When the carriage was announced, she had some difficulty in separating herself from their embraces, and sighed that she could not devote the whole evening to their caresses.

On arriving in Portland Place, the principal part of the company had assembled, and were as usual dispersed in unconnected groups through the drawing-room, conversing on different subjects, and killing that abominable quarter of an hour, which is in many houses now extended to three-quarters, before dinner.

The ladies were discussing dresses, and the gentlemen politics; but all were in some degree anxious for the arrival of Lord Walmer.

To the India proprietors he was a hero; and the men were accordingly anticipating, in various ways, his sentiments on the subject connected with their interests. "Well I am

The ladies, however, had different opinions. sure!" cried one belle from amidst a group of young ladies, who seemed rather impatient at a delay which prevented exclusive conversation with some favoured swain, who was to give them his arm to the dinner-room,-" Well! I'm sure, I'm not so mighty anxious about an old judge."

"Oh! but Lord Walmer is not so old."

"Aye! but then he is as sensible, and that is as bad, and talks about nothing but India, and pagodas, and Brama, and Bombay; and I hear so much about it all at home, that I declare I am quite tired of the subject.-Besides, I like nobody who is not romantic; and nothing that comes from India can be romantic. Calcutta is certainly the very antipodes to the enchanting regions of romance.

"Oh!-But what think you of an Indian chief ?- -or a Brahmin- —or a beautiful widowed bride, sacrificing herself on the funeral pile of a beloved husband ?"-asked a young lady with blue eyes, just come out.

"Oh! that," returned the other," is quite delightful; one might make something of a romance out of such persons and incidents as those ;-but then the India Company is quite a different thing—they try to stop these romantic sacrificesto extirpate the Brahmins, and to kill the Indian chiefs; or, what is quite as bad, to make them wear coats and troisiêmes, which must spoil their figures.-But then Pa and the yellow people who dine in Harley Street never mention these romantic things; but talk about the price of tea, and the duty on shawls and Bandanas :-oh! 'tis quite horrid.”

"Oh, yes! quite horrid-and then Leadenhall Street ;what can be interesting connected with Leadenhall Street?" "Not half so interesting or delightful, certainly, as the idea of a fellow-creature enduring the agonies of death in its most horrid shape, through an absurd superstition," uttered a grave voice.

"There now-you are always so satirical, Miss Musters. To be sure, I did not think of their agonies; which I dare say, as you say, must be very great, considering they are burnt alive. But yet it is a very romantic idea; and shows great devotion to their husbands, and all that. Only think now, a beautiful creature casting her eyes up to heaven-then down on the corpse of her deceased love-then mounting the pile, she wraps a Bandana shawl gracefully round her beautiful form, and resigns herself to the devouring flames."

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed the blue-eyed young lady-"I should think the fire would render a shawl unnecessary; and China crape hangs quite as gracefully."

"Oh! certainly certainly quite as gracefully--and it would be a pity to burn a beautiful India shawl--they cost so much. But where can this judge, this Lord Walmer be? --I suppose dinner won't be announced till he comes?"

"I should think not. His presence is anxiously expected; and I assure you, in spite of your prejudice against those who come from India, you will find him a very interesting person," said Miss Musters.

"What! isn't he yellow ?-and hasn't he got a liver complaint?"

"No-he is very pale; and his wan looks depict a disease of the mind, more than of the body."

"Bless me! how interesting! a disease of the heart instead of the liver! I quite long to see him. Have you any idea of what the mental disease is? was he ever in love? perhaps disappointed in some early passion."

"Whatever it might have been, he has not been selfish enough to suffer it to interfere with his duty towards his fellowcreatures he has devoted a series of years to the amelioration of the state of the native Indians, and to the correction of the abuses made in that country."

"Oh! has he?-well-that is very good, I must say," drawled out the young lady, half yawning, and turning with some frivolous remark to her young companions.

This conversation had occurred in the hearing of Mrs.

Fleming, and she had become unconsciously interested in the person who formed the principal subject of it. A wish arose in her heart to see this Baron Walmer. At this moment she heard his name called out by the servant in the front drawing-room, and it was immediately succeeded by that bustle and subsequent silence which always follows the arrival of a distinguished visiter.

Dinner was announced so immediately after the arrival of the Baron, that no introduction could possibly take place; and the party was so numerous, and Mrs. Fleming, who never thought of precedence and etiquette when left to herself, went down stairs so much in the rear, that she never even caught a glimpse of his person.

The bustle attendant upon seating the party, and a recurrence to her own feelings, had banished the temporary curiosity which the previous conversation had excited, and she took her place without a glance in the direction of the upper end of the table, where she might naturally suppose the Baron

to be seated.

All the common places of the dinner-table immediately commenced; wines were enumerated and handed-course succeeded course; and the confusion having a little subsided, conversation began to be more distinctly understood.

At this moment a question of considerable importance to the subject which was occupying the minds of most of the gentlemen at table, was put by the person who had handed Mrs. Fleming down to dinner, and who of course sat next to her.

The host immediately requested Baron Walmer to reply, and to give his opinion upon a matter, of which no one could judge so well as himself.

Mrs. Fleming was at this moment engaged in taking wine ; and being in the act of bowing in an opposite direction, was prevented turning towards the speaker, to hear whom, every body was hushed to silence.

The Baron spoke-Mrs. Fleming started; what did she hear? The voice struck upon her ear-upon

'twas like the stealing

Of summer wind thro' some wreathed shell
Each secret winding-each inmost feeling
Of her whole soul echoed to its spell!

her heart:

She moved suddenly round; the Baron's face was turned towards where she was seated; their eyes met, and in an instant, Augustus Clifton and Agnes Dornton remembered and recognised each other.

The last time she had heard that voice was in the convulsive sob, at St. James's church. The years that had passed since rolled away from her memory. It seemed as though the church, her mother, her lover, were still present; her head became dizzy; she grasped the cloth with a slight shuddering convulsion; the glass dropped from her trembling hand, and she sank insensible in her chair.

CHAPTER IX.

CONSTANCY.

For, boy, however we may praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wav'ring, sooner lost and won,
Than women's are.

Two GENT. OF VERONA.

How little do they know of true woman who speak lightly of a woman's love; and yet is it a fashion among poets, and novelists, and essayists, and philosophers, to compare female hearts and affections to any thing that is light, and volatile, and ephemeral in nature! Thus, woman's love has been compared to the evanescent sweetness of the fast-fading flower, to the inconstancy of the moon, which "monthly changes in her circled orb," to the ever-shifting wind, and, in short, to every thing of which the nature is variable. Impressions made upon their hearts have been successively likened to the letters which the contemplative or the idle have traced in the sand, or to the bubbles and waves created upon the lake by a stone, which subside in a minute or two, and leave the surface as clear, and as bright, and as calm, as ever,

But how little do they know of woman who write and speak of them in this manner! How little do they know the deep and concentrated feeling, the never-ending memory of first impressions, of which a true woman's heart is capable; and how many are there whom we see pursuing and performing all the duties of a wife, who, having married from parental command, have never ceased involuntarily to cherish the fond memory of some early love, which they are supposed to have forgotten, because duty and propriety command that its influence should remain unperceived! How little do we appreciate that generous burst of feeling which a first love creates in a woman's breast, and which is seldom, if ever, completely forgotten amidst all the subsequent scenes of her life!

A man may have many passions, because his passions are generally the effects of his senses. He is captivated by beauty -he lends himself the willing slave of a feeling which he is in the habit of encouraging, and which he takes every means to cherish and to gratify. He succeeds--the gratification is past-beauty palls upon the senses, and loses its charms by being gazed upon as his own--another complexion, or another form, or another pair of bright eyes, and other flowing tresses, attract his attention--the same feeling is again excited--his senses are again led temporary captives to be again gratified, and disenthralled as before, by gratification. With man, half his passions are caprices. But with woman it is different. Education fences round her heart with the almost impregnable guards which conventional forms of society prescribe. If her heart feel a preference, it is her duty to repress it, unless that preference be sought by the attentions of another. Her feelings are germs in the bud, which require attention, care, and cultivation, to call into flower; they are blossoms which require the warmth of man's admiration and love to ripen into fruit. A woman's love is therefore seldom excited by temporary or sudden admiration. Her mind is too delicately constructed, for persons to have much to do with the origin of love in her heart; and it is this that makes the love of Desdemona a much more natural passion for a female than that of Juliet.

Passion springs up in a man's heart spontaneously and quickly, like those flowers which we see by the way-side, where accident may have scattered the seed in a light though fertile soil, and lying close to the surface, they blossom, and are blighted by the very sun which called them into existence.