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dracks Charlotte Susan Ninnia.
BY THE AUTHORESS of Cam bilie i

al' terbau, Petr
"FLIRTATION,” “THE DIVORCED,"" &c.

BY THE AUTHORESS OF

What 'tis to love:
It is to be all made of sighs and tears ;-
It is to be all made of faith and service;-
It is to be all made of fantasy,
All made of passion, and all made of wishes;
All adoration, duty, and observance;
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience;
All purity, all trial, all observance.

SHAKBPEARE.

Oh Love! what is it in this world of ours

Which makes it fatal to be loved ? Ah? Why
With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers,
And made thy best interpreter a sigh ?

BYRON.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

PHILADELPHIA:
CAREY, LEA AND BLANCHARD.

THE NEW YORK
PUBLIC LIB. ARY

ASTOR, LENOX AND TILDEN FOUNDATIONS.

1899.

GRİGGS & co., PRINTEĀS.

LO V E.

CHAPTER I.

RETROSPECTION.

That wealth and title sue to me,
Glads me, I own, since 'tis for thee
Such glorious glittering baubles I resign;
Or should a smile my cheek adorn,
Oh! trust me I but smile in scorn
To think their merits should contend with thine.

THE LATE M, G. LEWIS, ESQ.

Miss Elton was the beauty of her day; not merely a pretty girl in right of youth and freshness, but a decided · beauty. One might have said of many of her contempora

ries, they are charming, but Miss Élton was faultlessly handsome: the prince said so, the duke of avowed it, Lord D. declared it, and so did the old applewoman at her stall, the untutored peasant at his plough, the commonest person in the street; yes, the homage she received was unquestioned and universal. It was pleasant to her to receive and to hear the various proofs of this power, and the variety of modes in which it was tendered; but nevertheless she was not spoiled by this adulation, or rendered heartless by living in the sunshine of prosperity. An indulgent maiden aunt had brought up this orphan heiress, and from her birth Mabel Elton had never heard any harsh word, never been rebuked, never known the common lot of humanity, or the roughness of existence; she had breathed a perfumed atmosphere, she had listened but to the music of fond affection. There seemed to her no end to life, or to its

happiness. At sixteen, such was the beautiful creature whose history still remains fresh in the recollection of those who trod the same opening path of fragrance, “ with hearts as gay and faces half as fair." One of her friends at that early epoch of her existence said to her

I wonder, Mabel, to see you throwing away all your advantages, apparently indifferent to every thing, and every person; if I were you, nothing less than being a duchess would satisfy me; were you only handsome, you might rate yourself less high; but with your immense fortune, who is there that you could not command? either or any of your gifts is enough to fall to the portion of one individual; but, as you are, with all the adventitious circumstances of riches and ancient lineage, combined with charın and beauty, I shall only think you lack one thing, that is common sense, if you do not fill the highest station in the land: but you are not ambitious."

“I am ambitious, you mistake me entirely, Emily; I am ambitious, but it is of love: not the degree and kind of love which satisfies the people I see; but a love such as I have the pattern of in my own mind, such as I see a vision of in my dreams, such as I could myself write of, but such as I never either saw or heard of in books, or in real life.”

“ This is the romance of sixteen, but it is most unfortunate that you should nourish it; I am not old, I am not ugly, Mabel, I may hope for a reasonable share of affection in marriage, but I have lived long enough to know that the love you talk about is merely ideal, a species of madness while it lasts, and then a gloomy disappointment-when repentance comes too late. Mabel, Mabel, you will rue the day when you sacrifice solid happiness to ideal rapture.”

“ The happiness I aim at is not ideal, it exists somewhere; the ambition I entertain is higher than all other ambition, for it can only be attained by a total abnegation of selfishness."

“ Nonsense! Mabel. Pardon me for being so blunt of speech, self-love and social are the same, and as to love in its best estate, it is a selfish passion.”

“Oh! how little you know about it! I will not talk any more on the subject, but my career is marked out; I'll live for love, and, not obtaining it, I'll die.”

“I am glad to hear you pronounce that sibylline prediction in such a gay tone of voice, at least it proves to me that as yet there is no living object in whom you have imbodied that vision.”

Miss Elton laughed again, and saying she must dress for the ball at Lady Marlay's, left her more prudent friend in: doubt whether she was in joke or in earnest.

A very short time after the above conversation, Miss Elton married Lord Herbert, the handsomest man of his time, with a fair fortune, a great reputation for good temper, and much liked by his own circle of intimates. According to usual custom, " the happy pair” (for that is the designation with which every pair sets forth on their matrimonial pilgrimage) set off for Moreton Park, and in the beauty of its scenery and the romantic aspect of the place, Lady Herbert beheld every accompaniment to the felicity of the state which she had chosen in preference to a thou sand more brilliant alliances. Lord Herbert was delighted with the admiration she expressed and the interest she took in every thing that pertained to him. But three weeks of that dulcet moon, of which so much is said and sung, had not passed away, when Lord Herbert proposed their returning some of the visits of which a magnitude had been: received from all the neighbourhood far and wide. A sudden shock, like that of being immersed in cold water, came over the youthful bride; and she thought, What! he wants company already! but she only said, “ If you please, love.". -"Well, then, go, dear Mabel, prepare your toilet, while I proceed to the stables and see that the barouche is got ready (it was the day of barouches), I must have every thing in nice order, for Sir Philip Gregory is a knowing one, and I should not like him to be able to find fault. Make haste, love." And he looked so beautiful as he ran out without his hat, his fine hair waving about his brow, that Lady Herbert stood in admiration of him till he was lost to her sight; then she thought, and she sighed as she thought, “I wish he had not proposed these tiresome visits.

Her preparations were made long before her husband's; and while she waited for him, she took up ^ Thomson's Seasons,” and opened at that part of spring where it is, written, speaking of married lovers,

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