THE OLD GALLANT.

In the eventful reign of Bluff Harry (the Eighth and last of that name), famous in the annals of Britain, for the mighty predilection he had for transforming bad wives into good women,—there stood a goodly mansion on the romantic banks of the river Thames, without the walls of the city, in the enjoyment and possession of Sir Alleyne Mordaunt, knight, a man of good income, good credit, and a passing good temper.

In the prime and vigour of his youth, he had thought proper, after the past example of his father, and more particularly the present one of the gallants of his own age and standard, to take unto himself a wife-with a handsome dowry and a pretty face; and (notwithstanding the anti-matrimonial sneers of the disappointed and celibacious few), Sir Alleyne enjoyed the most unalloyed felicity, and loved his better-half with unabated ardour, until the angel of his adoration left this earth for heaven, which truly lamentable occurrence took place in the tenth month after the celebration of their nuptials, leaving the

widowed knight no other consolation than a large fortune and a little one!

After the first ebulition of the sincere and genuine sorrow of his heart, Sir Alleyne began to solace himself by affectionately superintending the care and education of his infant Emmeline; transferring to the tender offspring of his lamented partner, all the love and kindness of his fond and sensitive heart.

And it happened in the rapid course of time that the baby Emmeline, shot up into a fair, tall, and slender maiden, accomplished in all the customary learning and acquirements of the times; and nature, too, proved to have done no less for her than art, for Emmeline possessed such a fair complement of personal charms and winning graces, that she was looked upon with eyes of partiality and delight by her happy sire-experienced a warm admiration from all the male part of her acquaintances, and the bitter and unmitigated envy of the female; the latter sentiment stamping her at once as something above the common, for detraction, like an ugly handmaid, is the ordinary attendant upon true merit.

The blushing Emmeline had listened so often, though unwillingly, to the ardent declarations of proffered love, that she became ultimately convinced that there really existed an agreeable sensation of the heart defined by that epithet.

This conviction, however, was not effected merely by her own unaided and solitary reflections, but arose pri

marily from her intercourse and conversation with the handsome and accomplished brother of her gossip and loved companion Cicely Dubois. Among the throng of gallants that were attracted to Mordaunt House, by Sir Alleyne's hospitality and his daughter's beauty, none proved so agreeable in the eyes of the lovely Emmeline, as Albert Dubois; a ready, joyous smile of welcome ever greeted his appearance, and when absent, the memory of his bland eloquence and his praise filled up the dull and dreary void till his next visit; and such a surprising sympathy of souls operated upon their words and feelings, that the hopes of one were generally realised by the concordant actions of the other.

And in this interesting interchange of friendly courtesies and delights this youthful pair passed away their innocent hours, with their mutual but tacit consent, without dreaming of asking Sir Alleyne's, who was as perfect a stranger to the tender passion existing between the lovers, as Emmeline herself with the utmost simplicity fancied she was-albeit, no heart ever loved more dearly or more purely than her's. It was not till very latterly, however, that she made this important discovery. For the perception of Albert Dubois being peradventure rather quicker than Emmeline's, he ventured one day, with a most lugubrious and dejected countenance, to disclose to her the delicate sentiments he feared they entertained for each other!

The truth (like a burst of electric fluid from a mirky

cloud), flashed upon her mind, which had, however, quite a contrary effect from illuminating her pretty face.

Albert became pathetic, and poured out his whole soul at her feet,-vowed at one moment he only lived in her presence, and the next that he would fly for ever from her sight, and spend the remnant of his unhappy days in eremitical solitude.

But forlorn and unhappy as the enamoured swain appeared, and which at first threatened to involve his fair and sympathising auditor in similar gloominess, he was speedily cheered and rendered comparatively happy by the breaking forth of the natural sprightliness and goodhumour of Emmeline, who encouragingly bade him, notwithstanding the disparity of their expectations, to live in the hope that the smiles of fortune would yet gild his future days with bliss.

For the sorrow of Albert was principally caused by the inequality of his means to cope with the rich and numerous competitors for the hand of Sir Alleyne's daughter; and fortunately (though he could boast of as pure and noble blood as Mordaunt) he was poor. say fortunately, because being otherwise he would probably have mingled with her other suitors, and proffered his hand and fortune to Emmeline, with all that frigid formality that blights at once the tender springing buds of genuine love; and he would have been received with ceremony, and rejected without.

But the very idea of a youth falling in love without

request or permission, was too flattering and romantic to be resisted; so, although Emmeline dared not love without her father's sanction and accordance, she frankly owned to Albert that she pitied him from her very soul; and finally compounded with him to accept friendship for love.

Matters being thus amicably arranged, their days passed on as uninterruptedly and as felicitous as heretofore, both being more strictly united by the mutual confidence reposed, while love, laughing under the mask of friendship, proceeded more rapidly than ever in his advances.

In this situation of affairs, and while in the full enjoyment of the most undisturbed serenity (which, like the breathless tranquillity and calm preceding a fearful storm, ominously portended a speedy change), it was bruited abroad that the gay Sir Harry Tressel was about to be united to Mordaunt's lovely heiress: a piece of unpalatable intelligence, which in due course was communicated to the wondering Emmeline; from whom it was naturally enough supposed to have emanated, although she and her gossip Cicely were the last to hear of it,—a common occurrence in this meddling world, where the good-natured habitants are ever more zealous in the handling and settling of their neighbours affairs than their own.

"And now, by St. Mary!-Cicely," said Emmeline, "the folks having decided upon my matrimonial alliance