 
 mine.'
 
 114 GERALDINE. 
 
 " "With a ciiffeieDt education she would 
 have been a most charming creature," ex- 
 claimed Mr. Maitland, almost involuntarily, 
 as he turned from her. The words caught 
 Montague's ear. 
 
 " Whose capabilities and deficiencies 
 are you balancing so gravely, Maitland ? 
 Oh ! I see," said he, observing that he di- 
 rected his eyes immediately towards Fanny. 
 r <« It is an occupation not to be indulged 
 in," replied Mr. Maitland ; *' judgment 
 might be spell-bound by such witchery." 
 
 To Mr. Wentworth's'extreme indignation^ 
 and irrecoverable astonishment, coffee made 
 its appearance almost immediately after 
 dinner. 
 
 " None for me, I thank you," said he, 
 motioning it from him with an air of su- 
 preme contempt, as the servant approached. 
 " I prefer old English ways and good 
 Madeira." 
 
 Lord William looked at him through his 
 glass, and observing that the grimaces of 
 the old quiz were really too entertaining,
 
 GERALDINE. 115 
 
 asked Mrs. Mowbray, where she could pos- 
 sibly pick up such a Goth ?'* 
 
 *« He has an excellent estate in this 
 county," replied Mrs. Mowbray, '* and is 
 one of Mr. Mowbray's prime counsellors. 
 He is amazingly fond of him, I believe, be- 
 cause he is unlike other people ; and, indeed, 
 to say the truth, that circumstance is very 
 much in his favour ; at least it is a passport 
 to my good graces. There is a lamentable 
 dearth of originality in these enlightened 
 days." 
 
 "I dare say," said Lord William, " it 
 is an immense treat, to hear the good old 
 gentleman talk. Can't you provoke him 
 to the effort?" 
 
 " Mr. Wentworth," said Mrs. Mowbray, 
 immediately addressing him, " do you ever 
 expect another smile from a fair lady? 
 when you are so ungracious as to quarrel 
 with a fashion which secures to you so 
 much of their society." 
 
 "To every thing there is a season, ma- 
 dam," replied Mr. Wentworth : " that
 
 116 GERALDrNE. 
 
 was said by as wise a man, I believe, as- 
 any you will find in France. There is no 
 nation under the sun that sets a higher 
 value upon women than the English, and 
 there is no man loves them better than I 
 do ; but for all that I am not going to 
 alter my opinion ; I don't desire to see 
 them ape a parcel of Frenchified coquettes ;. 
 and, as I said before, to every thing there 
 is a season/' 
 
 " I propose a division,** said Mr. Mow-, 
 bray. " Let those who prefer wine and 
 politics, to smiles and songs, remain at 
 table.'* 
 
 *« And let the rest follow me," said Mrs. 
 Mowbray, rising with a winning smile ; 
 " I am sure of a majority." 
 
 She led the way through the folding 
 doors into the drawing-room, followed by 
 the whole party with the exception of Mr. 
 Wentworth, and his host, who were left 
 to discuss the state of the nation at their 
 leisure, and rail at French manners, as 
 much as they pleased.
 
 XJERALDIKE. 117 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 The party in the drawing-room dispersed, 
 as inclination prompted. Colonel Harcourt 
 and Georgiana took possession of a sofa, 
 and were soon absorbed in admiration — 
 the Colonel of Georgiana, — Georgiana of 
 herself. 
 
 Lord William yawned, and established 
 himself at full length on a cJiaise longue. 
 
 ** Mrs. Mowbray walked to and fro, say- 
 ing a word in season to every body. 
 
 Fanny and Geraldine stationed them- 
 selves at a window opening on the lawn, 
 and were soon joined by two or three 
 young ladies, and by several of the gentle- 
 men. 
 
 It was a lovely summer evening ; the 
 sun had just set, and a few red streaks
 
 118 GERALDINE. 
 
 still brightened the west. AJbove them, 
 the evening star appeared in serene beauty. 
 
 ** How refreshing," exclaimed Fanny, 
 throwing open the window. ** What a 
 delicious evening for a lover and loveress." 
 
 " Or for a poet and poetess," added 
 Miss Bernard. 
 
 " For a?id, read or," said Mrs. Mowbray : 
 *' depend on it my dear, a poet and 
 poetess would be a most melancholy, for* 
 lorn sort of pair." 
 
 " Is it possible, my dear madam," re- 
 plied Miss Bernard, ** that you can have 
 imbibed any of Mr. Mowbray's prejudices." 
 
 " Spare me that look of horror, my dear: 
 it certainly is not impossible ; but I hope 
 I have escaped the infection." 
 
 " I was quite sorry," said Miss Bernard, 
 turning to Montague, " to hear dinner 
 announced to day. You had so much the 
 best of the argument that Mr. Mowbray 
 must at length have acknowledged him* 
 self defeated." 
 
 " My father acknowledge himself de^
 
 GERALDINE. 119 
 
 fieated in argument, — " exclaimed Fanny^ 
 << never! you have no idea of his perti- 
 nacity. He perseveres like the man in 
 Chevy Chase, who 
 
 * When his legs were smitten o£F, 
 Still fought upon his stumps.' 
 
 ** Not content with condemning poetry 
 as mischievous, and useless," said Mon- 
 tague, " he w^ould exclude every work of 
 imagination, and leave that fine, that pre- 
 cious faculty of the mind, not merely un- 
 cultivated, but unexercised." 
 
 " Mr. Mowbray's sweeping censures, 
 are perhaps too indiscriminate," obsen^ed 
 Mr. Maitland ; " but imagination certainly 
 requires the most delicate management : 
 It has need of the curb and rein, or, like 
 Phaeton with the horses of the sun, it will 
 scatter mischief and ruin." 
 
 ** Such instances are very rare," said 
 Montague. ** It is indeed the sun of the 
 intellectual world, — light from Heaven, 
 disclosing beauty and diffusing joy." 
 
 *' Ah, Mr. Maitland shakes his Jiead,'*
 
 1^0 GERALDINE. 
 
 said Fanny j " he thinks it more lik^ the 
 Kghtning, bright and dazzUng, but too 
 often destructive. There, pray thank me, 
 Mr. Maitland, for taking upon myself the 
 office of interpreter.'* 
 
 " As you embody my thoughts so well," 
 said Mr. Maitland, *« may I venture to 
 conclude that we think alike on this sub* 
 ject?" 
 
 " No," said Faniiy } " the conclusion 
 would be quite false. I would let imagin- 
 ation range, and reign without control : 
 not that I have such sublime notions of 
 it as Montague, but because a turn in the 
 Elysian fields, or an occasional pilgrimage 
 to the sun, entertains me as much now, as 
 the White Cat, and Beauty and the Beast 
 did formerly." 
 
 " How miserably you contract and de- 
 grade the province of imagination, Fanny," 
 said Montague, " by considering it as con^ 
 tributing only to amusement." 
 
 << Why, what more does poetry do>" re-
 
 GEftALDINE. 121 
 
 turned Fanny, " than beguile the idlest 
 hours of an idle life." 
 
 " What more," exclaimed Montague; 
 " has it not animated the patriot and in- 
 spired the hero? Does it not refine the 
 heart, and teach it to melt with tenderness 
 and glow with devotion ?" 
 
 " It is true," said Mr. Maitland, " that 
 poetry has occasionally done all this ; but 
 I am not at all certain that poets in gene- 
 ral are good teachers of morahty, I am 
 not at all certain that if I had daughters 
 to educate, I should not prohibit poetry, 
 till after the age of twenty." 
 
 The ladies denounced Mr. Maitland as 
 the most barbarous of the human race. 
 One of them, the youngest Miss Bernard, 
 protested that Walter Scott, Lord Byron, 
 and Moore, were all such loves, that there 
 was no possibiHty of living without them." 
 
 " They are too highly honoured, by 
 such discriminating praise," said Montague 
 with a glance of contempt. 
 
 '< Lord Byron, degraded to a love :" 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 12S GERALDINE. 
 
 exclaimed he in a low voice, and turning 
 to Mrs. Mowbray : '' absolute profanation : 
 Jupiter with his thunder-bolt, might, as 
 well be dwindled to a piping shepherd.*' 
 " Poor little Harriet," said Mrs. Mow- 
 bray, highly diverted by Montague's irri- 
 tation ; ** she was not aware that she was 
 treading on holy ground. You are to 
 know," said slie, addressing the young 
 lady, " that Lord Byron is the god of 
 Montague's idolatry. In his estimation, 
 he holds among the poets precisely the 
 same rank that Brahma does among the 
 Hindoo divinities. He is quite ready to 
 worship them all ; but his fervor and rap- 
 tures are reserved for Lord Byron." 
 
 Miss Harriet declared, that she doated 
 on Lord Byron ; that she did not know 
 which she liked best of his poems, they 
 were all so pretty." 
 
 " Pretty !" echoed Montague, with up- 
 lifted eyes. 
 
 " To withhold our admiration from your 
 favourite is utterly impossible, Montague," 
 
 I
 
 GERALDIKE. 123 
 
 said Mr. Maitland. <' Who is not dazzled 
 by his transcendent genius ? What heart i^ 
 untouched by his profound feehng? but 
 yet, — yes I see you are arming yourself 
 for the battle, — I deny that the moral 
 effect of his poetry is good." 
 
 '* The old flat hackneyed objection, I sup- 
 pose," said Montague. " His heroes touch 
 the brink of all we hate, and yet we 'late 
 them not; you may as well quarrel with 
 Milton for investing Satan with majesty 
 for not painting him with horns and hoofs." 
 
 " No !" said Mr. Maitland, " we mourn 
 ovei' the fall of Satan ; we regret that this 
 son of the morning should forfeit his radi- 
 ant throne ; but his fate is a tremendous 
 warning. Now, Lord Byron endows his 
 heroes with a tenderness so exquisite, so 
 mysteriously blended with the hardihood 
 of daring and fearless guilt ; that a sublimity 
 is given to their vices, calculated to confuse 
 and darken our moral views." 
 
 " I think this objection fanciful and 
 overstrained," said Montague j '' because 
 G '2
 
 124 GERALDINE. 
 
 he has the judgment to seize, or the genius 
 to create, characters productive of the 
 finest poetical effect, are we to be idiots 
 enough to mistake them for models, or 
 fancy that the eternal bounds of virtue and 
 vice can be afiected by the visions of a 
 poet's fancy ?" 
 
 ** You think it preposterous,'* said Mr. 
 Maitland ; " now it does not appear sur- 
 prising to me that the enthusiastic contem- 
 plation of such characters should enfeeble 
 our salutary horror of vice. What young 
 and tender mind refuses its sympathy even 
 to Lara ? and does it not lose all remem- 
 brance of Gulnare's crimes, in the passionate, 
 the devoted tenderness of the faithful Page." 
 
 " These acknowledgments wearing the 
 form of an objection" returned Montague, 
 ** do but add a laurel to the unfading 
 wreath he has won. They prove the won- 
 drous, the magic skill by which he rules 
 the human heart, making it vibrate at will 
 to his slightest touch." 
 
 <« I think it would ^be rather hard in-
 
 GERALDINE. 1^.5 
 
 deed,"obsen'ed Mrs. Mowbray, <* to make a 
 poet responsible for the errors into which his 
 readers may fall. He is not bound to sup- 
 ply them with clear judgment and strong 
 principle ; and if they contrive, like the 
 spider, to convert delicious sweets into 
 venom, upon their own heads be the sin." 
 
 " I have been felicitating myself all this 
 time,'^ said Fanny, " on having been born 
 early enough to escape the danger of being 
 Mr. Maitland's daughter. Think how' 
 many springs and sources of amusement 
 would liave risen in vain for me.'^ 
 
 " And is amusement the chief object for 
 which we live ?'' said Mr. Maitland. 
 
 " For which I live," said Fanny. " If 
 I had been Descartes, I would have made 
 enjoyment, not thought, the proof of ex- 
 istence ; I would not have said I thinly 
 therefore 1 am ; buti enjoy, therefore I am." 
 
 *« A most capital emendation," exclaimed 
 Lord William, rising from the sofa : " it is 
 a pity the old defunct himself is not alive 
 to hear it." 
 
 G 3
 
 IQ6 GERALDmE. 
 
 " Don't frown so, Montague," whispered 
 Fanny ; *' it is not at all becoming : really if* 
 you and Mr. Maitland look so grave and 
 solemn, and stand there frowning so for- 
 midably, like Gog and Magog, 1 shall take 
 refuge in a game at bagatelle with Lord 
 William." 
 
 Mr. Maitland seemed to look at her 
 more in sorrow than in anger. 
 
 <* Miss Mowbray," said he, gently, " you 
 are not, you cannot be aware of the perils 
 and dangers into which such sentiments 
 may betray you." 
 
 " No 5" said Fanny, *« I know nothing 
 about them ; but as you seem quite dis- 
 posed to frighten me out of my wits, I 
 shall run away, and give Montague an op- 
 portunity of lamenting that I will not 
 hear < the voice of the charmer, charm 
 he never so wisely.' " 
 
 She crossed the room, congratulated 
 'Lord William upon being awake, begged 
 him to describe what ** stuff his dreams
 
 GERALDINE* IT/ 
 
 were made of," and concluded by chal- 
 lenging him to play at Bagatelle with her. 
 
 «* Montague," said she, with a winning 
 smile, (and beginning the game with great 
 animation,) '* I hope you wish me success : 
 Mr. Maitland, for once in your life, do 
 pray say — vivela bagatelle !^^ 
 
 " She is incorrigible, quite incorrigible," 
 exclaimed Montague. 
 
 " Who can help lamenting," said Mr. 
 Maitland, "that such an understanding, such 
 fascinating powers, should be perpetually 
 frittered away in a childish search after 
 mere amusement." 
 
 Fanny overheard him ; and with a look 
 of playful defiance, hummed the tune of 
 * Pleased, let us trifle life away." 
 
 ** 1 am sure," said Miss Bernard, " she 
 is a delightful creature." 
 
 *' Very true," rejoined Mr. Maitland ; 
 ** but she is also a responsible creature. 
 Much may be allowed for her foreign edu- 
 cation, something for the exuberance of 
 great animal spirits j but playful and enter- 
 ed 4
 
 IQH GERALDINE* 
 
 taining as her wilfulness is, it is still wil- 
 fulness, and those who love her, must 
 dread its effects." 
 
 " Pray," said Lord William to Fanny, 
 as their game proceeded, ** can your cousin 
 Miss Beresford, really speak, or had she the 
 misfortune to be born dumb ?" 
 
 '« Oh ! you must take pity upon her," 
 returned Fanny: " she is but fourteen, 
 and was educated by a mother whom she 
 worshipped as a saint, and w^ho kept her 
 immured like a nun." 
 
 " I believe the first fortnight she was at 
 Woodlands, she thought every other sen- 
 tence we spoke profane ; and the life we 
 led, full af * mirth and turbulence un- 
 holy ;' but I dare say, she will soon become 
 like other people." 
 
 *' She is prodigiously like a statue of 
 modesty I saw once at Florence," said Lord 
 William ; " just that monotonous stillness, 
 that fatigues one so dreadfully." 
 
 « You must fancy yourself thrown back 
 a few himdred years," said Fanny, <* and
 
 OERALDINE. 1^ 
 
 that she is a pretty pilgrim performing a 
 vow of silence. There, I have beat you, 
 and here come the separatists," conti- 
 nued she, as her father and Mr. Went- 
 worth walked into the room — "just m 
 tune to congratulate me on my victory. 
 Do, my dear father, try your skill at baga- 
 telle ; but don't flatter yourself it \\ill be 
 equal to mine." 
 
 ** I have no such vanity," replied Mr. 
 Mowbray ; *' a man must be rash indeed, 
 who has the presumption to enter the lists 
 with a lady, at bagatelle. There can be 
 no chance of success in a game which she 
 practices so perseveringly from youth to 
 age." 
 
 ** Oh ! you incorrigible cynic," ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Mowbray ; "I advise you to 
 adopt as your motto, ' Man delights not 
 me, nor woman neither/ " 
 
 ** That Hamlet was a most savage fel- 
 low," said Colonel Harcourt. *' It is high 
 treason to love and beauty to tolerate his 
 
 maxims," 
 
 G 5
 
 130 GERALDINE. 
 
 " And yet I imagine,*' said Mr. Mow- 
 bray, ** that he was once as fond and tender 
 as Leander or Abelard, or even Colonel 
 Har court." 
 
 " No doubt," rejoined Mrs. Mowbray ; 
 <' but that armed apparition effected as 
 complete a cure, as the lover's leap could 
 have done." 
 
 *« I think we ladies fair are privileged to 
 hate him, for Opheha's sake," said Fanny : 
 " what do you think of it, Georgiana ?" 
 
 " 1 don't know what you are talking 
 about," said she, approaching with a lan^ 
 guid step. 
 
 " Of love, and beauty, and Hamlet, and 
 Ophelia," said Fanny. " If such a subject 
 will not rouse you, I shall despair." 
 
 Georgiana answered only by a languish- 
 ing smile. 
 
 *' There is such an alarming torpor about 
 you, my dear," continued Fanny, ** thatljam 
 afraid, some of these days, you will fall into 
 a trance, and sleep for a hundred years at 
 least. If such an event should occur, Co- 
 lonel Harcourt, your only resource will be.
 
 GERALDINE. 131 
 
 to find the elixir vitae, and then you can 
 wait with patience till the happy moment 
 of her revival." 
 
 *' It would be a pleasant change enough," 
 said Lord Wilham, yawning ; *« we should 
 at least see something new on opening our 
 eyes." 
 
 « Very little, I imagine," said Mr. Mow- 
 bray ; "men and women a hundred years 
 hence will probably be very much like men 
 and women of the present day." 
 
 ** I don't know how that may be," said 
 Mr. Wentworth, ** though it is likely 
 enough ; but as to thinking it a pleasant 
 thing to go to sleep for a hundred years, I 
 don't think those who say so, pay any very 
 particular compliment to their friends. It 
 is quite clear they set no great value on 
 them. — I don't see Miss Beresford amon^ 
 you," continued he, looking round. 
 
 " No," said Fanny, " she never occupies 
 
 the foreground of the picture : she is like 
 
 the violet, Ilfautla chercher : Geraldine, 
 
 where are you," exclaimed she, seeking 
 
 G 6
 
 13^ GERALDINE. 
 
 her through the room. Here is Mr. Went- 
 worth wishing to throw himself at your 
 feet." 
 
 " As to throwing myself at your feet, my 
 dear/' said he, drawing her a little apart, 
 ** that is all Miss Fanny's rhodomontade. 
 If I were a young single man," contmued 
 he, good-humouredly stroaking her head, 
 *' there is no knowing what foolery I might 
 be guilty of: not that even then I was 
 much addicted to such sort of things. It 
 w^as always my opinion, that an Englishman 
 could tell a love tale as well standing as 
 upon his knees j but all this is nothing to 
 the purpose. I wish to know how long 
 you remain in this part of the world ?" 
 
 " It is quite uncertain, Sir," answered 
 Geraldine. " Papa talks of returning in 
 about six months." 
 
 *« I hope Mrs. Mowbray will bring you 
 to Wentworth Hall, during your stay in 
 Hampshire. You will be a very welcome 
 guest there, I promise you. I knew your 
 
 18
 
 GERALDINE* 133 
 
 mother, my dear child, and she was a 
 great favourite of mine." 
 
 Tears gathered fast in the eyes of Ge- 
 raldine. 
 
 ** Yes, yes ; I don't wonder that you la* 
 ment her," continued he : ** she was not 
 a person to be forgotten in a hurry. I hope 
 you will grow up like her ; and let me give 
 you a word of advice. Don't let the 
 Frenchified ways of this family put her max-. 
 ims out of your head. Depend upon it, 
 there is something else to be done in this 
 world, besides talking nonsense and drink-- 
 ing coffee." 
 
 He shook hands cordially with her, and^ 
 concluded by saying, that Mrs. Wentworth. 
 and his girls w^ere at present at South amp-, 
 ton, but that they would return in less than 
 a month, and he should then expect to 
 see her.. 
 
 Fanny, here popping her head over his 
 shoulder, enquired if he had quite done 
 making love to Geraldine ? as there was a 
 party at a whist-table waiting for him*.
 
 134 GERALDINE. 
 
 Mr. Went worth obeyed the summons 
 with alacrity. 
 
 " There, my dear Geraldine," said 
 Fanny, ** you see how little you have to be 
 vain of. It is really too mortifying to be 
 rivalled by those four upright queens and 
 whiskered kings." 
 
 " Mr. Maitland," said she, as he ap- 
 proached to wish her good night, " I have 
 been making some very useful moral observ- 
 ations to Geraldine ; therefore I hope you 
 are in charity with me. You know it is 
 your duty to be in love and charity with 
 every body." 
 
 " And yours too, I think," said he. 
 
 " Oh ! I want no schooling on that head, 
 I ass.ure you," replied Fanny. «« You would 
 think my toleration too universal : my love 
 and charity are so comprehensive, that they 
 include good, bad, and indifferent." 
 
 *' Do, pray, imitate my example," said 
 she, holding out her hand to him, with an 
 engaging smile. There was no resisting 
 her. He took her hand j forgot for-
 
 GERALDINE. 185 
 
 a few moments that it was necessary to re- 
 linquish it again ; and then abruptly took 
 his leave. 
 
 Captain Forrester soon after approached 
 to sigh out his adieus, and repeat his offer 
 of executing commissions for her in France. 
 
 *' Oh ! I have at least fifty commands 
 to honour you with," said Fanny ; ** but I 
 am not going to enumerate them now. Go, 
 and help to shawl Miss Bernard, and save 
 that woful look till our final interview. 
 You should manage, you know, as all good 
 actors do, to reserve a stock of pathos for 
 the catastrophe. I assure you it will have 
 a much more touching effect then." 
 
 The carriages were now announced ; and 
 the party, with the exception of Lord Wil^ 
 liam, dispersed.
 
 136 GERALDINE.. 
 
 CHAP. XIL 
 
 Lord William had recently purchased 
 a small estate in the neighbourhood ; and 
 having nothing better to do, had resolved 
 that the substantial house belonging to it 
 should be pulled down, and replaced by a 
 cottage ornee. 
 
 The house was demolished with sufficient 
 rapidity ; but the cottage rising by slow 
 degrees, Lord William had accepted Mrs. 
 Mowbray's invitation to stay a few weeks 
 at Woodlands, in the hope, as she said, 
 that, in spite of all Lavater could say to 
 the contrary, his presence would *give 
 wings to the snails.' 
 
 She secretly rejoiced that this visit had 
 happened at a moment when Woodlands
 
 GERALDINE. 137 
 
 was more than usually brilliant, and Fanny 
 in the gayest spirits. 
 
 Never, indeed, had she appeared more 
 attractive. The timid silence of Geraldine, 
 and the languid indolence of Georgiana, 
 formed a powerful contrast with her light 
 spirits and sparkling wit. Always gay, 
 always animated, without a thought for the 
 future, or a wish beyond the present mo- 
 ment, she seemed created to give to 
 pleasure a more exquisite zest — to joy a 
 brighter colouring. 
 
 Her manners playful, yet elegant, ori- 
 ginal, yet unaffected, charmed the taste, 
 and won upon the heart. Lovely without 
 vanity, and gay without effort, her bright 
 smiles and bounding footsteps presented a 
 delightful picture of youth in the first 
 freshness of happiness, unchecked by dis- 
 appointment, unbroken by affliction, burst- 
 ing upon the eye like a cloudless morning 
 in all its glittering beauty — filling the heart 
 with hope, and the fancy with delightful 
 images.
 
 158 GERALDINi:. 
 
 Such was the effect she produced upon 
 the gay group, by whom she was sur- 
 rounded. Nothing seemed to mar the fair 
 perfection of her character ; but minds 
 accustomed to loftier views, and to a 
 graver estimate of the value of life, would 
 have seen every thing to fear in the total ab- 
 sence of religious principle observable in 
 this fascinating joung creature. 
 
 Those who look beyond the surface of 
 things, those who are familiar with the dark 
 hours and deep sorrows that await every 
 child of mortaUty — contemplate the gay 
 thoughtlessness of youth, its brilliant hopes, 
 its delightful visions, with peculiar and 
 melancholy interest. They see the victim, 
 decked with flowers, approaching the altar 
 of sacrifice ; and they long to warn her of 
 her danger, and snatch her from impend- 
 ing fate. 
 
 But, among the familiar friends by whom 
 Fanny was encircled, reflection was un- 
 known : 
 
 Fair laughed the morn, and soft the zephyrs blew ;
 
 GERALDIXE. 139 
 
 and amid the varied delights of the pre- 
 sent, they thought not of the whirlwind 
 and the storm. 
 
 Mr. Maitland mingled but rarely with 
 them. Excited and flattered as Fanny now 
 was, he felt hopeless of doing her real 
 good ; and lie thought it unsafe to venture 
 too often on enchanted ground. 
 
 Lord William, acting from the principle 
 of self-indulgence by which he was always 
 guided, began to think that it would be an 
 excellent speculation, to appropriate this 
 captivating creature to himself. To signify 
 his preference however, by any very marked 
 attention, appeared to him superfluous. 
 True, it was not improbable that he might 
 personally be an object of indifference to 
 her ; but that she could be insensible to the 
 rank and fortune he had to bestow, he con- 
 sidered absolutely impossible. He looked 
 upon her as a brilliant toy, well worth ap- 
 propriating ; but not for the possession of a 
 divinity, would he have submitted to the 
 labour of constant attendance and ettTnai
 
 140 GERALDINE. 
 
 protestation. He regretted that the fashion 
 of managing these affairs under the ancient 
 regime in France, did not prevail in Eng- 
 land. The young lady had then nothing 
 more to do than to make a curtsey, and re- 
 ceive her husband. It saved a world of pre- 
 liminary fatigue and love-making. 
 
 These reflections frequently occupied 
 him, while participating in the various festi- 
 vities which Woodlands and its neighbour- 
 hood, presented, during the two months 
 that succeeded Georgiana's marriage. En- 
 tertainments given and received ; dinners 
 and dances ; breakfasts a lafourchette, and 
 fetes cJiampetres rapidly succeeded each 
 other. 
 
 Lord William occasionally exerted him- 
 self so far as to walk down a dance with 
 Fanny ; and now and then whispered that 
 she danced like a sylph, and looked like a 
 divinity. Once or twice he pressed her to 
 accept a seat in his curricle, protesting that 
 nothing exhilarated liim like her presence. 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray's hopes rose nearly to ex- 
 ultation, as she contemplated the probable
 
 GERALDINE. 141 
 
 success of her scheme ; but not the slightest 
 indication of this satisfaction was visible. 
 Conveniently blind, or apparently indiffer- 
 ent, she seemed chiefly absorbed by her 
 approaching separation from Georgiana. 
 Her maternal sensibility appeared to be just 
 awakened, and it was expressed in many a 
 tender lamentation, and by much becoming 
 agitation. 
 
 <« Take care, my dear," said Mr. Mow- 
 bray, one day, when they were^alone in her 
 dressing-room ; " if you play so 'admirably 
 the part of the tender mother. Lord Wil- 
 liam will perhaps have too much compassion 
 to deprive you of your sole remaining 
 daughter." 
 
 " Is it wonderful, Mr. Mowbray, that I 
 should betray a little of the instinctive 
 fondness of a mother ? Did you imagine 
 me really destitute of it ?" 
 
 *« By no means," returned he ; "on the 
 contrary, I believed it to be of the most 
 enlarged and disinterested nature. I con- 
 cluded that having secured the splendid
 
 14t2 GERALDINE. 
 
 destiny yoii desired for Georgiana, you 
 would be superior to the weakness of selfish 
 regret." 
 
 i *« Why it is not absolute regret ; for re- 
 gret, you know, always ends in repentance." 
 
 " Not always, my dear : regret and re- 
 pentance, like other near relations, have 
 often little connection with each other." 
 
 " But without feeling either," observed 
 Mrs. Mowbray, ** ought you to be sur- 
 prised, if, like our first parents, ' some na- 
 tural tears I drop.' " 
 
 " Let me hope, my dear," replied he, 
 « that like them too, you will « wipe them 
 soon,' for the character of Niobe, does 
 not exactly suit you." 
 
 " Georgiana will be perfectly happy, I 
 dare say," said Mrs. Mowbray. 
 
 «* Yes^ she will dream out her life quite 
 as usefully, and as much to her own satis- 
 faction, in the East, as in the West," re- 
 turned Mr. Mowbray. 
 
 <« Ah ! your tone would not have been 
 quite so tranquil^ bad Fanny been the party
 
 GERALDIXE. 143 
 
 conceiiied. By the by, most sage and re- 
 verend augur, what say you now to my 
 schemes and her prospects?" 
 
 " That the ides of March are come/' 
 said he ; " but that they are not yet gone." 
 
 *' Is it possible that you can have a 
 single fear or doubt ?" 
 
 " No fears at all/' replied Mr. Mow- 
 bray ; " but many doubts." 
 
 *' Oh ! I will stake all my reputation as 
 a sybil upon it. If this marriage does not 
 take place, I will burn all my books, and 
 be dumb for ever.*' 
 
 ** Make no rash resolutions, my dear ; 
 perhaps Apollo may have played you the 
 same mischievous trick that he did one 
 of your celebrated sisterhood of the 'olden 
 time :' ** he contrived that her predictions, 
 w^iether true or false, should be equally 
 discredited." 
 
 «* Ah ! he was as w^ell skilled in the art 
 of tormenting, as some mortals of my ac- 
 quaintance," exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray. 
 
 " However, in spite of the malice of
 
 J44 GERALDINE. 
 
 Apollo, and the ingratitude of man, she 
 continued to prophesy; so pray take 
 courage, and imitate her example." 
 
 " Time will do the same justice to my 
 powers that it did to hers," said Mrs. 
 Mowbray, triumphantly. 
 
 <* Very probably, my dear ; and, at 
 any rate, as it is a test that must be sub- 
 mitted to, we will, if you please, without 
 farther discussion, patiently await it." 
 
 Preparations for Georgiana and the 
 Colonel's departure were now busily mak- 
 ing. All that wealth could command, or 
 ingenuity contrive, was put into requisi- 
 tion to render the voyage easy and de- 
 lightful. 
 
 Georgiana, gratified by the incessant 
 homage she received from her husband, 
 dazzled by the splendour that surrounded 
 her, saw, without much emotion, the part- 
 ing hour approach. At length, it arrived ; 
 and produced more agitation on all sides, 
 than had been anticipated. 
 
 Fanny, — the gay, light-hearted Fanny,
 
 GERALDINE. 145 
 
 was drowned in tears : Mrs. Mowbray felt 
 all a mother's tenderness beating at her 
 heart : Geraldine wept, from sympathy, 
 with those around her ; and even Mr. 
 Mowbray,in 'spite of his philosophy,' was 
 glad to shut himself up, for a few hours, 
 to regain his composure. 
 
 These feelings, however, were but tran- 
 sient. 
 
 Georgiana did not possess those qualities 
 of the mind and heart which take a power- 
 ful hold upon the affections. There was 
 some sympathy of feeling, but none of 
 taste, between her and her family. She 
 was young and lovely ; and at the moment 
 of parting, all the contingencies to which 
 youth and beauty are liable pressed pain- 
 fully upon their hearts. But she had so 
 little of the charm of intellect, or the active 
 kindness of warm affection, that her ab- 
 sence scarcely created a chasm. In a few- 
 days, their regret and anxiety gradually 
 subsided, and serenity was restored. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 CLERALDINE. 
 
 CHAP. XIIL 
 
 J-iORD William's cottage ornee was nearly 
 completed; and frequent appeals were 
 made to the ladies respecting its finishing 
 touches and interior decorations. The 
 ladies could not possibly commit them- 
 selves on so important a subject, with- 
 out studying it carefully ; and various rides 
 and visits to the cottage were planned and 
 executed. 
 
 From one of these excursions, Mrs. 
 Mowbray returned, with a'smile so trium- 
 phant, a suavity so winning, a benevolence 
 that expanded itself in such gentle courtesy 
 to all around, that it was easy to perceive 
 something of a very gratifying nature had 
 occurred.
 
 GERALDINE. 14? 
 
 " Do not let us burst in ignorance, my 
 dear/' said Mr. Mowbray, when the family 
 were alone, " What has put you in such 
 universal charity with all mankind?" 
 
 " Explain, I implore you, dear mamma," 
 exclaimed Fanny, " I atn sure your eyes 
 for the last hour or two, have reminded me 
 of Gertrude's. They have ' seemed to 
 love whatever they looked upon.' " 
 
 " Geraldine, my dear," said Mrs. Mow- 
 bray, in the most dulcet tone, " I think it 
 will do you good to take a turn in the 
 shrubbery for half an hour; you look pale." 
 Geraldine disappeared in a moment. 
 *' We will walk into the library, if you 
 please," continued Mrs. Mowbray, in the 
 same gentle accent, but with a little more 
 of solemnity. 
 
 " Wlierever you please, my dear," said 
 Mr. Mowbray ; " choose your own spot for 
 unravelling the mystery." 
 
 *' I hope the mountain will not produce a 
 mouse," said Fanny, with an arch look at 
 her father. 
 
 H =^
 
 148 GERALDINE. 
 
 " No, my clearest Fanny/' exclaimed 
 Mrs. Mowbray, in a tone of animated af- 
 fection ; " lay aside every fear -, no disap- 
 pointment awaits you. In weaving your 
 web of life, the fates seem to have em- 
 ployed only golden threads." 
 
 '* What happiness are you preparing for 
 me, my dear mother," said Fanny. " The 
 most charming images crowd into my mind 
 at these words. I hope they will not vanish 
 again at the next you utter." 
 
 " I will not be selfish enough to keep 
 you longer in suspense, my love," returned 
 Mrs. Mowbray. " This day has been one 
 of the happiest of my life ; and it is fair 
 tliat you, who ai'e the source of this felicity, 
 should share it immediately." 
 
 " More and more enigmatical, my dear 
 mother. The Sphinx herself could not have 
 succeeded better in puzzling me." 
 
 ** JTliis affectation of unconsciousness is 
 pretty enough, Fanny," replied Mrs. Mow- 
 bray ; ** but it does not deceive me. You
 
 GERALDINE. 149 
 
 must, I am sure, have some suspicion of the 
 intelhgence I have to communicate/' 
 
 " Not the least in the world, my dearest 
 mother," said Fanny, laughing. ** Per- 
 haps some unknown sixteenth cousin of 
 mine may have left me a large fortune, or 
 some potent prince is about to lay his empire 
 at my feet." 
 
 " A coronet, perhaps," said Mrs. Mow- 
 bray, smiUng, " may do almost as well as a 
 crown." 
 
 ** They are tempting sort of things, in- 
 deed," observed Fanny; *< but they are 
 but baubles after all." 
 
 " Do, pray, Fanny," returned Mrs. ^lo\\- 
 bray, '* indulge me by being serious, if pos- 
 sible, for one half-hour. I congratulate 
 you upon having it now in your power to 
 secure advantages which fall to the lot of 
 few. You may, from this moment, com- 
 mand all that can make life valuable 5 its 
 honours, luxuries, enjoyments, and bles- 
 sings, maybe all your own." 
 
 " \Vhat delightful news, my dear mother j 
 H 3
 
 150 GERALDINE, 
 
 but, seriously, as you wish me to be serious, 
 by what charter am I to secure these pri- 
 vileges ?'* 
 
 " Simply, by accepting the hand of Lord 
 William Glenmore.'^ 
 
 She looked at Mr. Mowbray. His counte- 
 nance retained precisely its usual expression. 
 She turned towards Fanny, and felt pro- 
 voked at the cold composure of her look 
 and manner. 
 
 ** I do not, for a moment,'* said she, " sus- 
 pect you of the madness of rejecting a 
 station such as this, and a fortune of fifteen 
 thousand a~year 1" 
 
 «' Nothing can be more attractive, my 
 dear mother,*' replied Fanny, " than the 
 station; nothing more desirable than the 
 estate and fortune ; but, unhappily, there 
 is an appendage to all this neither at- 
 tractive nor desirable." 
 
 **. You do Lord William too much ho- 
 nour," said Mrs. Mowbray, in a tone of 
 ill-suppressed indignation. 
 
 ^« If," continued Fanny, <« it were an 
 appendage that could be hung to one's
 
 GERALDINE. 151 
 
 watch, or suspended quietly against the 
 wall of a saloon, it would be of no sort of 
 consequence ; but there is no getting rid of 
 these animated appendages — no quiet way 
 of disposing of them. It is not possible to 
 forget their existence even for a moment." 
 
 " The command of fifteen thousand a 
 year would do much towards making it 
 endurable,'* said Mrs, Mowbray. 
 
 ** I assure you, my dear mother, that 1 
 have the clearest view imaginable of all 
 its advantages ; too clear, indeed, a great 
 deal. — Glenmore Hall, with its beautiful 
 hills and woods, and lake, appears before 
 me in all the splendour of a fairy palace. 
 I dare say I shall dream of it at least for 
 a month to come ; and that magnificent 
 house in town: Oh! it is too cruelly 
 tempting." 
 
 At this moment she caught a view of her 
 father's face ; it appeared slightly agitated. 
 
 *« To be queen and mistress of such 
 palaces would not be a very deplorable 
 lot," observed Mrs. Mowbray. 
 H 4
 
 15'2 GERALDINE* 
 
 *' Ah, but there is no possibility of 
 reigning alone, and independently,'' re- 
 plied Fanny. ** There would still be a 
 liege lord in the case, to whom 1 must pay 
 allegiance, and give honour due." 
 
 " Can any tenure be more easy?'' asked 
 Mrs. Mowbray. 
 
 *' If it were but a mere form of words, 
 it would be easy enough, indeed," returned 
 her daughter ; " but I cannot help think- 
 ing — I am sure I don't know how I got the 
 notion, — that if an oath of allegiance is 
 taken, if one makes a solemn promise to 
 love, honour, and obey, it ought to be 
 some one whom we can love, can honour, 
 and, if it comes to such an extremity, 
 whom we can obey." 
 
 Mr. Mowbray's face recovered its com- 
 posure. 
 
 <* These are very proper notions, of 
 course, Fanny," said Mrs. Mowbray, " very 
 proper indeed, to a certain extent ; but, 
 they may be carried to excess : and I con- 
 fess 1 am rather surprised at this grand
 
 GERALDINE. 153 
 
 display of yours ; I did not believe you 
 had an atom of romance in your charac- 
 ter." 
 
 " You are quite right, my dear mother \ 
 I have not a single atom. If I hesitate 
 and shrink from Lord William and his 
 fifteen thousand a-year, I assure you the 
 notion of love and a cottage is still more 
 appalling. Don't imagine, because I feel 
 some reluctance at the idea of marrying 
 a selfish fool, that I have any taste for 
 rocking a cradle or sporting an umbrella 
 and pattens." 
 
 " I should have expected, from a well- 
 bred girl, rather more measured expres- 
 sions, than those you have employed," said 
 Mrs. Mowbray, with increasing displeasure. 
 " His selecting a young woman with a 
 paltry fortune of five thousand pounds, 
 may indeed be a proof of his foily, but 
 selfishness is quite out of the question cer- 
 tainly." 
 
 ** It would have been rather more 
 H 5
 
 154 GERALDINE. 
 
 graceful in me to have softened the truth,*' 
 said Fanny ; " but the truth it certainly is." 
 
 " Is not Lord William and all the world 
 aware," returned Mrs. Mowbray, " that 
 this estate is entailed on Montague, and 
 in case of his death without children on 
 the Lord knows who." 
 
 " I have not the least doubt that he 
 knows all this, mamma, and yet I have not 
 a spark of faith in his disinterestedness. 
 Do you imagine it is my happiness he is 
 consulting by this vast condescension ? or 
 that he really cares for me ? He has not 
 energy enough to love or care for any 
 thing but himself." 
 
 " He has adopted a singular mode of 
 proving his indifference," said Mrs. Mow- 
 bray, coldly. 
 
 «< Oh, I can explain all his motives m 
 a minute : he thinks that I shall amuse 
 him and make him laugh rather more, and 
 yawn rather less. He expects me to an- 
 swer precisely the same purpose that the
 
 GERALDINE, I5d 
 
 jesters did in the courts of kings in former 
 days." 
 
 ** You refuse him, because he admires 
 your talents : what absurdity !" 
 
 " No, my dear mother ; — out of compas- 
 sion, pure compassion. If he married me 
 he would be as much disappointed as that 
 unfortunate nobleman, who bought Punch 
 at a puppet-show and carried him home." 
 
 " Such trifling, Fanny, is insufferable : 
 am I really to understand that you reject 
 Lord WiUiam's suit ?" 
 
 " I am afraid I must answer in the af- 
 firmative," rephed Fanny, " however re- 
 luctantly." 
 
 " And you flatter yourself," returned 
 Mrs. Mowbray, " that you are in the full 
 possession of your senses, — that you are 
 not absolutely mad." 
 
 " No, my dear mother, I am not mad, 
 but speak the words of truth and sober- 
 ness. If Lord William had one valuable, 
 or even one agreeable quality, I dare say 
 the temptation would be resistless, but he 
 H 6
 
 156 GERALDINE. 
 
 is so thoroughly heartless, so indefinably 
 disgusting to me, that my resolution is 
 taken.'' 
 
 " And this is your definitive answer?" 
 said Mrs. Mowbray, with affected calmness. 
 
 '^ It is, my dear mother 5 but, before we 
 have done with the subject for ever, tell 
 me, candidly, whether, with your taste and 
 feelings, there is any thing you can like, 
 I will not say love, in Lord William Glen- 
 more ?" 
 
 *' Any thing that I can like \" echoed 
 Mrs. Mowbray, rather confounded by the 
 appeal ; " yes, a great deal : I like him for 
 preferring you to all the world, ungrateful 
 as you are." 
 
 " Thank you, dear mamma," said she, 
 " and this is your sole ground of prefer- 
 ence ?" 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray hesitated, and looked for 
 a moment from Fanny to her husband: 
 there was a triumphant expression in his 
 eye that was intolerable. 
 
 «« It is most extraordinary, Mr. Mow-
 
 GERALDINE. lo7 
 
 bray," said she, highly iiTitated, *< that you 
 should maintain that provoking silence." 
 
 ** I was fearful, my dear," said he, calm- 
 ly, " that my observations would have 
 been still more provoking." 
 
 '* You indemnify yourself, however," 
 continued his lady, ** by looking unutter- 
 able things." 
 
 " I assure you I listened to the discus- 
 sion with the most profound attention," 
 replied Mr. Mowbray, " and I have made 
 this deduction from it, — that if Caliban 
 were in existence, and had fifteen thousand 
 a year, you would think him a very suit- 
 able husband for Fanny ; and that if Fanny 
 met with a gay, brilliant young man with 
 fifteen, or five, or two, or one thousand 
 a year, she would marry him, without en- 
 quiring very minutely into his habits and 
 principles." 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray looked indignant ; but 
 Fanny immediately declared, though with- 
 out the slightest contrition of manner, that 
 she pleaded guilty.
 
 158 GEEALDINE. 
 
 ** I acknowledge, my dear father, that 
 genius, and taste, and love, and fortune 
 united, would be formidable, I am afraid 
 irresistible, temptations to me. I claim no 
 merit in refusing Lord William ; for he has 
 only one of these essentials : as to love, he 
 knows nothing about it ; he thinks the 
 common assiduities, which we all expect 
 in the day of our power, infinitely too 
 much trouble ; and then, he has the pre- 
 sumption to suppose that because he chooses 
 to issue his * most gracious letters patent, 
 licence, and protection,' empowering me 
 to become Lady Glenmore, that * 1 shall 
 readily and cheerfully contribute my en- 
 deavours, towards accomplishing the same/ 
 No, no," added she ; " a knight that will 
 neither break a lance nor a heart in my 
 service, is not worth retaining." 
 
 " I suspect, indeed, that your mother's 
 heart is in more danger of breaking, than 
 Lord William's in consequence of this 
 rejection," said Mr. Mowbray ; "but, how- 
 ever, be comforted, my dear," continued
 
 GERALDINE. 159 
 
 he, turning to her, ** there are several 
 rich, gay, good-for-nothing young men, 
 of our acquaintance, who may yet be 
 induced to take Fanny off our hands ; 
 their being a little more or less dissolute is 
 to her no objection." 
 
 Fanny blushed ; and, saying that she did 
 not mean to be understood an pied de la let- 
 trey ran out of the room. 
 
 <* And thus end my hopes and expect- 
 ations," exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray, as she 
 shut the door. 
 
 *' Yes, my dear," returned her hus- 
 band ; " such is the state of man, and 
 woman too ; and these are the killing frosts 
 to which their hopes are exposed." 
 
 " I don't beheve you have any hopes, 
 or wishes, or desires, Mr. Mowbray. Your 
 indifference upon so important a subject is 
 unnatural, incredible! A match so pecu- 
 liarly desirable !" 
 
 " You do me injustice, Mrs. Mowbray ; 
 I do not grieve on my own account, cer- 
 tainly; because I never considered Lord 
 William Glenmore a desirable husband for
 
 160 GERALDINE. 
 
 my daughter. I do not grieve upon hers, 
 because she is of the same opinion ; but I 
 will do my best to grieve for you, if you 
 particularly desire it -, though, as you have 
 lived happily up to the present day, with- 
 out having Lord William for a son-in-law, 
 I indulge the hope that your felicity is not 
 absolutely irrecoverable." 
 
 " I am not disposed to treat the subject 
 so lightly, Mr. Mowbray." 
 
 Can you suggest any more desirable plan 
 of acting ?" inquired he. 
 
 *' Shall we revive the locking-up sys- 
 tem, and enact Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe ?" 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray felt too much irritated to 
 reply ; and, hastily retiring, shut herself up 
 in her dressing-room, to muse over her own 
 excessive disappointment, Mr. Mowbray's 
 unaccountable indifference, Fanny's childish 
 folly, and Lord William's approaching 
 mortification. -- 
 
 Mr. Mowbray, a few minutes after, 
 joined his daughter in the shrubbery ; and 
 found her lamenting the keen disappoint- 
 ment she had inflicted on her mother.
 
 GERALDINE. I6l 
 
 ** I am really quite miserable, when I 
 reflect upon it," said Fanny. '' It was 
 cruel to awaken her from such a delightful 
 dream." 
 
 " I rather think," said Mr. Mowbray, 
 *' she will console herself by very soon 
 dreaminor aojain. This is not the first time 
 in her life that she has had occasion to ex- 
 claim, ' I awoke ; and behold it was a 
 dream !" 
 
 " Upon the whole," said Fanny, " it is 
 a happy talent, that of scheming and 
 dreaming. It supplies a constant resource 
 under all misfortunes. As fast as one 
 castle is demolished, another more glittering 
 and beautiful rises in its place. The slaves 
 of the ring and the lamp were mere bun- 
 glers compared to these indefatigable ar- 
 chitects." 
 
 " You conclude, then, that your mother 
 will find consolation in the activity of her 
 imagination," said Mr, Mowbray ; " but 
 what do you suppose is to console me ? 
 How am I to reconcile myself to my loss?"
 
 16S GERALD INE. 
 
 " You ! my dear father/* replied Fanny, 
 laughing : "I have not a single sigh or 
 tear to bestow upon you. I am sure it 
 would be a very needless waste of sym- 
 pathy !" 
 
 *< If you never inflict a keener pang 
 than you have done to-day, Fanny, all will 
 be well. But self-gratification is so much 
 your object, that I have no great confi- 
 dence in you." 
 
 '« And is it not every body's object, 
 my dear father,'* returned Fanny ; «* the 
 active and ruling principle of the whole 
 world ; the real, if not the ostensible, motive 
 of every action ?" 
 
 " It happens occasionally," continued 
 Mr. Mowbray, " that better feelings mingle 
 with and regulate this universal stimulus. 
 I have heard of instances in which self- 
 gratification has been completely thrown 
 into the shade ; but, doubtless, to you, they 
 would appear incomprehensible and in- 
 credible." 
 
 « Why, with respect to marriage, I cer-
 
 GERALDIXE. l65 
 
 tainly must be allowed to consider that an 
 affair of mere self-gratiiication, and a very 
 legitimate one too," replied Fanny. " Mar- 
 rying with a view to gratifying a third 
 person, appears to me, I confess, if not in- 
 credible, utterly incomprehensible." 
 
 " Mysterious as it is, rejoined Mr. Mow- 
 bray, " it is by no means a rare occurrence." 
 
 " I have too much humility," returned 
 Fanny, " to aim at any thing so heroic and 
 disinterested ; I must be contented with less 
 exalted attainments." 
 
 " You find it convenient, no doubt," re- 
 plied her father, " to fix your standard 
 low : it requires less effort ; but it is a re- 
 mark worth recollecting, that * he who 
 shoots at the mid-day sun, though he will 
 never hit the mark, will reach a higher 
 point than he who aims at a bush.' " 
 
 <* The sun is too high, and the bush too 
 contemptible, to please me," returned 
 Fanny ; " so mine will be all random shots, 
 I dare say." 
 
 " Geraldine," said she, as shesawherhastilv
 
 164 GERALD INE. 
 
 retreat, upon observing their approach, 
 " pray don't run away, as if we were dis- 
 cussing treasons, stratagems, and plots." 
 She spoke in vain. Geraldine, unwilHng to 
 interrupt them, flew with the speed of an 
 Atalanta ; and Fanny, resolved upon over- 
 taking her, left her father to moralize 
 alone.
 
 GERALOINE. l65 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 -Mrs. Mowbray had too much elasticity of 
 mind to remain long in a state of depression ; 
 and she persuaded herself that the next best 
 thing to accepting Lord William, was having 
 had the opportunity of refusing him. She de^ 
 termined to make the most of this circum- 
 stance ; and began to ruminate on the most 
 effectual means of sweetening and disguising 
 the unpalatable draught she was about to 
 administer. 
 
 It appeared the easiest plan to convey the 
 intelligence by letter ; and after some con- 
 sideration, the following was dispatched : 
 
 '' To Lord William Gle?imore, 
 
 " My dear Lord William, 
 " Though 1 do not absolutely wish, like 
 that immaculate person in days of yore, for
 
 166 GERALDINE. 
 
 a window in my bosom, through which all 
 my thoughts may be discerned, yet I am so 
 little in the habit of disguising my feelings, 
 that you must easily have perceived the 
 high satisfaction I derived from the com- 
 mission with which you yesterday honoured 
 me. What mother, indeed, could be insen- 
 sible to the peculiar advantages of an al- 
 liance with Lord William Glenmore y and 
 w^hat daughter, except my own, would not 
 esteem it the highest privilege to be thus 
 sought? She has, however, surprised me, 
 by discovering a w eakness, of which I did 
 not suspect her. With the fullest conviction 
 of your disinterestedness, and the deepest 
 gratitude for your preference, she contends 
 that marriage must be miserable, unless U7ie 
 grande passioji is felt, and excited. She 
 wishes to love and to be loved in the Hero 
 and Leander style ; and unless she finds 
 some * Angel in green and gold,' for whom 
 she could hang or drown herself, is deter- 
 mined to live in single blessedness, and 
 chaunt hymns to ' the cold chaste moon.'
 
 GERALDINE. 167 
 
 The pleadings of reason and common sense 
 are alike thrown away upon her : she is im- 
 practicable on this point, and we really should 
 be disposed to laugh heartily at such non- 
 sense, did it not interfere so materially with 
 her own happiness, and crush our hopes of 
 a union, in every point of view honourable 
 and desirable for her, and so highly gra- 
 tifying to Mr. Mowbray and myself. But, 
 aware of the calm superiority of your mind 
 and character, she unites with me in the 
 hope, that though she has so unwisely re- 
 fused to accept you as her preux chevalier^ 
 you will allow us still to enjoy your society, 
 as rami de la maison. Allow me to assure 
 you, that I am. 
 
 With the utmost regard and esteem, 
 Your Lordship's 
 Most obliged and sincere friend, 
 
 Georgiana Mowbray." 
 
 When finished, she put the letter into 
 Mr. Mowbray's hands. After reading the 
 opening paragraph —
 
 168 GERALDINE. 
 
 " Can you indulge me, my dear," said 
 he, ** with the name of the immaculate 
 person who formed the rash wish to which 
 you refer ? I confess I have some doubts 
 of his existence." 
 
 " Nonsense j what can it signify, it was 
 Solon or Socrates, or some of those 
 worthies ; but whether he really lived, or 
 not, is nothing to the purpose ; do pray 
 finish reading the letter, for it is time it 
 was sealed and sent." 
 
 Mr. Mowbray did as she desired, and 
 slowly folding it up, exclaimed, as he re- 
 turned it to her outstretched hand, " Very 
 well got up, indeed, and I particularly 
 admire the truth and simplicity so con- 
 spicuous in every line." 
 
 *' Actions are to be judged by their 
 motives, you know, Mr. Mowbray ; and 
 mine are of the most benevolent kind. It 
 is but charity to console Lord William for 
 the cruelty of his lady bright, by putting 
 him in good humour with himself." 
 
 " I am no casuist, my dear," returned 
 
 12
 
 GERALDINE. 169 
 
 Mr. Mowbray. '' Doubtless practice has 
 given you a very enviable facility in ma- 
 naging these delicate questions, and I 
 leave you to settle the business with your 
 conscience as well as you can.'* 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray found no difficulty in 
 settling the business with her conscience ; 
 nor did any * compunctious visitings,' 
 prevent her disclosing the whole history 
 of the refusal to every creature of her ac- 
 quaintance ; and the envy of some, tlie 
 sympathy of others, and the astonishment 
 of all, in some degree softened the acute 
 sense of disappointment by which she was 
 at first oppressed. 
 
 Mademoiselle Dubourg's exclamations 
 and lamentations on the subject were long 
 and loud. 
 
 *' Mais done ! ma chere ainie ; mon 
 xinge; & est inconcevable I BonDieu! Quinze 
 milk livres de rentes et vous avez refuse ce 
 Milord la ! celafait horreur /" 
 
 Fanny in vain endeavoured to vindicate 
 lier own judgment in the business ; in vaia 
 
 3^ OL. I. J
 
 170 GERALDINE. 
 
 pleaded that she cared nothing at all about 
 Lord William. Mademoiselle Dubourg 
 would not listen ; she continued to exclaim, 
 " Mais done, Grand Dieu! J' en suis 
 desolee P' 
 
 " Pray console yourself, my dear Ma- 
 demoiselle," said iFanny. I expect to en- 
 chain at least half-a-dozen lovers more." 
 
 " Mais, oui, mon enfant, les amans, a la 
 honne heure, as many as you please ; rnais 
 avee un mari, un Jiomme eomme tlfaut, tout 
 cela s^arrange^^ 
 
 Fanny begged to assure her, tha^t, tout au 
 contraire, in England the eortege of lovers 
 must be dismissed on or before the wed- 
 ding day ; and Mademoiselle was be- 
 ginning to lament it as a serious evil, when 
 Mr. Maitland walked into the room, 
 
 Fanny, at that moment, rather proud of 
 her own conduct, and of the disinterested- 
 ness she had displayed, received him with 
 an undisguised pleasure that did not escape 
 Mademoiselle Dubourg's attention. After 
 watching her in silence, for a feW mniutes.
 
 GERALDINE. 17 1 
 
 she hastily left the room ; and exclaiming, 
 after she had shut the door j " voila un 
 trait de lumierey" went in quest of Mrs. 
 Mowbray, to whom she communicated her 
 suspicions, that **ce pretr^e, cet ecclesias- 
 tiquCy un homme pas du tout comme it Jaut, 
 had been the chief cause of Fanny's in- 
 diiference to the splendid offers of Milord 
 Glenmore.'' 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray listened with patient po- 
 liteness ; and though quite convinced that 
 her daughter was still sufficiently sane not 
 to listen to the addresses of a country 
 curate, she thought it not impossible that 
 intercourse with Mr. Maitland might so 
 quicken her perception of real excellence, 
 as to induce a very inconvenient degree of 
 fastidiousness in her choice of a husband ; 
 and she resolved, by the coldness of her man- 
 ner and by those little repelling arts so soon 
 felt and understood by a delicate mind, to 
 put an end, if possible, to any thing like 
 intimacy between them. 
 
 Lord William was much sui'prised, and 
 I 2
 
 17^ GERALDINK. 
 
 rather mortified, hy Fanny's rejection ; 
 but as Mrs. Mowbray was an agreeable 
 woman, and her house a pleasant lounge, 
 he had no objection to accepting her pro- 
 position of continuing Fami de la maison, 
 
 Geraldine, who had begun to feel the 
 full force of Fanny's attractive manners, 
 and who concluded, like most girls of 
 fourteen, that, in these affairs, love should 
 be ** lord of all," rejoiced when the mar- 
 riage ceased to be canvassed, and Fanny 
 was left at peace. 
 
 Tlie summer glided away ; and with it 
 the feelings of constraint and regret which 
 had preyed on her mind on her first ar- 
 rival at Woodlands. 
 
 Montague, indeed, had passed but one 
 fortnight at home. The remainder of the 
 long vacation had been devoted to travel- 
 ling through Scotland ; but that fortnight 
 had been delightful. 
 
 He was in the most brilliant spirits. The 
 anticipation of visiting the 
 
 Land of brown heath, and shaggy wood ; 
 Land of the mountain, and the flood,
 
 GERALDINE. l?'^ 
 
 seemed to have inspired him , and though 
 he talked more of Burns, and Beattie, and 
 Walter Scott, than of her and her affairs, 
 she loved to listen to him. He had pro- 
 mised to bring home a multitude of sketches 
 for her to copy, and especially one of 
 Loch Katrine, which he intended to be a 
 master-piece. 
 
 ** I shall expect prodigiously long let- 
 ters from you, Montague," said Fanny, 
 as they were breakfasting together on the 
 morning of his departure for Scotland. 
 
 " As you travel alone, you will have no 
 one else to whom you can express your 
 raptures." 
 
 ** I shall at least enjoy the privilege of 
 being slow or rapid, dull or extatic, as it 
 suits me," returned Montague. **I only 
 hope 1 shall not encounter any of the 
 fashionable fools who have lately taken to 
 make Loch Katrine a summer lounge." 
 
 It would be horrid, indeed," said Fanny, 
 " with one's head full of Fitz-James, and 
 Roderick Dhu, and all manner of delight- 
 I 3
 
 174^ GERALDINE. 
 
 fill associations, to stumble suddenly upon 
 a Dandy ; if such a misfortune should hap- 
 pen, Montague, pray be cool and collected, 
 and don't shoot him through the head at 
 once y for, little as you may think it, I assure 
 you, those stiff, upright, immoveable crea* 
 tures, can really feel ; and I believe, they 
 can think, too ; but of this I am not quite 
 certain/' 
 
 " Suppose," said Montague, laughing, 
 ** I call at Glenmore Hall, and ask Lord 
 William to accompany me ; what an ex- 
 quisite travelling companion he would 
 make !'' 
 
 *« He would not be much in your way, 
 I assure you," returned Fanny. " He 
 would eat, and sleep, and yawn, and look 
 at his watch ; and then eat, and sleep, and 
 yawn again." 
 
 " Shall you return to Woodlands, Mon- 
 tague," said Geraldine, " before you go to 
 College?" 
 
 " I hope so," said Montague 5 but it de- 
 pends upon circumstances. If the weather
 
 GERALDINE. IT 5 
 
 be very fine, and the Highland lasses very 
 enchanting, I shall stay in Scotland till the 
 last moment." 
 
 The two giiis follosved him to the door ; 
 and as he mounted his horse, Geraldine 
 again begged him to write. 
 
 « You will be sure to hear from me," said 
 he, smiHng ; ** unless, indeed, I encounter in 
 the shades of Glenfinlas any of those way- 
 ward ladies of the glen, who make so free 
 with gallant knights and young gentlemen." 
 
 He galloped off in high glee. They 
 watched him till he was out of sight. 
 
 *' Come in, Geraldine/' said Fanny. *« I 
 dare say we look very picturesque, and in- 
 teresting, standing here with our golden 
 locks waving in the wind ; but as there is no 
 one to admire us, we may as well walk into 
 the house. — Why, child, you look as doleful 
 as if you had made a contract with the 
 * grim white woman !' " 
 
 " Well, Fanny, and are not you sorry to 
 part with Montague ?" 
 
 '* Sorry ! to be sure I am ; but then, I 
 I 4
 
 17& GERALDINE. 
 
 have such a charming disinterestedness ; 
 such delightful flexibility of feeling, that 
 I always rejoice with those that rejoice : — 
 now you are such a selfish little thing, that 
 though you pretend to love Montague, you 
 prefer yourself; and while he is out of his 
 wits with joy at the idea of wandering 
 among the banks and braes of Scotland,, 
 you would detain him to ramble by your 
 side in the New Forest.'* 
 " Geraldine eagerly disclaimed the charge, 
 but Fanny refused to be convinced, and ran 
 away, exclaiming, " Oh ! they are a selfish 
 race, — the children of this generation."
 
 GERALDIN'E, 177 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 1 o prove her disinterestedness, Geraldine 
 determined to be as cheerful as possible, 
 and every day increased her toleration for 
 the manners and customs of Woodlands. 
 
 She satisfied herself with looking for- 
 ward to the time when the return of her 
 father, and her restoration to home, would 
 allow of her resuming those religious pur- 
 suits and pious habits which she still knev/ 
 to be important, and, connected as they 
 were in her mind with recollections of ma- 
 ternal affection and tenderness, she still felt 
 to be dear. 
 
 But the restlessness and disquietude this 
 privation at first occasioned, no longer 
 agitated her ; she was content to put these 
 things off to a more convenient season : 
 forgetting that * though habit,' in the 
 1.5
 
 178 GERALDINE. 
 
 majority of cases, * is a greater plague than 
 ever afflicted Egypt, yet, in religious cha- 
 racters, it is a great felicity ; and that the 
 devout mind exults in the indication of its 
 being fixed and irretrievable.' 
 
 Geraldine had attained precisely that 
 age, when an impulse is usually given to 
 the mind, which not unfrequently decides 
 its character for ever. 
 
 The foundation of an edifice may be 
 solid and substantial ; but if the completion 
 of the superstructure pass into less skilful 
 hands, instead of uniting beauty and use- 
 fulness, it may become faulty and fantas- 
 tic, equally unfit to resist the shock of ac- 
 cident or the finger of time. 
 
 To watch and assist the developement 
 of principle, is a more arduous, and per- 
 haps a more delicate task than to form and 
 rear it. 
 
 That tenderness of conscience which 
 shrinks even from the appearance of evil, 
 must be gently fostered and cherished, and 
 the judgment sustained in its first combat
 
 GERALDINB. 179 
 
 with the false maxims and practices of the 
 world. 
 
 It is dangerous to put too early to the 
 test that moral strength and mental 
 energy, which is required to resist the 
 temptation of following ' the multitude to 
 do evil.' 
 
 Geraldine had hitherto relied solely on 
 her mother's judgment ; it had been her 
 bright and guiding star ! Suddenly, it va- 
 nished from her view, and she was left to 
 steer alone, amid the rocks and quicksands 
 by which she was surrounded. 
 
 Too young to resist the contagion of 
 example, the powerful charm of novelty 
 and the bewitching influence of wit and 
 gaiety, she felt like a person suddenly 
 transported from the soft and quiet beauty 
 of Arcadian scenes, to the dazzling splen- 
 dours of a masqued ball. At first she was 
 bewildered and uneasy, and longed to re- 
 turn ; but at length the brilliancy of the 
 sceie, its variety, gaiety, and animation 
 fascinated her senses ; and the past and 
 I 6
 
 180 GERALDINE. 
 
 future were alike lost in th€ enjoyment of 
 the present. 
 
 A very fine autumn, (now in its wane,) 
 had enabled them to enjoy in full perfec- 
 tion the beautiful scenery around them. 
 
 Fanny had passed her earliest years at 
 Woodlands, and delighted in retracing the 
 lovely spots and enchanting glades which 
 had been the haunts of her cliildhood,. 
 and Geraldine whose perceptions of the 
 beauties of nature had been early awakened 
 and were now rapidly unfolding, felt, in 
 the contemplation of these magnificent 
 scenes, a joy she was unable to define. 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray readily promoted every 
 scheme of enjoyment;, and their morning 
 rides and evening strolls, their gipsy parties 
 and rustic fetes, threw an air of festivity 
 over the life of Geraldine as enchanting 
 as it was new. 
 
 She occasionally detected herself, re* 
 gretting that it would probably too soon 
 have an end ; and as she recalled the s^ll- 
 fiess and melancholy which had pervaded
 
 GERALDINE. 181 
 
 her own home since the deatli of her 
 mother; she felt an oppression of heart 
 begin to mingle with the idea of her return 
 thither. But the consciousness of this- 
 feehng kindled a blush of sliame upon her 
 cheek. Was it possible that she could an- 
 ticipate her father's return, with any other 
 sensation than that of unmingled joy. 
 
 Tears of self-reproach filled her eyes, 
 and to appease her conscience she deter- 
 mined to pass the morning in writing to 
 him, and express her hope that his 
 health and spirits would soon be sufficiently 
 amended to allow of his returning to Eng- 
 land, 
 
 She had been some time quietly seated 
 at this occupation when Fanny ran into 
 the room, exclaiming! " Guess, Geraldine 
 who is below !" 
 
 *^ Montague, perhaps," said Geraldine, 
 pi sing with alacrity* Fanny shook hei: 
 head. 
 
 *« Oh! it is Captain Forrester, or Mr; 
 Bernard^.or some one I don't care for/*'
 
 182 GERALDINE. 
 
 continued Geraldine, composedly reseating 
 herself, and dipping her pen in the ink. 
 
 << Is that a very beautiful period that 
 you are finishing ?'' asked Fanny. " Are 
 you turning it according to the best rules 
 of Quintilian and Blair?" Because, if so, 
 J will not be so cruel as to interrupt you ; 
 even to say that" — Geraldine looked up 
 impatiently. — " Guess again," said Fanny. 
 '* Is there no one in this wide world you 
 care for except Montague ? — no one who 
 has been ' over the seas, and far awa' ?' 
 
 " Oh 1 it is papa," exclaimed Geral- 
 dine, springing to the door, and running 
 down stairs, without waiting for an answer. 
 
 In a moment, she had, satisfied herself 
 that it was indeed her father ; but not in 
 a moment were their affectionate greetings 
 exhausted. 
 
 Mr. Beresford w^as delighted to observe 
 the improved looks and cheerfulness of Ge- 
 raldine ; and she was so occupied in listen- 
 ing to details of his journey, that they did 
 not separate, till Fanny had twice reminded
 
 GERALDINE. 183 
 
 them, that the 'most sentimental people 
 must dine j' that it was within half an 
 hour of dinner-time ; and that their cook 
 was notorious for punctuality.
 
 W4^ GERALDINE. 
 
 CHAR XVI. 
 
 FANNY seated herself in Geraldine's room, 
 while she dressed ; and, taking a letter 
 from her pocket, said, 
 
 ** I think the measure of your happiness 
 will be complete, when you have heard the. 
 contents of this letter." 
 
 Geraldine's eye glanced over the hand- 
 writing. It was Montague's. 
 
 " But, perhaps," said Fanny, ** your 
 heart is so full of your father, that you 
 have no curiosity about the matter — not 
 a thought to waste on any body else. Sliall 
 I shut it up again ?" 
 
 Geraldine could only beg her to read it 
 without farther delay. 
 
 ** I shall pass over," said Fanny, " his 
 mpturous account of Perthshire , only you
 
 GEKALDINE. 185 
 
 are generally to understand that its scenery 
 comprises all that is wild, and magnificent^ 
 and beautiful, and sublime ! I avoid the 
 word picturesque, in com.pliment to your 
 taste and my own ; though, hackneyed as 
 it is, there is scarcely a possibility of doing 
 without it. Well ! — he had the courage, 
 (was he not a hero ?) to pass the Cove of 
 the Men of Peace, even after sun-set 1 — 
 Happily he had not a green coat * on j 
 
 * About a mile beyond the source of the Forth, 
 above Lochon, there is a place called Coirshi'an, or 
 the Cove of the Men of Peace, which is still supposed 
 to be a favourite place of their residence. In the 
 neighbourhood, are to be seen many round conical 
 eminences, particularly one near the head of the lake, 
 by the skirts of v/hich many are still afraid to pass 
 after sun-set. 
 
 It is behoved, that if, on Hallow-eve, any person 
 alone goes round one of these hills nine times 
 towards the left hand, a door shall open by which 
 he shall be admitted into their subterraneous abodes. 
 Many, it is said, of mortal race^ have been entertained 
 in their secret recesses. 
 
 The seemingly happy inhabitants pass their time in 
 festivity, and in dancing to notes of the softest music ; 
 but unhappy is the mortal who joins in their joys, or 
 ventures to partake of their dainties. By this indul-'
 
 186 GERALDINE. 
 
 which, I suppose, was the reason that they 
 let him escape. Would you believe it? 
 Instead of beinggrateful, he says, thatunfor- 
 tunately it happened not to be Hallow-eve, 
 or he should certainly have paced round 
 their favourite hill nine times, (the magi- 
 cal number you know, my dear,j in the 
 hope of being admitted to its secret re- 
 cesses ; of getting a peep at those lovely 
 ladies who sLjrpass the daughters of men 
 in beauty j and listening to those soft notes 
 * that take the prisoned soul, and lap it in 
 Elysium/ 
 
 '' It is a great happiness that he could 
 not accomplish this ; for, of all inconvenient 
 things, the most inconvenient would be, 
 falling in love with a Shi'ich, and this would 
 unquestionably have been his fate." 
 
 gence, he forfeits for ever the society of men, and is 
 bound down, irrevocably, to the condition of a Shj'ich, 
 or Man of Peace. 
 
 As the Daoine-shi, or Men of Peace, wore green 
 habits, they were supposed to take offence when any 
 mortals ventured to assume their favourite colour.
 
 GERALDINE. 187 
 
 " After this follows a description of In- 
 verary, and Ben Lomond, and Loch Lo- 
 mond, and Arro quhar ; and a panegyric 
 upon Walter Scott's astonishing genius, and 
 wonderful power of combining the most 
 minute accuracy of description, with the 
 enchanting luxuriance and flow of poetry. 
 
 " Then, there is a history of the charming 
 people he was introduced to at Edinburgh, 
 and of their prodigious intellectual pre- 
 eminence ; and a sketch of a beautiful 
 lassie, uith whom he danced reels, and to 
 whom, of course, he made love. 
 
 ** Don't look so frightened, my dear ; I 
 dare say he did not lose above half his 
 heart, and half a heart is certainly a larger 
 share than you are entitled to, as far as 
 cousinship goes ; however, w^e shall soon 
 find all that out when he comes, which will 
 be to-morrow. There is the bonne houche 
 I have hoarded up for you, in my loving 
 kindness, to the last moment. 
 
 '' This letter ought to have been here a 
 fortnight ago ; but being a volume, he
 
 188 GERALDINE. 
 
 trusted it to a private hand. However, I 
 calculate, by what he says, that in less than 
 twenty-four hours, this heir of all his mo- 
 ther's beauty, and all his father's virtues, 
 will arrive at Woodlands, and with him, 
 (more last words you see,) a Mr. Spenser, 
 a lineal descendant, I suppose, of the Fairy 
 Queen Spenser, for he seems, by Montague's 
 account, to inherit all his genius, and to be 
 a creature framed in ' all the prodigality 
 of nature.' Just hear what he says of 
 him. 
 
 ** ' As I was contemplating the magnifi- 
 cent fall of Cora Linn, with my thoughts 
 carried back to the days of Wallace and 
 Bruce, 1 caught a glimpse at some little dis- 
 tance ofa fashionable looking coat. With the 
 recollection of your prognostics full in my 
 mind, and, consequently the fear ofa dandy, 
 befoi:e my eyes : I abruptly turned, and was 
 walking oif in an opposite direction, when 
 I heard myself called by my name. Heartily 
 wishing the person a thousand miles off, I 
 turned round, and saw before me Spenser*
 
 GERALDINE. 189 
 
 an old Etonian crony of mine. Many a 
 frolic have we enjoyed together, when 
 we * heard a voice in every wind, and 
 snatched a fearful joy.' Many a time 
 have we rambled along the banks of the 
 Thames, heedless of their beauty, alive 
 only to the enjoyment of fresh air and stolen 
 liberty. 
 
 " * So, like the Highlander, whose heart 
 w^arms to the tartan, let him meet it in 
 what region he will, mine warmed at the 
 sight of his well-remembered face, even 
 though it interrupted my meditations, amid 
 the sublime scenery of the Cora Linn, 
 
 " * We lost sight of each other on going 
 to college ; he entering at Cambridge, and 
 I at Oxford. Therefore, as I knew not 
 what manner of man he was, it must have 
 been the air of Scotland that inspired me to 
 welcome him so w^armly for auld acquaint- 
 ance sake, and days ' o' lang syne.' 
 
 ** * Richly have I been repaid ; his mind 
 is of the very first class, and he combines 
 in an uncommon degree, the powers that
 
 190 GERALDINE. 
 
 fascinate in a companion, genius that grasps 
 what is great, and taste which perceives 
 all the beautiful minutiae invisible to com- 
 mon eyes and vulgar minds. He has lately 
 succeeded to an unincumbered estate of 
 two thousand a-year : his person is manly 
 and handsome.' 
 
 " There, my dear Geraldine ; how I am 
 to get through the next twenty-four hours 
 I know not ; I am so curious, so anxious to 
 see this radiant person, who is to make 
 every body look dim beside him." 
 
 '\I am not at all anxious," said Geraldine, 
 " and, I dare say, he will not make every 
 body look dim." 
 
 « Oh ! my dear, you must remember, that 
 stars of the first magnitude hide their heads 
 before the sun. I shall let my fancy dip 
 her pen in the brightest colours ; for it is 
 Montague, the fastidious Montague, who 
 speaks thus highly of hun. 
 
 *' His person is manly and handsome,"re- 
 peated Fanny, referring to the letter. Men 
 always will generalise so in their descrip-
 
 GERALDINE. 191 
 
 tioiis ; one does not know whicli to expect, 
 a fine Grecian face, like the Apollo Belvi- 
 dere, or " les yeux noirs, qui vont, au fond 
 de Vame,'' like " M oleic AdheV s^ As he 
 was writing to a lady, he might just have 
 mentioned the colour of his eyes \ woman 
 you know, Geraldine, is curious by inheri- 
 tance." 
 
 '* I am sure, I don't care what colour 
 they are," said Geral-dine. ** It does not at 
 all signify.*' 
 
 " Not signify, child ! that is because you 
 have never studied the subject. I shall be 
 terribly disappointed, I am sure, if we don't 
 see * the front of Jove himself, an eye like 
 Mars, to threaten and command.' 
 
 ''The most melancholy part of the busi- 
 ness is, that they can only remain a few 
 days with us ; their becoming square caps, 
 and flowing gowns, must be resumed next 
 week, and we shall be left, Geraldine, to 
 ' chide the hasty-footed hours j' a pretty 
 lady-like employment enough, if it were 
 but of any use ; but, unluckily, time and
 
 19^ GERALDINE. 
 
 tide will have their way. Now, let us go 
 -down, and see if, by dint of dining, and 
 talking, and sleeping, we can get rid of 
 * this great gap of time,' that Spenser is 
 -away. 
 
 <* You look very much inclined to sub- 
 stitute another name ; and pray do, if you 
 prefer it ; * Montague' will not spcwl the 
 rythm at all."
 
 CERALDINE, 193 
 
 CHAP. XVIL 
 
 A FEW hurried lines from Montague oil 
 the following morning, announced their in- 
 tention of reaching ^Voodlands by the hour 
 of dinner ; but the dinner-hour passed away, 
 and the travellers did not appear. 
 
 *' I wonder what can detain them," said 
 Fanny, who had been restlessly watching 
 at every window in the house. 
 
 " Is want of punctuality in young men 
 so mh'aculous," said Mr. Mowbrav, *« that 
 you think it worth while to wonder about 
 it ? If you wish to assign any other reason 
 for the delay, surely, you have ingenuity 
 enough to devise as many as you please." 
 
 ** No," said Fanny ; " all my faculties are 
 absorbed in one feeling of eager curiosity." 
 
 " You had better recollect the wise man's 
 assertion, that * there is nothing new under 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194f GERALDINE. 
 
 the sun/ Mr. Spenser, I dare say, re- 
 sembles most other young men ; and let me 
 advise you, Fanny, never to place any per- 
 son upon too high a pedestal. It is inju- 
 dicious ; it exposes them to too curious and 
 stedfast a gaze, and they sometimes de- 
 scend awkwardly enough to the common 
 level.'' 
 
 " I will not listen to you, my dear father ; 
 you take a cruel delight in dashing all my 
 brilliant expectations to the ground ; you 
 are worse than that officious person who 
 opened Pandora's box ; for he did leave 
 Hope at the bottom." 
 
 " Sister Anne, sister Anne," said she to 
 Geraldine, who was stationed at the win- 
 dow of an adjoining room, " do you see 
 any thing coming ? For pity's sake, say 
 you see something, if it be only a cloud of 
 dust." 
 
 " I see the deer feeding in the park," 
 replied Geraldine ; " but not a particle of 
 dust to comfort you. They look a little
 
 GERALDINE. 19^ 
 
 frightened now, though," contmued she, 
 " as if they heard a strange sound.'* 
 
 " Look again, my dearly beloved Ge- 
 raldine,'' said Fanny ; " look again ; you 
 are such a charming far-sighted creature, 
 are they scampering away ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Geraldine, " they are, and 
 there certainly is something like a carriage 
 behind. Don't you hear it ?" 
 
 ** To be sure I do," said Fanny. " The 
 song of the nightingale was never half so 
 delightful to my ear." 
 
 The sound of a carriage rapidly approach- 
 ing was now distinctly heard, even by Mr. 
 Mowbray, who affected blindness, deafness, 
 and incredulity, as long as possible. It 
 stopped ; and in a few minutes the young 
 men were in the drawing-room, bowing, 
 regretting, apologising, and explaining. 
 
 All eyes in a moment were fixed upon 
 Mr. Spenser. Certainly he was not at all 
 like the Apollo Belvidere, nor nearly so 
 handsome as Malek Adhel. Except a pair 
 of good-looking eyes, his face might be 
 K 2
 
 196 GERALDINE. 
 
 considered plain. This was the result of 
 Fanny's first observ^ation. 
 
 In the course of the evening, she dis- 
 covered that the eyes were decidedly the 
 finest she had ever seen ; and the counter 
 nance the most animated and intelligent. 
 It was not at all striking when he was silent ; 
 but when he spoke, it was with an eloquence 
 and energy that lighted up every feature. 
 
 Fanny listened with delighted attention, 
 now and then casting a triumphant glance 
 at her father. 
 
 There seemed to be no danger of an 
 awkward descent : it was a very fair ele- 
 vation. There was an unquestionable pre- 
 eminence ; and certainly it would not be 
 easy or possible suddenly to sink Mr. 
 Spenser to the level of most other young 
 men. 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray, who watched, with her 
 usual unsuspected vigilance, the effect this 
 stranger would produce on her daughter, 
 saw immediately that his brilliant qualities 
 would throw Mr. Maitland's quiet and ster^ 
 U
 
 GERALDINTE. 197 
 
 ling excellence sufficiently into the shade, 
 to render him no longer a dangerous com- 
 panion. 
 
 She therefore accompanied Montague to 
 the vicarage in the morning ; and prefacing 
 her invitation to Mr. Maitland, mth kind 
 reproaches for his long absence, and an as- 
 surance that it had at length compelled her 
 not even to trust to V eloquence de billet, but 
 to petition in person, requested his com- 
 pany to dinner. 
 
 Mr. Maitland had too much penetration 
 not to perceive, that this overflowing 
 courtesy was a sort of amende honorable, 
 which Mrs. Mowbray found it convenient 
 to make. But, really attached to Montague, 
 and anxious to live in as much harmony as 
 possible with his family, he did not hesitate 
 to accept the invitation. 
 
 K 3
 
 198 GERALDINE. 
 
 CHAR XVIIL 
 
 JMiNDs, of a certain class and chai'acter, 
 mingle with perfect facility, and there 
 seemed so many points of sympathy in 
 taste, feeling, and opinion between Fanny 
 and Mr. Spenser, that the preliminary cere- 
 monies of a first acquaintance had been 
 soon exchanged for easy conversation ; and 
 easy conversation had gradually, by the 
 following evening, glided into real inter- 
 change of thought. 
 
 '* Can it be possible 1" exclaimed Mr* 
 Spenser, as he seated himself by her side 
 at tea-time ; ** that my acquaintance with 
 you is only of twenty-four hours' standing.'* 
 
 " I find it difficult to believe it, indeed,'* 
 replied Fanny ; " but you were not en-
 
 GERALDIJre. 199 
 
 tirely unknown to me ; Montague had 
 already introduced you to me with a flou- 
 rish of trumpets." 
 
 " This introduction is an a2ra in my 
 life, to which I must always revert with 
 such decided pleasure," returned Mr. 
 Spenser, '« that I will not quarrel with 
 him about the mode of it ; but these 
 flourishes have in general a most unfor- 
 tunate effect. They should be reserved 
 for some conquering hero ! Mere common 
 mortals cannot stand them." 
 
 " Montague does not often offend in 
 this way," replied Fanny j " besides there 
 is something pleasant in the excitation pro- 
 duced. Hope and joyful anticipation con- 
 tribute so largely to the sum of human 
 fehcity." 
 
 « There are persons," said Mr. Spenser, 
 " who deny the truth of your position 5 
 who describe hope as a meteor, at once 
 bright and mischievous, shining only to 
 mislead and bewilder." 
 K 4
 
 200 GERALDIKE. 
 
 " I do not envy such dull, joyless 
 beings," replied Fanny. 
 
 " Nor I,'' returned Mr. Spenser ; " I 
 consider a sanguine temperament a posi- 
 tive blessing; enlarging the capacity for 
 happiness, and multiplying its sources in 
 an asstonishing ratio." 
 
 «« And I consider it," said Mr. Mow- 
 bray, **a positive curse; usually blinding 
 and bewildering its luckless possessor ; en- 
 gaging him in the profitable employment 
 of ' dropping buckets into empty wells, 
 and growing old in drawing nothing up.' " 
 
 '< It must be confessed," said Mr. Spen- 
 ser, " that the calculations of the sanguine 
 are sometimes erroneous ; but they enjoy 
 a great proportion of positive happiness : 
 they drink deeply and largely of every 
 little spring that rises in their path, and 
 in their clear and luminous atmosphere, 
 the most distant object is not only dis- 
 cerned, but beams with brightness and 
 beauty." 
 
 '' Who," said Montague, with a glance
 
 GERALDINE. 201 
 
 towards his father ; *' who would exchange 
 such an atmosphere for the dull, sunless 
 region of the phlegmatic." 
 
 " You are transporting us from the tor- 
 rid to the frigid zone at once," said Mr. 
 Maitland. " Is there no temperate re- 
 gion where we may safely and quietly 
 fix ?" 
 
 <« As to the phlegmatic," said Mr. 
 Spenser, " I confess myself entirely unable 
 to comprehend the nature of his happiness, 
 if happiness it be. That sort of enjoyment 
 which excites neither emotion nor expres- 
 sion is, to me, wholly unintelligible." 
 
 *' It may be positive happiness, notwith- 
 standing your inability to comprehend it," 
 replied Mr. Mowbray. " For aught you 
 know, the Dutchman who puffs his pipe 
 in silence all day, and every day, may be a 
 very happy being." 
 
 ** No, my dear Sir," returned Mr. Spen- 
 ser y " it is impossible that he can be any 
 thing ' veri/, except veri/ dull.' It is not 
 possible that his happiness can be positive, 
 K 5
 
 202 GERALDINE. 
 
 at least, it is only negative, — mere freedom 
 from care and pain. For my part, St. 
 Patrick's purgatory itself would be infinitely 
 preferable to me. One might still hope, in 
 time, to breathe the gales of Eden, and 
 hear the harmonies of heaven." 
 
 " I have no taste for such rapid alter- 
 nations and transitions," said Mr. Mow- 
 bray J " I think it better to avoid the dan- 
 ger of being suddenly precipitated from 
 the very gate of heaven into the slough of 
 despond." 
 
 " The slough of despond ! Oh ! I assure 
 you, my dear Sir," returned Mr. Spenser, 
 ** no such spot exists in the world of the 
 sanguine ; we make that entirely over to 
 those of the melancholic temperament." 
 
 '* Do not speak irreverently of that class, 
 I intreat you," said Montague ; *' genius 
 so often accompanies such a temperament, 
 that I almost reverence it." 
 
 ** Yes, that is precisely the sentiment it 
 excites in my mind," returned Mr. Spenser. 
 " I have a sort of reverential awe of persons 
 
 15
 
 GERALDINE. 203 
 
 of this description ; they are capable of an 
 intensity of thought, a depth of feeUng, to 
 which the sanguine are strangers ; but 
 * they are too permanently grave to be 
 exquisitely fitted for society.' They have 
 not the same happy elasticity ; like the 
 sanguine, they often wander througli 
 an ideal world, and in their sublime 
 reveries tread the courts of heaven : but 
 they are not so well skilled in extracting 
 sweets from every little flower that springs 
 on earth." 
 
 <' I have a notion," said Mr. Mowbray, 
 «* that they often encounter a few thorns 
 in getting at these sweets : but pray, as you 
 seem to have studied the mysteries of this 
 subject, into how many classes, with respect 
 to temperament, do you find it convenient 
 to divide mankind ?" 
 
 *' Four, I believe. Sir," replied Mr. 
 Spenser, *' will comprehend the majority ; 
 three, we have already enumerated: the 
 choleric, which remains, is perhaps a pretty 
 large class. There is many a Sir Anthony 
 K 6
 
 ^04^ GERALDINE. 
 
 Absolute ill the world, ready, on the 
 slightest provocation, to command you not 
 to breathe the same air with him, but to 
 get an atm.osphere and a sun of your own/' 
 *' You differ, then, from your learned 
 friends, the ancients," said Mr. Mowbray j 
 *' their distinctions were rather more ela- 
 borate and minute." 
 
 *' And still more fanciful, perhaps," said 
 Mr. Maitland. 
 
 " They cannot be deemed altogether 
 fanciful," returned Mr. Spenser ; " I think 
 it will not be denied, on examining the 
 constitution of minds in general, that there 
 is in them a certain decided tendency to 
 mirth, or melancholy ; to irritability, or 
 languor ; which forms the ground-work of 
 character, and which may fairly be termed 
 the temperament." 
 
 " Education, and society," rejoined Mr. 
 Maitland, " do so much towards destroying 
 natural characteristics, that I doubt, if they 
 are to be discovered amidst the shades and 
 blendings so nicely introduced."
 
 GERALDINE. 205 
 
 " Circumstances may make them less 
 apparent, less prominent, " returned Mr. 
 Spenser ; " but they still exist, and are 
 always discoverable, and often obvious." 
 
 " Are you deciding, Spenser, to \vhat 
 class Fanny belongs?" said Montague, in 
 a low voice, as he saw his eyes riveted 
 upon her, as she crossed the room to speak 
 to Mrs. Mowbray. 
 
 ** Your sister," said he, ** can be ranged 
 in no class ; she is herself alone : those 
 graceful, spirited attitudes, that exquisite 
 mobility of countenance and figure, that 
 soft, yet beaming eye — " 
 
 " Hush," said Montague, '' I was not pre- 
 pared for such raptures." 
 
 " Nor did you prepare me to meet a 
 divinity." 
 
 Geraldine at that moment entered the 
 room. 
 
 ** There is another face to speculate 
 upon," said Montague. 
 
 " It has a great deal of beauty," replied 
 Mr. Spenser, " of tlie xery best kind :
 
 ^06 GERALDINE. 
 
 beauty of expression ; but it has not to me 
 that powerful and resistless charm, which 
 makes me gaze, and wonder, and sigh, 
 and gaze again." 
 
 <« No, I hope not," said Montague ; "it 
 is quite sufficient for one face to produce 
 such an effect. If your heart is made of 
 such sensitive materials, the ladies had 
 better adopt the Turkish fashion, and, out 
 of pure charity, veil their beauty from 
 your eyes." 
 
 «* I avow myself," said Mr. Spenser, 
 ** an idolater of beauty ; even mere unin- 
 telligent beauty is not without its charm 
 for me : it always excites a sort of pleasing 
 flutter at my heart ; but beauty moulded 
 by taste and inspired by genius, — who 
 would not fall down and worship it ?" 
 
 " I should be afraid," said Mr. Mait- 
 land " that, like the heathens of old, you 
 would be induced to admit a multitude of 
 divinities into your temple ; your Penates, 
 your household gods would be in some 
 danger of being occasionally forgotten."
 
 GERALDINE. 207 
 
 <« No, no," replied ]\Ir. Spenser, '' the 
 tie would be too tender, too intimate, too 
 sacred, to be forgotten." His eyes were 
 still fixed upon Fanny, w^lio was talking 
 with great animation to Mrs. ^Mowbray. 
 
 ** I begin to think of the doctrine of 
 love at first sight, Montague," continued 
 he, ** with a vast deal more reverence 
 than I did eight and forty hours ago j 1 
 really have some faith in it now." 
 
 " To be consistent, you ought not to 
 have doubted it for a moment," observed 
 Mr. Maitland. ** Surely if mere personal 
 beauty be sufficient foundation for love, 
 the intercourse of a minute may be as 
 perilous and decisive as that of a month." 
 
 " And where is consistency to be found, 
 Maitland ?" asked Montague ; *' at the 
 bottom of a deep well, like truth ? or in 
 Utopia ? It is but three days ago that this 
 same Spenser was laughing at the history 
 of Petrarch's first interview with Laura ; 
 affirming that love at first sight, without 
 exchange of thought, was impossible ! in-
 
 ^08 GERALDlNfi. 
 
 credible ! that it was as rational and pos- 
 sible, to be in love with a picture : and now 
 he is raving about the magic of beauty, 
 and pretending, that, < the love that kills 
 indeed, dispatches at a blow.' " 
 
 '' Who expects consistency from man ?" 
 exclaimed Mr. Spenser ; ** the creature of 
 circumstances, the slave of passions and 
 feelings as mutable and capricious as the 
 winds of heaven, or the shifting clouds of 
 an evening sky." 
 
 «* Speak for yourself, if you please. Sir,"' 
 said Mr. Mowbray. " Acknowledge your 
 individual faults, if you wish it, as candidly 
 as you think proper ; but don't attempt to 
 palm them upon man as a species.'' 
 
 " Happily," said Mr. Maitland, '* man 
 is not predestined to be the slave of his 
 passions. If he be so, he forges his own 
 fetters. He was created ' sufficient to 
 stand, but liable to fall.' " 
 
 «< Take care of yourself," exclaimed 
 Mr. Mowbray. " Maitland is trying to 
 entangle you in the labyrinth of fate and
 
 GERALDIKE. 209 
 
 free-will, Mr. Spenser; and, if he succeeds, 
 there you may wander, like the Babes in 
 the Wood, till the day of your death, with- 
 out hope of escape." 
 
 " If you enter upon such abstruse sub- 
 jects," said Fanny, who had just rejoined 
 them, *< I must follow the example of 
 Eve, and make a graceful retreat : you 
 know^ she refused to listen to them, even 
 from the tongue of an angel." 
 
 ** And you recollect her reason, I 
 hope," said Mr. Spenser ; ** she preferred 
 hearing them from the mouth of the man 
 she loved." 
 
 *' That was a very pretty compliment, 
 indeed," replied Fanny, " and quite fit 
 for the bowers of Eden ; but I should 
 run away from pure ignorance and in- 
 capacity, from positive distaste for < such 
 converse high.' " 
 
 " Distaste, perhaps, but not incapacity," 
 said Mr. Maitland. *' Shall I become the 
 champion of your sex, and contend for the 
 intellectual equality of man and woman ?"
 
 SIO GERALDINE. 
 
 " If you do,'' said Fanny, " you will argue 
 against your own conviction ; for there is, 
 at this moment, a sort of triumph in your 
 eyes — a smile upon your lip, that betrays 
 you." 
 
 " It is not worth contending for," said 
 Mr. Spenser. " The empire of the heart 
 is woman's ; and what avails the pre-emi- 
 nence of our judgment, when she can 
 charm it to sleep at will." 
 
 " You are mistaken," observed Mr. Mow- 
 bray ; " that day is long since gone by : 
 woman has ceased to be an enchantress, 
 and man to be enchanted." 
 
 ** Speak for yourself, if you please, 
 Sir,'^ said Mr. Spenser, playfully. " There 
 are resistless Armidas and Calypsos still 
 to be found." 
 
 " Do they not sometimes assume the 
 form of the golden calf?" returned Mr. 
 Mowbray. *« I am inclined to believe 
 that species of worship by no means pecu- 
 liar to the Israelites." 
 
 <' Your own experience might soften
 
 GERALDINE. 211 
 
 the severity of your satire, Mr. Mowbray," 
 said his lady. '' You certainly have had 
 no reason to calumniate the motives of the 
 young men of this generation." 
 
 " I speak from observation," replied 
 Mr. Mowbray. " My owm experience does 
 not alter the general fact. A man might 
 escape tlie plague in sixty-six ; yet who 
 would deny that it raged ?" 
 
 " Surely," continued Mrs. Mowbray, 
 ** you have too much originality to unite in 
 the common cry of the degeneracy of 
 modern times. One is so tired of a com- 
 plaint that has been made ever since the 
 days of Noah and Homer." 
 
 *' I am not to be bribed to silence by 
 your compliment, Mrs. Mowbray ; we will 
 lesive to wiser heads to decide w^hether the 
 world in general be getting progressively 
 better or worse ; but certainly this is a 
 money-loving age.^' 
 
 " I must acknowledge," said Mr. Mait- 
 land, « that there there is a substantial,
 
 212 GERALDINE. 
 
 avowed sort of selfishness in many of the 
 young men of the present day, at which a 
 mind of deUcacy revolts 5 but their eager- 
 ness to acquire fortune by marriage may 
 be attributed, not exactly to a miserly love 
 of wealth, but to an increased and increas- 
 ing love of the luxuries that wealth com- 
 mands." 
 
 " And is not the one," said Mr. Spen- 
 ser, <' as absorbing and disgusting as the 
 other ? 
 
 ** I scarcely know which is most degrad- 
 ing," added Montague. 
 
 " Fine philosophical flourishing indeed," 
 exclaimed Mr. Mowbray. *' It is easy for 
 those who command and enjoy all these 
 luxuries to talk of despising them. It was 
 easy enough for the poet to say, * Man wants 
 but little here below.' But who among the 
 present company would be content to be- 
 come * a gentle hermit of the dale,' and 
 live upon dew and water-cresses." 
 
 ** A hermitage without an Angelina would
 
 GERALDIXE. 213 
 
 be worse than Tartarus itself/' said Mr. 
 Spenser. 
 
 *« That is a privation that was felt, even 
 in Paradise," observed Montague. ** Amid 
 all the bliss and beauty of Eden, 
 
 Man, the hermit, sigh'd — till woman smiled." 
 
 <* Well, Montague," said Mr. Spenser, 
 *' you are heartily welcome to 
 
 The hairy gown, and mossy cell, 
 Where you may sit, and rightly spell 
 Of every star that heav'n doth shew, 
 And every herb that sips the dew." 
 
 " And, I make them over to Maitland," 
 said Montague, *' beechen bowl, 'and staff, 
 and scrip into the bargain." 
 
 '' Ah ! Mr. Maitland is half a hermit 
 already," exclaimed Fanny. " He will 
 have no objection to pass the day and night 
 in counting his beads. He does not love 
 the world and its ways." 
 
 <« Pardon me," said Mr. Maitland, << i 
 love the world so well, that I wish it to 
 adopt better ways." 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray now proposed music j and
 
 S14 GERALDINE. 
 
 Mr. Mowbray, who professed himself un- 
 able to distinguish a Scotch air from an 
 Irish jig, and who listened to ballad, catch, 
 and glee with equal reluctance, challenged 
 Mr. Beresford to a game at chess. 
 
 Geraldine sung with great simplicity and 
 pathos ; and she now selected those songs 
 which she knew her father admired. It 
 was the first time he had listened to them, 
 since Mrs. Beresford' s death ; and they 
 opened the * cells of memory' but too ef- 
 fectually. 
 
 ** It is for me to turn hermit, I think," 
 said he. 
 
 <« We will settle that," said Mr. Mow- 
 bray, whose eyes were riveted on the 
 board, " when we have finished our game. 
 A man who can make sucli a move as that, 
 has no right to talk of burying his talents 
 in a hermitage. It is the height of ingrati- 
 tude in a chess-player. The world must 
 still retain some charm for him, as long as 
 he can find a chess-board, and an an- 
 tagonist."
 
 GERALDINE. 215 
 
 " You are as formidable a one as ever, I 
 see,*' said Mr. Beresford. 
 
 " Yes, I flatter myself, we are well 
 matched," returned Mr. Mowbray. " If 
 you can abstract your thoughts from the 
 ditties and dances of that noisy party, we 
 have a chance of a glorious battle." 
 
 The young people collected round the 
 piano-forte, sung, played, and laughed to- 
 gether ; discussed the merits of musicians 
 and bards, from the days of Ossian, to those 
 of Burns and Moore, affirming, that the 
 two last threw both predecessors and con- 
 temporaries at an immeasurable distance. 
 
 Mr. Maitland cautiously ventured a word 
 of opposition. He was overwhelmed with 
 beautiful quotations, and silenced by ir- 
 resistible appeals to his taste and feelings.
 
 216 GERALDINE. 
 
 CHAP. XIX, 
 
 ** Geraldine/' said Fanny, when they 
 had separated from the party, and were 
 preparing to undress, " you warbled away 
 like a nightingale this evening, without 
 suspecting the misfortune that av/aits us." 
 «' What is it ?'* enquired Geraldine, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Why, we are to dine at Wentworth- 
 hall to-morrow. It is true, indeed ; Mr. 
 Wentworth rode over this morning, in de- 
 fiance of the gout, to enlist us all in his 
 service." 
 
 *< And Montague and his friend have 
 but two days more to remain with us," said 
 Geraldine. 
 
 «« And such a delectable friend, too!" 
 exclaimed Fanny. " Did you ever see such
 
 GERALDINE. ^17 
 
 eyes ? Can any thing be compared with 
 the animation of his countenance ? Did 
 you ever hear any thing hke his voice — 
 his eloquence? It puts me quite in a 
 Shakspearian mood to listen to him." 
 
 Geraldine, strange to relate, had seen 
 eyes she liked better. Fanny thought it 
 absolutely incredible. " Were they not 
 aine, dark, and penetrating ?" Geraldine 
 conceded all this ; but there was something 
 restless and wild in their expression. 
 
 Fanny pronounced this to be bright, 
 beaming genius, enough to kindle anima- 
 tion, even in marble. " As to his voice,'' 
 continued she, " did not I see you riveted 
 to the spot when he sung ? Did not you 
 pause when it was over, just like the Lady 
 of the Lake, as if again, 
 
 You thought to catch the witching strain, 
 With head upraised, and look intent, 
 And eye and ear attentive bent ?" 
 
 Geraldine acknowledged, that it was veiy 
 delightful to hear him sing. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 mS GBKALBINE. 
 
 " And still more to hear him talk/^ said 
 Fanny. 
 
 Geraldine demurred a little. She thought 
 it mther more delightful to hear Montague 
 talk. Fanny was seized with a second fit 
 of wondering. Montague was only a man 
 of taste; Mr. Spenser, a man of genius. 
 The one pleased, the other inspired you. 
 Geraldine wondered in her turn, and 
 blushed indignantly, in defence of Mon- 
 tague. 
 
 ** That blush is very becoming, and as 
 eloquent as you can desire it to be,^' said 
 Fanny. " I advise you by all means, my 
 -dear child, to cultivate that species of elo- 
 quence. It is always admired, and is cer- 
 tainly prodigiously comprehensive ; it may 
 be so prettily, so variously interpreted. The 
 gift of tongues is not more valuable." 
 
 " It only means," — said Geraldine, he- 
 sitating. 
 
 " Oh ! make no comment on it, pray," 
 retarnedFannyj <* a bungling interpretation 
 of a fine text is not endurable. I perfectly
 
 GERALDINE. 2iO 
 
 understand it j and there is pne point, my 
 dear little angry girl, we shall certainly 
 agree in," continued she, — " that it is a 
 great deal too provoking to be obliged to 
 waste one day out of the two that remain, 
 on fat smiling Mrs. Wentworth, and her 
 two silent insipid daughters/' 
 
 " Oh ! Helen's manners are certainly 
 very engaging," said Geraldine. 
 
 " She is an angel of light compared to 
 her sister, to be sure," repUed Fanny ; 
 *' but then, you know, she never reads any 
 thing but Thomas a Kempis, nor says any 
 thing but her prayers. As to that stiff, 
 stony. Miss Wentworth, she has so exactly 
 the look of a statue, that I am always in a state 
 of astonishment when she walks across the 
 room. I expect some day, her feet will 
 become rooted to the earth, and she will 
 turn into a pillar like Lot's w;ife." 
 
 " Montague says tliat they are very be- 
 nevolent ; and do a great deal of good,'* 
 observed Geraldine. 
 
 i< Very likely," replied Fanny, carelessly, 
 
 T o
 
 <* They may be remarkably fit for heaveii ^ 
 but they are, without exception, the dullest 
 people I ever met with on earth.'* 
 
 " What time do they dine ?" asked Ge- 
 raldine. 
 
 *< At four o'clock,'' returned Fannys 
 " Did you ever hear of such Gothic hours ? 
 The business of dinner will be over by six -, 
 and then Mrs. Wentworth will smile and 
 nod, and the ladies will adjourn to the 
 drawing-room, and gape, and * bestow their 
 tediousness' upon each other for about 
 three hours, till the ceremony of tea begins* 
 I dare say Mrs. Wentworth would think it 
 high treason against decorum, if any of the 
 gentlemen attempted to join us, before the 
 regular summons went forth^ 
 
 " At length, by the time we are half stu- 
 pified by ennui, and they are quite stupified 
 with wine, the party will meet again : then 
 there will be a temporary revival 5 the old 
 men will try to be witty, the young ones 
 to look degages, and the ladies affect to be 
 nonchalmites, and absorbed in each other
 
 GERALD INE. 2S1 
 
 quite unconscious of the approach of the 
 gentlemen, though tliey have been thinking 
 every minute an age till they appeared. 
 
 " After this farce has been enacted some 
 little time, the card-tables will appear, and 
 before there is time to arrange what game 
 is to be played, the carriages will be an- 
 nounced, and the courtesies and adieus per- 
 formed : — and this is the history of an 
 English country dinner-party. So, good 
 night, my dear. No wonder, it has almost 
 sent you to sleep/* 
 
 L S
 
 2^0. GERALDINE. 
 
 CHAP. XX. 
 
 A MORE striking contrast could not be 
 found, than that which existed between 
 Miss Wentworth and Fanny Mowbray. 
 — Light and shade, summer and winter, 
 were not more opposed. Dissimilar by 
 nature, education, and habit, they usually 
 met with regret, and parted with an in- 
 creased repugnance to each other. 
 
 Miss Wentworth's education had been 
 diametrically opposite to that of Fanny. 
 It had been conducted by a woman of rigid 
 principles and genuine piety, but of narrow 
 views and feeble judgment ; — wholly de- 
 stitute of a taste for general literature, which 
 she considered not merely as useless, but 
 pernicious. Gpntracted, gloomy, and in- 
 tolerant, her own peculiar view of Christi-
 
 GERALDINE. Q^S 
 
 unity was the standard by which she mea- 
 sured all around her ; and those who differed 
 from her either in faith or practice, were 
 condemned without hesitation or reserve. 
 No recollection of the possible fallibihty of 
 her own judgment ever occurred to qualify 
 an opinion, or soften a decision. 
 
 The modest andmoderate were astonished 
 and disgusted by the oracular and dog- 
 tnatical tone in which she pronounced 
 judgment. No one could be a Christian 
 according to her acceptation, who did not 
 enter into a frequent discussion of doctrinal 
 points ; and interweave in their conversation 
 a certain set of peculiar phrases. If they 
 abstained from this, she denounced them, 
 with a shake of her head, as worldly persons, 
 and nominal Christians, forming part of the 
 numerous class who were ' called, but not 
 chosen.' She could never be brought to 
 acknowledge, that there might be good 
 taste and right feeling in such silence. 
 She could not comprehend, and would not 
 believe, that it might originate in deep and 
 L 4
 
 ^Q4f GERALDIN^. 
 
 affectionate reverence, — in a reluctance 
 to profane, by familiarity, thingvS holy and 
 precious. She remembered, indeed^ the 
 * one thing needful -/ but forgot many things 
 that were 'lovely and of good report/ 
 
 With such qualifications and deficiencies. 
 Miss Vincent was received into Mr. Went- 
 worth's family, as preceptress to his 
 daughters. She was in reduced circum- 
 stances j an orphan, and distantly related 
 to him. Either of these claims would have 
 made their way to the heart of Mr. Went- 
 worth ; but when united, they induced him 
 to treat her with peculiar kindness and con- 
 sideration. He very soon discovered, in- 
 deed, that she added notlnng to the cheer- 
 fulness and comfort of his fire-side ; and 
 observed to his wife, that, to be sure. Miss 
 ^^incent was rather apt to give them too 
 much of a good thing, but she seemed kind 
 to the children, and, after all, too much 
 religion was better than too little. 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth, as was her invariable 
 practice, assented immediately to the truth
 
 GERALDINE. 2^ 
 
 of this observation. She rarely troubled 
 herself to differ from any one, and never 
 from her husband. There was a certain 
 imperturbility about the constitution of her 
 mind, which secured it from all conflict or 
 emotion. The history of an earthquake or 
 a ball, of a hurricane or a marriage-feast, 
 she listened to with equal attention, and 
 equal composure j and this inestimable 
 quality of mind enabled her to hear, 
 with patience, the long and energetic ha- 
 rangues of Miss Vincent, which she rarely 
 interrupted by comment or obsen'ation, 
 generally at their conclusion saying, with a 
 smile, I dare say it is all very true. She would 
 have said precisely the same, had she heard 
 a dissertation to prove the infallibihty of 
 the Pope, or the divine right of kings. 
 
 Miss Vincent perceived that her elo- 
 quence was not likely to be effectual with 
 the heads of the family. Mr. Wentworth 
 still continued, in spite of her gravity and 
 invective, to enjoy his joke and his rubber ; 
 j>nd his lady smiled and listened, and listened 
 L 5
 
 2^6 GERALDINEc 
 
 and smiled again, till Miss Vincent de- 
 clared that it was useless to cast * pearls 
 before swine.' 
 
 With the children, however, who were 
 entirely committed to her care, she had a 
 fairer chance of success. 
 
 Mrs. Went worth, upon intrusting them 
 to her, had made only one request ; which 
 was, that they might wear large bonnets to 
 skreen their faces from the sun, as she dis- 
 liked tan and freckles ; every thing else 
 was left wholly to Miss Vincent's discretion. 
 
 There was a considerable difference in 
 the age of the two sisters. Miss Wentworth 
 being the eldest, Helen the youngest of 
 the family. 
 
 At the period of Miss Vincent's intro- 
 duction, Mary had completed her tenth 
 year; and even at that early age, con- 
 siderable strength and vigour was observ- 
 able in the tone of her mind. It was de- 
 ficient in tenderness, and incapable of 
 sweetness ; but contained a mine of energy 
 that required only to be skilfully wrought. 
 
 15
 
 GERALDINE. 2^7 
 
 The effect of Miss Vincent's exclusive 
 system of education upon such a mind 
 may be easily imagined. The rays which 
 might have diffused a mild and benignant 
 light, if suffered to diverge, became fierce 
 and intolerable, when concentrated into 
 one point. Her ardour, confined to one 
 subject, displayed itself in a zeal more in- 
 tense than that of her preceptress, in pro- 
 portion to the strength of her character. 
 Her reading consisted chiefly of divines 
 whose views harmonised with those of 
 Miss Vincent. She could converse with 
 great clearness on the distinguishing doc- 
 trines of Christianity, and believed herself 
 to be expert in the practice of its duties ; 
 hut she was miserably deficient in that 
 gentle courtesy that springs from a truly 
 Christian spirit. 
 
 In her desire to prove that she was not 
 conformed to this w^orld. Miss AVentworth 
 mistook things indifferent for things for- 
 bidden, and thus brought a degree of 
 odium upon the cause she intended to sup- 
 L 6
 
 ^28 GERALDINE. 
 
 port. Cold, abstracted, rigid, and uncoil- 
 ceding, she frequently threw a gloom over 
 the domestic circle, which occasionally 
 drew upon her the raillery of her brothers, 
 and a blunt observation amounting to 
 something like reproof from her father ; 
 these were received with the air of a mar- 
 tyr ; and too deficient in practical humility 
 to imagine for a moment, that a shadow 
 of blame attached to herself, she gloried 
 in sustaining what she termed persecution, 
 with unvarying constancy. 
 
 Hers was the sort of fervid and exalted 
 faith which would have led her fearless 
 and triumphant to the burning stake, and 
 cross of martyrdom. All that she felt to 
 be her duty was performed with rigid ex- 
 actness J but her sense of this duty was 
 not sufficiently comprehensive. 
 
 She would pray devoutly for the eternal 
 happiness of her family, but it made no 
 part of her concern, to promote their tem- 
 poral comfort. Habitually negligent of 
 those small, sweet courtesies, which throw
 
 GERALDiNE. 2^9 
 
 H nameless charm over familiar intercourse, 
 her cheerless gravity wearied the young 
 and repelled the gay ; and produced, be- 
 sides, the mischievous effect of disgusting 
 them with pious conversation, and inspir- 
 ing a dread of all serious impressions. 
 
 If with religious principle, the benevo- 
 lent affections had been fostered and suf- 
 fered to expand, her life might have been 
 useful and lovely, even without an en- 
 larged education or refinement of taste j 
 had these been superadded, it would have 
 been bright and attractive, shedding a 
 powerful and beneficial influence over all 
 within its sphere. 
 
 Upon Helen, the youngest daughter, 
 naturally timid and affectionate, this sys- 
 tem of education produced an effect totally 
 dissimilar, and upon the whole less inju- 
 rious ; she had less vigour of understanding, 
 but a warmth and softness of heart, which 
 seemed to expand itself on all ar.ound hen 
 
 Miss Vincent though too conscientious 
 not to educate her in the strictest religious
 
 ^30 GEUALDINE, 
 
 principles, was very little satisfied with 
 the progress she made and frequently ex- 
 pressed doubts of her ultimate success. 
 
 As Helen's character unfolded, these 
 doubts increased, and she sometimes ob- 
 served with a sigh, that « Paul might 
 plant, and Apollos water, in vain. 
 
 There was certainly less that was fervid 
 and exclusive in the religious feelings of 
 Helen ; earthly affections played warmly 
 round her heart, but Miss Vincent's fears 
 and prognostics increased the natural timi- 
 dity of her character ; and instead of that 
 wholesome fear which is the beginning of 
 wisdom, poor Helen was haunted by a 
 dread of doing wrong, so incessant and 
 depressing, that it frequently prevented 
 her doing right. 
 
 She trod with trembling steps the nar- 
 row path prescribed to her, fearing even 
 to touch the flowers, which the bounty of 
 Heaven had scattered in her way. Gentle, 
 modest, and tender, her heart acknow- 
 ledged, the * thousand ties, which bind
 
 GERALDINE. 5281 
 
 our race in sympathy together,' and the 
 kmdliness of her nature displayed itself 
 in the exercise of all the charities of life, 
 but she did not share the happiness she 
 thus endeavoured to diffuse. Doubts, 
 fears, and disquietudes, preyed upon her 
 sensitive spirit, and there appeared so 
 strong a tendency to religious melancholy, 
 that Mr. AVentworth became uneasy, and 
 perceiving the effect without precisely un- 
 derstanding the cause, proposed change 
 of air, and scene, as essential to the health 
 of Helen. 
 
 They accordingly \dsited Southampton, 
 and before their return home he received 
 the welcome tidings that Miss Vincent 
 intended very soon to relinquish the situ- 
 ation she had so long held in his family. 
 
 Her brother, hitherto only curate of the 
 parish in which Mr. Wentworth resided, 
 had lately exchanged the curacy for an 
 excellent living ; and as Helen had com^ 
 pleted her sixteenth year, she felt no hesi- 
 tation in leaving her, and undertaking the
 
 £32 GERALDINE. 
 
 superintendance of Mr. Vincent's domestic 
 concerns. 
 
 Mr. Wentvvorth received Miss Vincent's 
 farewell courtesy, and listened to her fare- 
 well speech, though a long one, with sin* 
 gular complacency ; handed her with great 
 attention to the carriage, rubbed his hands 
 with delight when he had placed her in 
 it, and reiterated with much energy, his 
 hearty good wishes for her health and hap- 
 piness. 
 
 In the height of his joy at the prospect 
 of her departure, he settled upon her rather 
 a larger annuity than he intended ; but it 
 was so joyful and unexpected a deliverance, 
 that he could not be too grateful to her for 
 having effected it. 
 
 Miss Went worth considered her separ- 
 ation from this early friend, as a peculiarly 
 heavy trial ; but the constant habit of re- 
 pressing and subjugating every emotion and 
 feehng, prevented her indulging expressions 
 of regret, at once natural and graceful ; 
 and she took leave of Miss Vincent with a
 
 GERALDINE. QS3 
 
 composed countenance and tearless eye, 
 which would have done honoiu: to a philo- 
 sopher of the Stoic school. 
 
 Helen, on the contrary, hung over her 
 with a tenderness hitherto unfelt, and un- 
 suspected. In the moment of parting, 
 memory conjured up all the little acts of 
 care and kindness she had received, and 
 alternately weeping and embracing her, 
 she promised to remember all her counsels, 
 and assured her, again and again, that she 
 should never forget her. 
 
 Miss Vincent, * albeit, unused to the 
 melting mood,' could not resist the infection 
 of this tenderness, and a tear or two gathered 
 in her eye as she solemnly commended the 
 drooping Helen to the care of her sister. 
 
 Mrs. Went worth alone, felt neither joy 
 nor sorrow at the event. Thirteen years 
 before, she had received Miss Vincent into 
 her family with a complacent smile ; and 
 the same complacent smile beamed over 
 her countenance, the same tranquillity sat 
 upon her brow on receiving her parting
 
 S34 GERALDINE. 
 
 compliments. She sat down to her work 
 the moment the carriage drove from the 
 door, calmly observing to Helen, " that she 
 had better not cry,'^ and entirely insensible 
 to Mr. Wentworth's unrestrained joy. 
 
 Mr. Vincent, however, still remained. 
 The new curate was not arrived ; and he 
 had some arrangements to make, which 
 detained him a little longer. He bore a 
 very close resemblance to his sister, in per- 
 son, manners, and opinions 5 and estim- 
 ating the importance of his clerical pri- 
 vileges very highly, his reproofs were rather 
 more indiscriminate, and his manners more 
 austere than hers. 
 
 He was a frequent guest at Mr. Went- 
 worth's ; who, out of respect, as he declared, 
 to Miss Vincent and the church, endured 
 his visits with exemplary patience ; though 
 they often deepened the gloom w4iich too 
 frequently clouded the cheerfulness of his 
 home.
 
 GERALDIKE, 535 
 
 CHAP. XXL 
 
 Mr. Went worth's house was only iive 
 miles distant from Woodlands ; but Mrs. 
 Mowbray proposed ordering the carriages 
 early, andtakinga circuitous route, by which 
 they might command a view of some of the 
 most beautiful features of the surrounding 
 country. 
 
 The barouche was appropriated to the 
 young party, who were to call at the par- 
 sonage for Mr. Maitland ; while Mr. and 
 Mrs. Mowbray, with Mr. Beresford, pre- 
 ceded them in his travelling chariot. 
 
 It was one of those still, soft, clear au- 
 tumnal days, which succeed a misty morn- 
 ing, having the radiance and beauty of sum- 
 mer, without its glow and ardour. The 
 gossamer, like fairy net-work, glistened in
 
 ^36 GERALDINE. 
 
 the bright sun-beam, and the robin perched 
 on the tawney bough, poured forth his 
 clear and meUifluous note. 
 
 *« Can any mortal, in his senses,'* ex- 
 claimed Mr. Spenser, " deny the powerful 
 influence of a genial atmosphere. There 
 are moments in which the mere sense of ex- 
 istence, is in itself happiness.'* 
 
 '* Yes,'* said Montague, '* in the frame 
 of mind produced by such a day as this, it 
 would be difficult to persuade us. 
 
 That man was made to mourn,^* 
 
 ** I believe it possible," said Mr. Mait- 
 land, " occasionally to feel * sentient alone 
 of outward nature,' to be so satisfied with 
 her loveliness, as to forget for a season, the 
 existence of pain and evil j but these feel- 
 ings must, of course, he transient ; and we 
 shall do well to rest our happiness on a 
 foundation somewhat firmer than the fickle 
 temperature of a capricious climate." 
 
 " You will not deny, Mr. Maitland," 
 said Fanny, «* that a quick and exquisite
 
 perception of the beauty of nature, is po^ 
 sitive happiness." 
 
 " Oh! how are those dull souls to be 
 pitied/^ added Mr. Spenser, *« who doubt 
 that truth ; who catch no inspiration from 
 the voice of Nature ; who are insensible to 
 the thousand ineffable sweets, and gentle 
 harmonies she presents on every side." 
 
 ** They are not to be envied, indeed," 
 replied Mr. Maitland, calmly ; " but yet, 
 you will often find that these keen per- 
 ceptions interfere with the happiness of 
 their possessor. Who was ever more alive 
 to every little beauty, to each sublime fea- 
 ture of the creation than Burns ? and yet 
 he came to the pensive conclusion you find 
 it so difficult to believe. 
 
 That man was made to mourn. 
 
 Who has a nicer, a more exquisite per- 
 ception of the beauties of nature and art, 
 than the author of Childe Harold ? and yet, 
 if his own acknowledgments are to be 
 believed, he is but too far from felicity." 
 "The happiness enjoyed by minds of
 
 ^58 GERALDINE. 
 
 this cast,*' rejoined Montague, ''cannot, 
 must not be measured by a common stand- 
 ard. They have their own pecuHar joys 
 and woes, not to be penetrated or un- 
 derstood by minds of a less ethereal 
 mould. To me they appear hallowed and 
 sacred ; nor have I, a mere dull son of earth, 
 the presumption to attempt coldly and 
 calmly to estimate them j but, however in- 
 tense either the one or the other, who would 
 exchange them for the monotonous calm of 
 dulness ?" 
 
 «« We had better run the risk of a ship- 
 wreck," said Fanny, " than pass all the 
 days of our lives on the sullen waters of the 
 Dead'Sea." 
 
 " Do not mistake me," said Mr. Mait- 
 land : "I only desire to prove that some- 
 thing more than the finest taste, something 
 beyond the most consummate genius, is 
 necessary to shield and fortify the heart 
 against the pangs ' that flesh is heir to.' " 
 
 A turn in the road suddenly presented 
 to them a scene so richly varied, that ex-
 
 GPRALDINE. ^9 
 
 ciamaiiOiis of admiration and delight were 
 heard from every mouth. 
 
 A gentle and easy descent conducted 
 them through one of those glades of the 
 New Forest, at all times beautiful and ma- 
 jestic, now glowing with the finest hues of 
 autumn. The mightv forest rose like an 
 amphitheatre around them, exhibiting every 
 possible variety of tint, displaying altern- 
 ately the richest contrast and the softest 
 gradation. In the fore-groimd, which was 
 partly thrown into deep shadow by the 
 spreading branches of the oaks, the deer 
 were either frolicking or pausing in patient 
 expectation of the falling aconis. The 
 sun-beams cast a flood of radiance over the 
 tufted heads of the steep woods, bright en- 
 iag and deepening every glowing leaf ; and 
 over the whole scene reigned that peculiar 
 stillness, in which 'the leaf shed from the^ 
 aerial spray, scarce quivering, drops 
 tiirough the lul?d atmosphere.' 
 
 " Autumn,'' said Fanny, "is an en- 
 chanting season, in England, as well as in
 
 240 GERALDINE* 
 
 France. Here, it is magnificent and im- 
 posing ; there, gay and smiling." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Spenser, " those who 
 have a taste for happy faces must dehght 
 in the season of the vintage. The natural 
 ease and unconquerable cheerfulness of the 
 French character rise then to hilarity : all 
 is bustle and animation. The song and 
 the laugh resound on every side ; and the 
 work is accomplished apparently without 
 effort or fatigue." 
 
 " There is such an air of festivity dif- 
 fused over the whole scene," added Fainiy, 
 " that I used to fancy, while contemplat- 
 ing it, that I had what the French call a 
 'vocatio7i\pour la vie champetreJ^^ 
 
 " The ardour of this vocation abated, I 
 suppose, as the winter approached," said 
 Montague. 
 
 " Yes," returned Fanny : " I found, 
 probably, like most other people, that it 
 was all an illusion. It generally grew fainter 
 at the fall of the leaf, and entirely ceased 
 with the first shower of snow j and I con-
 
 GERALDINTB. 241 
 
 trived, with the help of les bak and lea 
 spectacles^ Moliere and Racine, le theatre 
 Irangois and the salle cV opera, to enjoy 
 life through the winter.*' 
 
 " And did not your taste for rustic 
 pleasures revive in the spring?" asked Ge- 
 raldine. 
 
 " Why, I am not quite certain,*' replied 
 Fanny. ** I rather think my heart lingered 
 and loitered among the gaieties of Paris^ 
 and that, I cared but Uttle for the prim- 
 roses and violets.** 
 
 " And yet,*' said Mr. Spenser, «« I 
 should have expected that the gaiety, the 
 freslAess, the youthful graces of spring 
 would have harmonised better with a mind 
 like yours, than the more mellow charms 
 of autumn.** 
 
 " If your taste were unadulterated,*' 
 observed Mr. Maitland, " you would be 
 peculiarly alive to the hope and gladness 
 diffused by spring ; but a constant succes- 
 sion of noisy pleasures is as fatal to taste» 
 as it is to the higher purposes of life," 
 
 VOL. I. ' M
 
 S42 GERALDINE. 
 
 " So, as a reward for my candour, you 
 take upon you gravely to arraign my taste," 
 said Fanny ; « 1 cannot help it ; I confess, 
 that I prefer the idle tales and glozing 
 words of man, to the melody of the woods 
 and the murmur of the streams." 
 
 " Why should a taste for the pleasures of 
 society be condemned ?" said Mr. Spenser. 
 
 " We have high authority, have we 
 not," said Fanny, smiling, " for being oc- 
 casionally pleased with crowded cities, and 
 the * busy hum of men? ' " 
 
 " We have, indeed," returned Mr. 
 Spenser ; *' and I think Mr. Maitland plays 
 the part of censor rather unnecessarily. 
 That happy versatility, which can equally 
 enjoy solitude, and embellish society, is, in 
 my opinion, to be admired and coveted, 
 rather than censured." 
 
 " There rise the chimneys of Wentworth 
 Hall 1" exclaimed Fanny. " Now, Mr. Mait- 
 land, I will be as sentimental and romantic 
 as you please ; for I should infinitely prefer 
 dining with the deer, or supping with
 
 GERALDINE. 243 
 
 the fairies, to being shut up with three of 
 the dullest women in Christendom." 
 
 "Is not this a fine approach, Mr. Spenser ? 
 The old mansion-house looks quite mag- 
 nificent : — so well sheltered and sub- 
 stantial." 
 
 " And the church on the right, is beau- 
 tifully situated," said Geraldine. 
 
 " By-the-by," said Fanny, " I should 
 not be surprised, if that croaking, melan- 
 choly Mr. Vincent is there, with his never- 
 ending grace. I suppose, he does it to win 
 Miss Wentworth's heart ; for she precisely 
 resembles the Pharisees of old, in their taste 
 for long prayers. They would make a 
 charming paii'. I hope he will be there ; 
 for I want to get a sketch of his face ; you 
 will know him directly by my description, 
 Mr. Spenser." 
 
 " Oh ! a parish register," replied he, 
 " could not be more inteUigible." 
 
 " Miss Mowbray," said Mr. Maitland, 
 gravely, ** you are doing yourself injustice; 
 M 2
 
 244 GERALDINE, 
 
 you are trying to persuade us that you caf« 
 be ill-natured and malevolent." 
 
 A slight blush passed over Fanny's cheek; 
 with her, it was the hectic of a moment, 
 but Mr. Spenser's glowed with indignation. 
 
 ** Conversation would lose much of its 
 spirit and playfulness, Sir," said he, turning 
 to Mr. Maitland, *« if subject to the rigid 
 rules you seem inclined to establish." 
 
 •* The rule of charity," returned Mr. 
 Maitland, quietly, " can never be dispensed 
 with ; and Miss Mowbray will pardon my 
 availing myself of the privilege of an old 
 acquaintance, even though I venture now 
 and then to tell her a disagreeable truth. 
 She runs no risk of being often thus an- 
 noyed, in her commerce with the world." 
 
 " Make use of your privileges, by all 
 means," said Fanny ; " I would not abridge 
 them for the world ; I promise pardon with 
 all my heart, but not amendment : — that," 
 said she, with one of her brightest smiles, 
 «« would be too rash."
 
 <5ERALDINE. 
 
 245 
 
 Mr. Spenser, envied Mr. Maitland the 
 privileges he boasted, and still more the 
 sunny smile with which they were ac- 
 knowledged. He sprang out of the car- 
 riage the moment it stopped, lest he should 
 fancy it one of his privileges to hand lier 
 out, and secure a seat by her side. 
 
 Mr. Maitland, however, had no intention 
 of contesting the point. He left the prize 
 to Mn Spenser, and attended Geraldine. 
 
 M 3
 
 Ud 
 
 GERALDINE, 
 
 CHAP. XXIL 
 
 liJE interior of Wentworth-hall corre- 
 sponded with its external appearance. All 
 was handsome, substantial, and useful: 
 the rooms lofty and spacious ; some com- 
 manding views of the distant country; 
 others confining the eye to the fine woods, 
 and majestic scenery of the park. 
 
 The furniture, neither modern nor dis- 
 posed with taste, seemed to have been 
 chosen with a view to comfort and durabi- 
 lity, rather than elegance. 
 
 In the large old-fashioned hall, through 
 which they were conducted, an ample fire 
 was already blazing ; and several dogs, 
 tired with the sports of the morning, were 
 stretched before it. Guns and trophies of
 
 GERALDINE. ^7 
 
 the chace were ranged around. The dogs 
 started up on their appearance, gave 
 themselves a rousing shake, and clamour- 
 ously announced their arrival- 
 Mr, Wentworth came forward amidst the 
 din, and bidding them welcome by a hearty 
 shake of the hand, accompanied them to 
 the room where the rest of the party were 
 assembled. It consisted of their own and 
 one neighbouring family, Mrs. Wentworth 
 and her daughters, and Mr. Vincent, the 
 clergyman, of whom Fanny had spoken 
 with so little reverence. 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth received her guests with 
 a cordial smile ; and the eye rested with 
 pleasure on a countenance of such perfect 
 serenity, that it seemed never, even for a 
 moment, to have been ruffled by care or 
 emotion. 
 
 Miss Wentworth's reception was civil, 
 cold, and grave : Helen's, timid and con- 
 strained. 
 
 " I don't see Ma'am'selle Dubourg," 
 said Mr, Wentworth, approaching Mrs. 
 M 4
 
 MS GERALDINE, 
 
 Mowbray, after looking round at the party ; 
 ** I hope she is well." 
 
 " Perfectly well, I believe," said Mrs. 
 Mowbray ; ** and perfectly happy, I con- 
 clude ; for she is visiting a French family, 
 just arrived from Paris." 
 
 " I was afraid she might have remained 
 at home, under the notion, that I did not 
 particularly desire her company," said Mr. 
 Went worth. 
 
 " Oh ! my dear Sir, Mademoiselle Du- 
 bourg never distresses herself with any 
 notions of that sort ; she lives so constantly 
 in her own good graces, that she thinks it 
 quite a matter of course, to live in those of 
 other people." 
 
 " I don't pretend to take her absence 
 much to heart," observed Mr. Wentworth ; 
 *' but 1 should be very glad to see any 
 friend of yours, whether English or French, 
 putting the English first, which is but fair 
 and natural." 
 
 " Thank you," said Mrs. Mowbray ; 
 " and I promise, in return, to receive all
 
 GERALDINE, ^49 
 
 yours, whether EngUsh, French, Dutcii, 
 Oerman, Moorish, or Spanish, without en- 
 •quiry or distinction.'* 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Wentworth, " I shall 
 have the pleasure of introducing my boys 
 to you to-day ; you have not seen them fof 
 some time. Where are they ?" said he, ad- 
 dressing himself to his lady. 
 
 ** They will be here in a few minutes, I 
 suppose, '^ replied Mrs. Wentworth. ** They 
 have been out shooting all the morning, 
 and were not fit to be seen till they had 
 changed their dress." 
 
 ** 1 congratulate you," said Mrs. Mow- 
 bray ; *' pray, when did the/ arrive ? To 
 have them at home together, is rather a 
 rare event, is it not ?" 
 
 " It is indeed," replied Mrs. Went- 
 worth. 
 
 <* I believe," said her husband, ** the 
 sight of them did more good to my gout 
 than this famous French medicine is ever 
 likely to do. It got better from the moment 
 they arrived. We shall keep Harry among 
 M 6
 
 ^0 GERALDlNfi. 
 
 US, for a month at least, I hope ; but if 
 there is any thing doing in the fighting 
 way, he will be anxious to run away from 
 us again." 
 
 «* What a relief must his arrival be to 
 you, Mrs. Wentworth,*' said Fanny, with 
 * malice propense.' " I dare say you 
 never open a newspaper in comfort during 
 his absence." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I read them every day," 
 replied she. " I try not to think about 
 him ; you know it would be of no use." 
 
 " Such practical philosophy is quite en- 
 viable," said Mrs. Mowbray. 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth smiled benevolently; 
 the young men at this moment entered 
 the room, and greetings were exchanged 
 on all sides. The manners of Henry, a 
 lieutenant in the navy, were frank and 
 warm ; those of his elder^brother Edmund, 
 who was preparing for the bar, lively, gay, 
 and gentlemanly. He seated himself 
 between Fanny and Geraldine, giving 
 them a ludicrous history of the morning's
 
 GERALDINE. ^61 
 
 sport, and of the diit and difficulties in 
 which they had been plunged by the rest- 
 less activity of Henry. 
 
 " I would put myself under his protec- 
 tion with pleasure in an encounter with 
 the enemy," said he j " but he does nothing 
 but mischief on a shooting excui'sion ; 
 he is sure to make a noise when he should 
 be quiet, and to move when he ought to 
 be stiU/' 
 
 " Edmund has taken care to secui'e a 
 snug birth for himself between the two 
 prettiest girls in the room,*' said Henry, 
 who was seated between Miss Wentworth 
 and Mr. Vincent. " Those lawyers dis- 
 cover a pretty girl as dexterously as a 
 flaw in an indictment, I wish I could 
 cajole him into making an exchange. 
 .** Edmund, my good fellow," said he, 
 " don't you wish to have a peep at the fine 
 view from this window? I will change 
 seats with you with pleasure." 
 
 « Oh, you are too good," replied Ed- 
 M 6
 
 25^ GERALDINE. 
 
 mund, smiling, " but 1 won't trouble you ; 
 1 am perfectly satisfied with my situation." 
 
 " Why, Mary," said Henry, turning to 
 his sister ; " you look as grave as a sailor 
 does when he is clearing the ship for 
 action ; do follow Miss Mowbray's example ; 
 she smiles as if the victory were gained : 
 and many a victory she will gain with 
 those eyes of hers, if I am not mistaken." 
 
 " Every body may not be of your opi- 
 nion," said Miss Wentworth, coldly. 
 
 <* What say you, Mr. Vincent ?" said 
 Henry. ** What effect do Miss Mowbray's 
 eyes produce upon you ? Does not your 
 heart quiver and quake when you catch 
 a glance from them ?" 
 
 Mr. Vincent replied only by a look of 
 astonishment highly diverting to Henry. 
 
 " What, you don't like to confess all the 
 pangs they make you suffer; you don't 
 like to acknowledge that you dream of 
 them all night, and write sonnets about 
 them all day."
 
 GERALDINE. 253 
 
 Mr. Vincent began formally to defend 
 himself from this preposterous charge. 
 
 *« How the deuce, then," continued 
 Henry, *' do you contrive to get rid of 
 your time here in the country, if you 
 neither hunt, shoot, nor fall in love ? I 
 intend to do all three." 
 
 Mr. Vincent \vas spared the trouble of 
 replying, by a summons to dinner, which 
 was served up with hospitable profusion, 
 rather than elegance. Mr. Wentworth 
 hoped, with rather an ironical smile, that 
 Mrs. Mowbray would be able to make a 
 dinner, though his cook was not so well 
 versed in making French kickshaws as her 
 own." 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth, commending the ladies 
 to the care of the gentlemen, and entreat- 
 ing the gentlemen to take care of them- 
 selves, presided at the head of the table 
 in silent complacency. 
 
 Henry had manoeuvred himself into a 
 seat next to Fanny. 
 
 Geraldine, placed between Mr. Mait-
 
 S54 GERALD INE. 
 
 land and Edmund Wentworth, felt soriy 
 when the smile and nod that Fanny had 
 predicted, summoned the ladies to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth, upon reaching it, 
 stirred the fire, and remarked that the 
 evening was cold. The ladies coincided. 
 They thought it remarkably cold for the 
 time of year. There was a long pause. 
 
 " Mrs. Wentworth," said Mrs. Mow- 
 bray, vainly endeavouring to suppress a 
 gape, " I must take the liberty of admir- 
 ing your cap. It is too stylish to have 
 been fabricated in the country. Will you 
 indulge me with a pattern of it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth readily assented ; and 
 another pause ensued. 
 
 " Do you mean to attend the county 
 ball next week ?" said Mrs. Sydney. 
 
 « If I have no better engagement," re- 
 plied Mrs. Mowbray j ** but they are sad 
 dull things." 
 
 *< Oh! but we are to have plenty of 
 beaux, I understand," said Miss Sydney, 
 in a tone which she intended to be exhi-
 
 GERALD INE. 255 
 
 larating, " I hope you go, Miss Went- 
 worth ?" 
 
 Miss Wentworth did not like dancing, 
 and never went to balls. 
 
 " Well, that is the oddest thing," ex- 
 claimed Miss Sydney ; ** but, I dare say, 
 your brothers Hke them well enough." 
 
 Miss Wentworth knew nothing of the 
 matter. 
 
 <* Do you dislike balls, Miss Mowbray ?" 
 
 " No, indeed : I like them so well, that 
 I think a county one better than none at 
 all," answered Fanny ; '* but I don't sup- 
 pose we shall be there. Montague and Mr, 
 Spenser leave us the day after to-morrow ; 
 and I don't think my father and Mr. Beres- 
 ford likely to be pressed into the service." 
 
 Various efforts were made on the part of 
 Mrs. Mowbray and Fanny to support some- 
 thing like a conversation; but they all 
 proved so vain and ineffectual; subjects 
 were so soon dispatched and exhausted, 
 that at length they reUnquished all hope of 
 success ; and there was another long pause.
 
 S56 GERALDINE, 
 
 Fanny and Geraldine exchanged looks, 
 
 '* Mrs. Yv^ent worth," exclaimed Fanny, 
 suddenly rising ; " will you allow me to 
 introduce my cousin to your ancestors ? I 
 know where to find them." 
 
 " By all means, my dear," replied Mrs. 
 Went worth ; " but I am afraid they will 
 not be seen to advantage by candle-light. 
 You had better ring the bell for Mason to 
 attend you." 
 
 <* Oh ! we shall do very well, thank you, 
 without troubling Mason," said Fanny, 
 liurrying off: " 1 know the family history 
 as well as she does." 
 
 They escaped into an adjoining room ; 
 and Fanny, carefully shutting the door, 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 ** Did you ever know any thing so in- 
 sufferable as those people? If I had not 
 thought of this manoeuvre, I should have 
 fallen fast asleep in a minute. Why, you 
 don't imagine, my dear," said she, seeing 
 Geraldine walk towards the pictures, " that , 
 I really wanted to show you this stiff race ; 
 
 10
 
 GERALDINE. 257 
 
 but look at them, if you please. That 
 young gentleman, of ten years of age, 
 with his wig, and sword, and great dog, 
 is at any rate as entertaining as Miss 
 Wentworth :" -— she stopped, for the door 
 opened, and Helen came forward to offer 
 assistance and explanation. It was impos- 
 sible not to be pleased with the gentleness 
 of her manners and the sensibility of her 
 countenance. 
 
 ** Pray do the honours, Helen, to your 
 great-grand-fathers, and fifteenth cousins, 
 you will do them much better than I 
 shall." said Fanny. 
 
 " I can do nothing half so well," replied 
 Helen, with genuine humility ; ** but I 
 am anxious to spare you the trouble." 
 
 She walked round the room with Geral- 
 dine, while Fanny amused herself with 
 stirring the fire, snuffing the candles, and 
 wondering whether it would ever be eight 
 o'clock. From this employment she was 
 roused by the voice of Henry Wentworth 
 urging his mother to abridge the usual
 
 258 GERALDINE. 
 
 interval and order the tea, complaining that 
 it was dreadful dull work lying at anchor 
 in the dining-room. In another minute he 
 was by Fanny's side, talking over the 
 practicability of dancing after tea, and 
 measuring the room with long impatient 
 strides. 
 
 Fanny thought it perfectly practi- 
 cable ; and in the interim sat down to the 
 piano-forte, and played some inspiring 
 waltzes.
 
 GERALDINE. 259 
 
 CHAP. XXIII. 
 
 Iea at length appeared, and the sound 
 of the instrument attracted the young 
 men towards Fanny ; they clustered round. 
 
 " Why, Harry," said Edmund, to his 
 brother, " you are gazing as intently as 
 the maid of France did on the Apollo." 
 
 « Oh, I am a dead man !" exclaimed 
 Henry ; " done for completely." 
 
 " The frequency of this event annihi- 
 lates sympathy," replied his brother. " I 
 have always a secret hope of your resur- 
 rection : like Garrick, you die one half- 
 hour, and are seen playing a farce the 
 next." 
 
 <* He jests at scars, that never felt a 
 wound," said Henry, placing his hand on 
 his heart.
 
 !^60 ©ERALDINE. 
 
 " Such wounds, indeed!'* echoed Ed- 
 mund. " They are like those of Eneas : 
 some kind Venus is always at hand to cure 
 them." 
 
 <' Look at her," exclaimed Henry ; " see 
 how she is smiling upon that happy dog, 
 that Spenser." 
 
 *' I am looking at Miss Beresford," 
 said Edmund j " though she does not kill 
 at a blow, she is very likely to make one 
 die by inches." 
 
 " Miss Beresford is a mere child," 
 replied Henry. " There is a dawn of 
 beauty to be sure ; but Fanny ! on ! Fanny 
 Mowbray — is — " 
 
 <« Beauty's self, of course," added his 
 brother. ** Your Cynthia of the minute 
 is generally a piece of radiant and match- 
 less perfection." 
 
 The young party now collected to 
 arrange, what could, or could not be 
 achieved in the dancing way. Fanny pro- 
 nounced their numbers too few for country- 
 dances j but a quadrille might certainly be
 
 OERALDINE. S6l 
 
 accomplished. Mrs. Mowbray would play 
 as long as they liked ; and she busied her- 
 self in marshalling the dancers. 
 
 Mr. Spenser had already secured Fanny, 
 and Edmund Wentworth, Geraldine ; 
 Henry, was obliged to be contented with 
 Miss Sydney, notwithstanding her want 
 of beauty, which, in the eyes of sucli 
 an idolater, was little short of a crime ; 
 Montague, was in quest of a partner. Per- 
 haps Miss Wentworth would make the 
 eighth ? Miss Wentworth peremptorily de- 
 clined, and seemed to think herself polluted 
 by the entreaty. Montague hoped Helen 
 would be less obdurate, 
 
 Helen, fearful of doing wrong, and re- 
 luctant to disoblige, blushed, looked at her 
 aister, regretted in a low tone that she 
 could not dance quadrilles, and was at 
 length persuaded to try. 
 
 Mr. Vincent and Miss "vrentworth inter- 
 changed glances of alarm. Mr. Maitland 
 sat near them, watching the graceful figures 
 of Fanny and Geraldine, with an air of
 
 262 GERALDINE. 
 
 complacency which seemed to increase the 
 irritation of his neighbours. Mr. Maitland 
 observed, ** that it was an elegant dance ; 
 more graceful, and less monotonous than 
 country-dances, and Mr. Vincent, unable to 
 restrain his indignation, commenced the 
 attack. 
 
 " It appears lamentable to me. Sir," 
 said he, " that, as a Christian minister, you 
 should sanction, by your approbation, 
 amusements of this nature." 
 
 « I hope," replied Mr. Maitland, « that 
 I am as little friendly to dissipation as 
 yourself, but in a private party like this, 
 associated for purposes of recreation, where 
 seriousness and solemnity would be out of 
 place, I think the amusement they have 
 chosen, quite as harmless as any other." 
 
 '< I think so too," observed Mr. Went- 
 worth. " I don't see what they can do 
 better ; and I don't think it any particular 
 proof of sense, especially'in a young person," 
 continued he, looking at his daughter, *« to 
 pretend to be wiser than Solomon himself,
 
 GERALDINE. 263 
 
 and he has declared, that there is a * time 
 to dance.' Can you deny that ?'* 
 
 *« You may as well tell me, Sir," said 
 Mr. Vincent, "that it is right to have seven 
 hundred wives, and three hundred concu- 
 bines, because Solomon thought proper to 
 have them. I maintain, that the tendency 
 of dancing, is at all times, and in all places, 
 highly mischievous." 
 
 " If such be your opinion," observed 
 Mr. Maitland, *' your opposition is per- 
 fectly consistent ; but, I think, time and 
 place are material circumstances in this 
 question." 
 
 " Too many professors of the present 
 day," said Mr. Vincent, ** are indefatigable 
 in weakening the separation which ought 
 for ever to be maintained between them- 
 selves and the world ; they would do well 
 to calculate the awful consequences of such 
 temporising." 
 
 *' Is it not to be feared," replied Mr. 
 Maitland, calmly, ** that an overstrained 
 rigidity may repel, instead of alluring ; that
 
 ^64 GERALDINE. 
 
 the young and gay may recoil, and the 
 timid shrink from a path involved in un- 
 necessary gloom ?'' 
 
 " Sir," said Mr. Vincent, " you can 
 never make the road to heaven, a ** prim- 
 rose path of dalliance." 
 
 ** It is, I hope, not un frequently a path 
 of pleasantness and peace," returned Mr. 
 Maitland. 
 
 " I suppose, Sir," said Mr. Vincent, with 
 a sneer, " that, as your toleration is so ex- 
 tensive, it comprehends theatrical enter- 
 tainments, and all their abominable et- 
 ceteras." 
 
 " Not their abominable et-ceteras," re- 
 plied Mr. Maitland ; " but if our theatres 
 were better regulated, I think the stage 
 might be extremely useful." 
 
 " It will never be any l^hing," exclaimed 
 Mr. Vincent, " but a hot-bed for vice and 
 voluptuousness." 
 
 At this moment, the quadrille finished, 
 and the party assembled round the dis- 
 putants.
 
 GERALDINE. 265 
 
 ^« The very atmosphere is contagious," 
 continued Mr. Vincent ; <' a joung man 
 may as well trust himself in a den of lions, 
 as within the walls of a theatre." 
 
 *< And yet," observed Montague, *< men 
 of high morality, and whose religious prin- 
 ciples it would be somewhat rash to question, 
 have honoured the drama, not only with 
 their sanction but with theii' assistance. 
 Can any one doubt the piety of Milton ? 
 and yet he has left us his delicious Comus. 
 May we not still learn of Johnson, how to 
 live, and of Addison, how to die ; though 
 they both wrote for the stage." 
 
 *« To these great names," observed Mr. 
 Maitland, " I may add that of a lady, whose 
 pure and enlightened piety you cannot but 
 appreciate ; whose talents are acknow- 
 ledged by all parties ; whose soundness of 
 judgment none can deny. We are indebted 
 to Mrs. More for the chaste and affecting 
 tragedy of Percy." 
 
 ** The authors you have enumerated, Sir," 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 ^66 GERALDINE. 
 
 said Mr. Vincent, " were human, and con- 
 sequently liable to errors of judgment." 
 
 ^* And you. Sir, are also human," said 
 Henry Wentworth, bowing to him with af- 
 fected gravity; " and consequently liable, I 
 presume, to errors of judgment." 
 
 Mr. Vincent frowned ; and the rest of 
 the party, with the exception of Mr. Mait- 
 land, smiled. 
 
 *< Do you imagine, Sir," said Mr. Spen- 
 ser, " that the world would have been^wiser 
 or better, if Shakspeare had never existed ? 
 Was not his towering and matchless genius, 
 the gift of Heaven itself? Would he have 
 done well to bury this precious and peculiar 
 talent in the earth ?" 
 
 *« Genius, Sir," replied Mr. Vincent, 
 " may dazzle us with its splendour, but it 
 cannot alter facts. 1 believe I am not 
 singular in considering theatrical establish- 
 ments to be engines of de\ilish power, pro- 
 ducing the most fatal and pernicious effects. 
 Whoever, therefore, contributes to increase 
 their fascinations, had better, in my opinion, 
 never have existed."
 
 GERALDINE. 26? 
 
 ** 1 consider that to be a point which it 
 does not become us to decide,'* said Mr. 
 Maitland. " Let us leave the use and 
 abuse of talents to he judged by Him who 
 gave them." 
 
 " Are you intimately acquainted with 
 the authors you so uncharitably condemn ?'* 
 enquired Montague. " Have you balanced 
 their merits and defects, with a very nice 
 hand?" 
 
 Mr. Vincent hoped that he had some- 
 thing of moi'e importance to attend to, than 
 such idle nonsense. 
 
 " Then we will not hail you as a * wise 
 young judge — a second Daniel.' A man 
 born blind might as well attempt to talk of 
 the radiant colours of the sky ; or one 
 born deaf, to decide upon the effects of 
 harmony." 
 
 " We, who know what it is to have all 
 the generous sympathies of our nature 
 awakened by theatrical exhibitions 5 who 
 have felt our admiration of all that is sub- 
 lime in mind, or touching in morality, 
 N 2
 
 S68 GERALDINE. 
 
 quickened by the combined genius of a 
 great poet and a great actor, are not likely 
 to be much impressed by the anathemas of 
 mere prejudice." 
 
 " Sir," said Mr. Vincent, rallying stur^ 
 dily against his host of opponents, « the 
 slight momentary impulses of which you 
 speak, scarcely affect the question at all 5 
 they may be bad as well as good. The sym- 
 pathy excited by the tragedy of the Rob. 
 bers, which induced some young men of 
 rank to associate for the purpose of robbing 
 in the forests of Bohemia, was not much to 
 be prized." 
 
 " The absurdities of the German school 
 are not the question now," returned Mr. 
 Spenser. *' They could not belong toler- 
 ated in England; but do Macbeth and 
 Othello teach no useful lessons ; the finest 
 sermons that ever were written have not 
 pourtrayed the danger and guilt of ambi- 
 tion, with half the energy, the irresistible 
 force with which Shakspeare paints it : 
 we learn to shudder at the first light 
 thought of evil that passes like a shadow
 
 GERALDINE. 
 
 269 
 
 across the mind, and is gone ; we see and 
 feel its danger. And who, that contem- 
 plates the pangs of Othello, and the ex- 
 quisite, confiding tenderness of Desde- 
 mona, does not learn to dread tiie ' green- 
 eyed monster,' jealousy." 
 
 <* If lessons thus forcible and impressive 
 were always taught upon the stage,'' said 
 Mr. Maitlaifld, ** who would deny its uti- 
 lity?" 
 
 ** I would," replied Mr. Vincent ; " there 
 are innumerable objections to the best 
 play that was ever written, sufficiently 
 obvious and oiFensive to the serious and 
 conscientious ; but I fancy," added he, sar- 
 castically, " the frequenters of theatres 
 are not distinguished by the nicety of their 
 moral sense." 
 
 «« If that blow be aimed at Mr. Mait- 
 land," said Montague, indignantly, " it 
 falls to the ground j for he never visits the 
 theatres." 
 
 " No ; I think it incompatible with the 
 duties which a clergyman has to fulfil," 
 N 3
 
 270 GEEALDINE. 
 
 said Mr. Maitland. «« They are of a sacred 
 and important character, and require 
 thorough devotedness of mind." 
 
 " The duties of a Christian, either in 
 or out of the priestly office," observed Mr. 
 Vincent, ** are equally important." 
 
 " Equally important, I grant," said Mr. 
 Maitland, ** but not equally absorbing. I 
 am quite willing, however, to allow, that 
 there are powerful objections to theatrical 
 amusements, which present themselves 
 with irresistible force to a considerate mind. 
 I allude to the constant profanation of the 
 name of God, the defective morality of 
 some of our most popular dramas, and the 
 facility, nay, the encouragement, which 
 th€ theatres afford to licentious habits of 
 life." 
 
 " After acknowledging all this, Sir," 
 said Mr. Vincent, ** can you with the 
 least consistency say a single word in theii' 
 defence." 
 
 " Though I do acknowledge all this^" 
 replied Mr. Maitland, " yet I would
 
 OERALDINE. 271 
 
 neither blot out the drama from the liter- 
 ature of our country, nor level our 
 theatres with the diist. I would simply 
 regulate them better j — a more rigid cen- 
 sorship of the pieces w^hich are performed, 
 would remedy one part of the evil, and a 
 few/ wise regulations would speedily correct 
 the oth^.'* 
 
 " We have become too solemn by half," 
 said Fanny, in a whisper to Mr. Spenser ; 
 ** for pity's sake, give a new turn to the 
 subject." 
 
 " And have you really never seen a play 
 Mr. Vincent?" said Henry Wentworth, 
 who had overheard the whisper ; " I am 
 sure you must have a tiny spark of curiosity 
 about it : let me give you a specimen." 
 
 He threw himself into a theatrical at- 
 titude ; and fixing his eyes upon Fanny, 
 burst upon the astonished and indignant 
 e^r of Mr. Vincent with these words : 
 
 Oh woman ! lovely woman ! nature made thee, 
 To temper man : we had been brutes without you. 
 N 4
 
 27^ GERALDINEr 
 
 Angels are painted fair, to look like yoir. 
 There's in you all that we believe of heaveur 
 Amazing brightness, purity and truth ; 
 Eternal joy, and everlasting love." 
 
 " As arrant nonsense, that," said Mr. Mow- 
 bray, who had just ri^en from a whist-table, 
 <« as I ever recollect to have been annoyed 
 with, either by poet or lover, absurd as 
 those personages usually are.'* 
 
 ** Nonsense ! Sir, do you presume to call 
 it nonsense ?'* said Henry ; " I pledge 
 myself to prove it to be the truth, and no- 
 thing but the truths** 
 
 *« Upon the whole," observed Mr. Mow- 
 bray, ** it is surprising that any rational 
 person can enjoy the drama." 
 
 **. Surprising!" echoed Mr. Spenser, in 
 a voice of astonishment, 
 
 ** Sui'prising !" repeated Mr. Mowbray, 
 calmly ; — : " what is tragedy, but a picture of 
 gigantic and exaggerated passions, destitute 
 of nature and probability, and therefore 
 utterly devoid of interest ?" 
 
 ** I must venture to dispute the truth of 
 your inference, Sir," said Montague y " you
 
 GERALDINE. 273 
 
 forget that we can be interested through 
 the medium of the imagination, as well as 
 the heart." 
 
 '« No," returned Mr. Mowbray j ** we 
 may be excited, but we are not interested. 
 Amidst the most complicated miseries, and 
 tremendous scenes, we have always a com- 
 fortable assurance that such things are not." 
 
 " I believe. Sir," obseiTcd Mr. Spenser, 
 " that few persons are capable of your phi- 
 losophical abstraction." 
 
 " And fewer still would desire to be ca- 
 pable of it," added Montague. ** To be 
 able coldly to calculate probabilities, when 
 every heart is thrilling with anguish, or 
 melting with sympathy, is a peculiarity 
 which I can never be brought to envy." 
 
 '' One should as soon think of envying 
 the critic his stop-watch," said Fanny. 
 
 *' As to comedies," continued Mr. Mow- 
 bray, (heedless of their observations,) <* they 
 are usually a combination of mawkish sen- 
 timent and extravagant caricature ; and 
 those who are condemned to see them 
 N 5
 
 ^74^ GERALDINE. 
 
 must do their best to laugh at indifferent 
 wit, and impossible blunders.'* 
 
 " The Critic, and the School for Scan- 
 dal, for instance,'* said Montague, tri- 
 umphantly, « are remarkably mawkish and 
 i7isipid.'' 
 
 " I say nothing of the Critic," replied 
 Mr. Mowbray ; " that is beyond praise ; 
 and as to the School for Scandal, it is not 
 mawkish, but mischievous." 
 
 <* One happy circumstance in that play," 
 said Montague, is, *' that the pair of lovers 
 who so regularly make their appearance, are 
 by no means conspicuous." 
 
 " We are so sure of a joyful termination to 
 
 heir soft sentimental sorrows," said Fanny, 
 
 < that they make no impression on the hard 
 
 hearts of the audience. I always long to 
 
 beg they will adjourn, and tell their tender 
 
 tale ' under the hawthorn in the dale.' " 
 
 « Now, I have so much fellow-feeling 
 for them," exclaimed Henry Wentworth^ 
 " that my heart is always brimfull of pity 
 at the sight of them."
 
 GERALDINE. 275 
 
 ** And I have no doubt," added his bro« 
 ther, " that you are in love with the tender 
 lady yourself, for the time being : your 
 heart is a kind of mark, a sort of target for 
 Cupid, at which he is constantly practising?" 
 
 " After all," said Fanny, " my old friend 
 and favourite, the clown, who comes in oc- 
 casionally, and snuiFs a man's head off with 
 a pair of snuffers, of suitable length, is in- 
 finitely more entertaining." 
 
 ** Our taste for pantomime, notwith- 
 standing its ingenuity," observed Mon- 
 tague, *' seldom outlives the simple age in 
 which we long for Harlequin's wand, and 
 ascribe to its magic touch, the wonders we 
 see ; when the deception is unveiled, the 
 spell is broken for ever." 
 
 " And yet," said Mr, Mowbray, " are 
 the pantomimic shiftings and changes of 
 Harlequin and his friends at all more pre- 
 posterous than the rapid succession of ex- 
 traordinary events and improbable adven- 
 tures which tragedy and comedy present ? 
 Does not the tragic hero fall in love one 
 N 6
 
 276 GERALDIJfE. 
 
 moment, became jealous the next, kill his 
 rival, poison his mistress, and dispatch him- 
 self, with all the dexterity and speed of 
 Harlequin? And is not the fashionable 
 lover in comedy transformed instantly from 
 ^ &^y> profligate, dissipated fellow, with a 
 seraglio like Mahomet's, into the most de- 
 licate, devoted, and constant of husbands ? 
 What change, in the whole range of pan- 
 tomime, can be more marvellous ?'* 
 
 '* You must allow. Sir,*' said Mr. Spen- 
 ser, ^* that comedy is valuable for preserv- 
 ing a picture of manners and customs 
 which would otherwise be lost. If our old 
 comedies could be purified from their gross* 
 ness, they would be invaluable in this re- 
 spect." 
 
 " Such a reformation," said Mr. Mow- 
 bray, *< far from increasing their value, 
 would annihilate the little merit they pos- 
 sess. They would no longer paint the age 
 in which they were written. The language 
 of fashion and of the court was then gross 
 and licentious ; and the dialogue of the 
 
 3
 
 GERALDINE, ^77 
 
 comedies of that day may rather be con- 
 sidered as a satire on those defects, than 
 an apology for them : they are disgusting ^ 
 but the pictures they give of the manners 
 of the times are more correct than any of 
 modern date." 
 
 '* It is much more difficult to produce a 
 good comedy in the present day," observed 
 Montague. " Amidst the general polish 
 and refinement which pervades society, 
 strong and ludicrous contrasts of character 
 are no longer to be found ; and it is not 
 so easy to seize and distinguish those 
 evanescent shades of folly which furnish, 
 at present, the chief subjects for comedy." 
 
 '* The French contrive to hit them off 
 admirably," said Fanny, " They are to 
 be envied their unrivalled Moliere. At 
 Paris, dear Paris, a happy variety of en- 
 tertainment suits every varying humour. 
 You may listen gravely to Racine, or laugh 
 with Brunet^and Jolly. Oh ! how I have 
 enjoyed them all ; and I can hardly believe, 
 my dear Sir," continued she, turning to
 
 S78 GERALDINE. 
 
 her father, "that you have not enjoyed 
 them too/' 
 
 " Retain your increduhty, if you please," 
 rephed Mr. Mowbray ; ** but allow me to 
 be the best judge of what constitutes my 
 own enjoyment." 
 
 " I rejoice, Sir," said Mr. Vincent, 
 " that your opinion coincides with mine." 
 
 « I fancy, Sir," replied Mr. Mowbray, 
 " we coincide in distaste, but not in 
 opinion. That a thinking and reflecting 
 being should be gratified with bombast, ex- 
 travagance, and folly, is matter of astonish- 
 ment to me ; but the great mass of men 
 are not reflecting beings -, therefore, I do 
 not quarrel with theatrical establishments, 
 nor am 1 visionary enough to doubt their 
 political expediency. Let those who in- 
 veigh against them point out a more harm- 
 less and effectual mode of amusing a million 
 of people." 
 
 The carriages were now announced. 
 Henry followed Fanny, entreating her to 
 pity the woful condition to which her bright
 
 GERALDINE. QJQ 
 
 eyes had reduced him ; and she promised 
 to think of his hard case with all the com- 
 passion it deserv-ed. 
 
 <* How long ought my pity to last ?'* said 
 she, turning to Edmund; — <«From eve till 
 morn, and from morn till dewy eve again/* 
 
 ** Yes ; that will do very well. His cure 
 is generally effected in about twenty-four 
 hours. This may be a more desperate 
 affair to be sure ; but in ordinary cases, he 
 begins by sighing and striking his forehead 
 the first evening ; walks about furiously the 
 next morning; towards noon, is sufficiently 
 recovered to whistle ; dances off the greater 
 part of his love in the evening ; sleeps off 
 the rest, and wakes the next morning- as 
 brisk as a bee, and as gay as a lark/' 
 
 Henry vowed that he had not been in 
 love more than five times ; and never to 
 such excess in his whole life : that he would 
 with pleasure walk fifty miles to gaze upon 
 her shadow, or kiss the hem of her garment. 
 
 His rhapsody was interrupted by Mr. 
 Mowbray, who enquired, whether Fanny
 
 280 GERALDINE. 
 
 intended to keep the horses waiting all 
 night ? She hurried away. 
 
 ** One moment, only one moment/' ex- 
 claimed Edmund Wentworth ; " It would 
 be a thousand pities, if that profound parting 
 sigh, and desponding bow of Harry's were 
 lost upon you. They are the best of the 
 kind I ever saw performed." 
 
 Fanny was sorry that she had not time 
 to show how properly she was aftected by 
 them 5 and the party separated.
 
 GERALDINE. ^81 
 
 CHAP. XXIV. 
 
 " Well, Geraldine/' said Fanny, when 
 they were seated m the carriage, *< those 
 two lively young men, have made the day 
 much more endurable than I expected. 
 As to Mr. Vincent, he gets worse and 
 worse ; I suppose, by-and-by, he will think 
 it too great an enjoyment for us sinful 
 creatures to breathe the pure air, and smell 
 the fresh flowers. Mr. Spenser, did you 
 ever see so repulsive a personage ?" 
 
 " No,'* said Mr. Spenser ; " I have heard 
 the genus described ; but this is the first 
 specimen I ever met with." 
 
 <* And I am sure you may hope it will 
 be the last,*' returned Fanny ; " a stiff per- 
 pendicular, crabbed creature ; he always 
 conjures up in my mind Praise-God-Bare- 
 Bones, and his precious pai'liament."
 
 282 GERALDINE. 
 
 ** Mr. Vincent means so well,'* observed 
 Mr. Maitland, " that I sincerely regret 
 that his manner is so little conciliatory." 
 
 " If he really means to do any good," 
 said Fanny, " he defeats his own pui-pose : 
 whenever I have the misfortune to be with 
 him, I always long to turn Mahometan. 
 That poor dear Helen, shudders and 
 trembles at every step she takes in this 
 world, as if she walked, like queen Emma, 
 over burning plough-shares ; and her odious 
 sister watches her just like one of those 
 griffins who used to keep guard over the 
 poor imprisoned damsels in the days of 
 genii and giants. If these be the effects 
 of rehgion, we are ten times better without 
 it." 
 
 " Beware, I conjure you," said Mr. 
 Maitland, " of so rash, so false, so fatal a 
 conclusion. Do not let the mistakes of 
 others, involve you in an error ten thousand 
 times more dangerous." 
 
 Geraldine had been enjoying Fanny's 
 vivacity ; but the energy of Mr. Maitland's
 
 GERALDIXE. 283 
 
 manner arrested her attention. Just so, 
 thought she, would my dear mother have 
 reasoned ; just so, would she have felt, on 
 such an occasion. 
 
 ** Theirs," continued Mr. Maitland, " is 
 a mistake which makes them less accepta- 
 ble, and less useful to their fellow-creatures. 
 The effect of yours would be far more awful 
 and enduring. They act, from principle, 
 up to their own view of what is right ; they 
 contemplate the fleeting joys of time, con- 
 trasted with the immense value of eternity, 
 and shrink from them as worthless and 
 vain." 
 
 " Is it possible, Mr. Maitland," said 
 Fanny, impatiently, *' that you can be the 
 champion of such a disgusting fanatical 
 set?" 
 
 *« I think their system too rigidly exclu- 
 sive, too gloomy and contracted," replied 
 he ; " but still, a strong sense of duty, and 
 the desire of pleasing God, is the spring of 
 their actions, the powerful motive by which 
 they are guided j and however I may lament
 
 ^81^ GERALDINE. 
 
 the needless severity of manner they adopt, 
 which I think extremely mischievous in its 
 effects, still, the principle and motive lose 
 none of their intrinsic value : they are too 
 high and holy not to claim our deepest re- 
 verence." 
 
 A tear stole down the cheek of Geraldine ; 
 but Fanny, to whom such subjects were en- 
 tirely new, and completely tiresome, an- 
 swered giddily, that she could not possibly 
 say any thing about their grand and sublime 
 motives. All she knew was, that their 
 society gave her les vapeurs noirs, to an in- 
 sufferable degree ; and, therefore, she should 
 do her utmost to escape from them, and 
 all who resembled them. 
 
 «« It is a pity they are not Roman Ca- 
 tholics," added she ; " and then Mr. Vin. 
 cent might become a monk of the order of 
 La Trappe, and Miss Wentworth, a Car- 
 melite ; and they might be as grim and as 
 grave as they pleased." 
 
 " Their objection to literature, and ge- 
 neral intellectual cultivation," observed
 
 GERALDINE. 285 
 
 Montague, *< is so preposterous and irra- 
 tional, that, I confess, it excites my disgust.*' 
 
 ** That is certainly a most unfortunate 
 mistake," said Mr. Maitland. <* The fa- 
 culties which God has graciously given us 
 may, and ought to be exercised and im- 
 proved to the highest pitch of which they 
 iare capable ; nor are those lighter sun-beams 
 which cheer, and grace, and gladden the 
 path of life, to be ungratefully excluded.** 
 
 " I suppose,** said Mr. Spenser, '' these 
 people, with their little contemptible pre- 
 judices, would exclude us from every book 
 but the Bible.** 
 
 " Oh 1 no,** said Fanny ; " they would 
 indulge you, besides, with Fox*s Book of 
 Martyrs.** 
 
 " Their spirits may claim kindred with 
 that of the enlightened Caliph Omar,'* con- 
 tinued Mr. Spenser, in a contemptuous 
 tone, " who thought all books but the 
 Koran pernicious or superfluous.** 
 
 ** And with Cromwell and his party, whp
 
 286 GERALDINE. 
 
 called themselves'the saints of the earth.*' 
 added Montague. 
 
 Mr. Maitland sighed. It was impossible 
 for a well ordered mind, for one fully sen- 
 sible of the importance, the value, the love- 
 liness of real piety, not to regret that she 
 did not always appear in her own perfect 
 and attractive form ; that she should ever 
 be so masqued and disfigured by human 
 weakness or human perversity, as to repel 
 instead of alluring, to excite disgust, rather 
 han affection. 
 
 " Who are you sighing for so deeply, 
 Mr. Maitland ?" said Fanny ; " for us, or 
 for the Caliph and Cromwell ?" 
 
 " I hope you do not mistake me, Mait- 
 land," said Montague eagerly ; ** good 
 feeling, and good taste, would alike deter 
 me from speaking lightly of religion." 
 
 " You must be under the influence of 
 something more permanent than good 
 feeling, and more powerful than good 
 taste, before you think or speak oi it cor- 
 rectly," replied Mr. Maitland.
 
 GERALDINE. 287 
 
 " But you must allow," resumed Mon- 
 tague, " that the disastrous effects of the 
 system we have been reprobating were 
 sufficiently proved at the period to which 
 we allude. May not the unbridled licen- 
 tiousness of the age of Charles the Second, 
 be in a great degree attributed to the dis- 
 gust excited by the bigotry and cant of 
 the preceding years ; the bow, too strongly 
 bent, recoiled with proportionate \dolence. 
 Men of genius and wit disclaimed all rever- 
 ence for religion, lest they should be con- 
 founded with the fools who had perverted, 
 or the hypocrites who had disgraced it/' 
 
 " Unhappily there is too much justice 
 in your observation," replied Mr. Mait- 
 land ; " but the residence of Charles in 
 the French court, where the morals were 
 any thing but pure, and the effect of his 
 example upon his own court and country, 
 should also be taken into the account." 
 
 " Ah ! poor Charles," exclaimed Fanny, 
 ** I have often pictured to myself his 
 feelings, upon exchanging all the gaiety
 
 ^88 GERALDINE. 
 
 and splendour of that charming French 
 court, for the long faces and long sermons 
 of the Covenanters. It is miraculous that 
 he ever survived it : cutting faggots in the 
 woods of Staffordshire must have been a 
 blessed exchange." 
 
 The carriage stopped at the gate of the 
 vicarage, and Mr. Maitland took his leave. 
 
 The night was clear and still, and the 
 moon-beams played brightly upon its 
 white walls, and silvered the shrubs and 
 trees by which it was sheltered. Geral- 
 dine was struck with the softness, repose, 
 and beauty of the scene. 
 
 ** How quiet, how peaceful," said she, 
 in a low voice to Montague. ** How ad- 
 mirably this sweet place must suit Mr. 
 Maitland's taste." : ■ 
 
 <« Yes, I think he will be sorry to leav^ 
 it, when Mr. FuUarton returns," observed 
 Montague. ** But I believe they see a 
 great deal of each other, he is very much 
 there," 
 ^; *V Mr. FuUarton thinks him, ' tm jeune
 
 GERALDtNU. 289 
 
 komme, comme il y'en a pen /'* said Fanny ; 
 «' indeed he certainly is a very amiable, 
 consistent being; rather too parsonic, to be 
 sure ; but I suppose he thinks it right, now 
 and then, to show off his talents, pour le 
 77ietier du pretreJ* 
 
 " An exalted motive, indeed, you at- 
 tribute to him, Fanny," said Montague. 
 ** I believe him to be influenced by the 
 pure and disinterested wish of doing 
 good." 
 
 " Very likely," replied Fanny ; " but 
 I fear his habit of sermonising, will become 
 rather formidable in time ; for it certainly 
 increases." 
 
 *' I fancy," said Mr. Spenser, " that 
 they think it right to give us * line upon 
 line, and precept upon precept,' and a 
 word ' in season and out of season.' " 
 
 Fanny laughed ; but Montague continued 
 warm in the defence of Mr. Maitland. 
 
 " Well, you are right, I suppose," said 
 she; /*so pray wear him at your heart's 
 core, if you please: I dare say he deserves it." 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 S90 GERALDINE. 
 
 *< I once thought you were inclined to 
 wear him at yours," retorted Montague, 
 hulf maliciously. 
 
 Mr. Spenser felt a sudden beating at his 
 heart. 
 
 « Why, no," said Fanny. "He has 
 some engaging qualities, it must be con- 
 fessed ; but he did not insinuate himself so 
 far. He attracted me, for a certain time, 
 as the sun does a comet ; but then, you 
 know, it flies off again, no one can tell 
 why, to a prodigious distance." 
 
 The carriage stopped again ; but Mr. 
 Spenser did not seem to perceive it. His 
 eyes were fixed upon the stars, which he 
 appeared to be intently studying. 
 
 « What are you thinking of, Spenser ? 
 Are you puzzling yourself about the 
 astronomy of comets?" said Montague. 
 " It is not worth while. They are capri- 
 cious sort of things : you can make nothing 
 of them." 
 
 *< They are rather difficult to under- 
 stand, perhaps," said Mr. Spenser, as he
 
 GERALDINE, ^91 
 
 handed Fanny from the carriage, and walked 
 with her through the hall ; "but they have 
 something splendid and eccentric about 
 them, which irresistibly captivates the at- 
 tention." 
 
 " Yes, there is a little variety about 
 them, is there not?" returned Fanny. 
 " They are much more amusing sort of 
 things, altogether, than the fixed stars. 
 There they are, twinkling and sparkling 
 for ever, precisely in the same place. Now, 
 a comet is so charmingly bewildering, it 
 always keeps the mind in play ; we long 
 to know whence it comes, and whither it 
 goes." 
 
 They joined the rest of the family in 
 the drawing-room, where they found Mr. 
 Mowbray combating his lady's assertion, 
 that Mrs. Wentworth was the most stupid 
 of women, and Mr. Vincent the most dis- 
 agreeable of men. Ke admitted that they 
 were positively stupid and disagreeable ; 
 but he denied that they were so in the super- 
 lative degree. He had known several 
 o 2
 
 292 GERALDINE, 
 
 people still more stupid and still more dis- 
 agreeable. 
 
 ** I cannot be too grateful to you, then, 
 my dear," returned Mrs. Mowbray, *< for 
 having reserved them for your own pri- 
 vate acquaintance ; for I am sure Mrs. 
 Wentworth is the most fatiguing woman 
 I ever met with. An automaton is a per- 
 fect treat compared to her. When we are 
 tired to death of seeing it do the same 
 thing, we can be amused by wondering at 
 the mechanism of the figure, and examin- 
 ing the springs and contrivances by which 
 its various movements are effected. Now, 
 Mrs. Wentworth only irritates one. It is 
 the most provoking thing in the world to 
 see real eyes and ears of so little use. I 
 am sure, if her poor head were dissected, 
 it would not contain even the semblance of 
 brains found in the beau's head in Addi- 
 son's day. It would not even be stufied 
 with trifles. It would be full of empti- 
 ness. Such a ridiculous contrast to Mr. 
 Vincent ! Her eternal smiles, and his eter-
 
 GERALDINE. 298 
 
 nal frowns, are really too wearisome, I 
 hope they won't haunt me in my dreams ; 
 but I must run the risk ; for I am quite 
 worn out." 
 
 She left the room ; and the party dis- 
 persed. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Printed by Strahan and Spottiswood«, 
 Printers- Street, London.