teen, often completely evaporates before one and twenty. And when Lindsay, at that age, prepared to take leave of his fair mistress in order to join the army in the Peninsula, it is amazing how very miserable he thought he ought to be, and how very happy he was; with what ardour, what buoyancy of spirit, what impatient beatings of the heart, he thought of the war and the battles he should soon be engaged in; and how very little he ever thought at all of the fair Susan Hamilton--Neither in prospect nor in retrospection, did the separation cost him a pang. At the moment of parting, indeed, luckily for appearances, he did feel it acutely for he never could have feigned it ;-but these feelings passed away almost with the parting moment,-and four eventful years spent in the toils and ardour of service, so completely cured his boyish passion, that it seemed to him like a dream. But it was a dream from which he could not easily awake. Too well did he know its reality. He had fallen in love-or rather fancied himself in love with Susan Hamilton, at an age, and in a situation when his inexperienced imagination, and susceptible temperament, would have made him fancy himself in love with any young woBut she was not the being formed to win and reign over his heart; she was not the woman he would have singled out from the world. She had good sense, good temper, and good principles; but she was cold, calculating, and considerate content to dwell in decencies for ever.' With no powers of imagination, no brilliancy of talent, no animation of spirit-none of the higher qualities of the mind and heart man. 2 none of those captivating graces of taste and fancy, calculated to charm such a soul as Lindsay's. Still, as he loved no one better, his engagement gave him no further uneasiness, than as it was calculated to wound and distress his father-who as yet knew nothing of it. When Lindsay joined him in the Peninsula, he found by frequent conversation with him, that not only was his hatred of 'Black Hamilton' invincible, but that it was, perhaps, the strongest passion of his soul;—and that so far from having its rise in caprice, it was founded on insults and injuries such as Lord Montfort could never forget. Lindsay, therefore, secretly congratulated himself, that his promise to 'Black Hamilton,' prevented him from acquainting his father with an engagement which he could not break, and the knowledge of which could only serve to make him miserable. Consequently, he made no mention of his love, though he mentioned his visit, which alone filled Lord Montfort with unspeakable mortification and distress. 6 Immediately after the war, Lord Montfort was ordered out to India, and Lindsay, when sufficiently recovered of his wound, came to England; but he had little opportunity of seeing Miss Hamilton-who was attending Black Hamilton,' in a lingering illness;-and what between the impossibility of leaving his father, previous to his departure for India-and the impossibility of Hamilton Castle receiving any guest, while its master was in a sick bed, Lindsay scarcely saw his betrothed, before he went over to Paris, where he was joined by his friend Heathcote; and, in wandering with him through Switzerland, as we have described, he met with Miss St. Clair on the heights of St. Bernard. We have recorded his departure from Lausanne to Geneva, and his rapid journey from thence to Paris, with Mr. Heathcote, who was summoned to England by his father's dangerous illness. At Paris Lindsay remained; not because he wished to stay at Paris, but because he dreaded returning to England: for he felt that he could not visit his country without seeing his mistress; and he was as desirous to avoid Miss Hamilton, as to return to Miss St. Clair. CHAPTER XXXII. SECOND LOVE. O how this spring of love resembleth SHAKSPEARE. How great a toil to stem the raging flood, ALTHOUGH the subject of Lindsay's return to VOL. II. 16* Lausanne, had been abundantly discussed by the two friends, during their journey to Paris,scarcely had Mr. Heathcote left it twenty-four hours, when a letter, of which the following is a fragment, was dispatched after him : LETTER XXXIII. FROM THE HONOURABLE HORACE LINDSAY, TO JOHN HEATHCOTE, ESQ. Paris, July 30, 1816. You are wrong Heathcote-decidedly wrong, and I am right. In general, I know full well that your counsels are invaluable, and your opinions sage; that in short you are a wise man, and I am a fool;-but in this particular instance we have for once changed characters; I am the wise man, and you the fool-and I will prove it to your satisfaction. Would any body but a fool make himself miserable, when he might be happy? Would any body but a fool inflict penance on himself, when he could taste the pleasure which his soul most desires? Would any body but a fool dash the cup of enjoyment from his lips, because he could not for ever quaff the delicious draught? Would any body but a fool sit moping away the hours of liberty, because he must at last be caged? Would any body but a fool shut himself up from the bright sun-beams, because darkness must, in time, close around him? In plain 6 6 English, Heathcote, (which I know you like,} why should I not be happy while I can,-and why should I fly from the society of Miss St. Clair, because I must, sometime or other, devote myself to that of Miss Hamilton? What possible danger' can there be in this most innocent intercourse? Not any danger' certainly, of my preferring Miss St. Clair to Miss Hamilton, for that danger' is past. The deed is done. Not any danger' of my love for Miss Hamilton decreasing, for that, as you well know, has long since completely melted away! Not any 'danger' of either myself or Miss St. Clair thinking seriously of each other-for too well do I know she can never be mine, and most certainly never will she bestow her heart upon any man who does not first seek it. Since therefore there is no danger,' and so much pleasure in being with her, why should I tear myself from her? Why should I not make the most of that little interval of happiness which fortune offers me? But if you think that Miss St. Clair, or any thing on earth, could have power to make me swerve from my engagement to marry Miss Hamilton, and to marry none but Miss Hamilton, you know me not. I never will be guilty of so dishonourable an action. I should despise myself and I am quite certain Miss St. Clair would despise and reject me, were I capable of such baseness. At the age of nineteen I formed an engagement, which at twenty-one I regretted, at twenty-three repented, and at twenty-five execrate. But I must abide by the |