and Percy, turning to see from whence it proceeded, recognised Miss Holt. Her eyes looked very red; she wore an overtrimmed blue satin dress, and a large wedding favour was pinned on her bosom. “I am only the bridesmaid," she continued; I am in no hurry" (with a little nervous, ill-got-up titter) "to change my situation. Miss Carey was married to-day to Mr. Rawlinson, and they are now some miles on their road to Cheltenham: I understand it is not the fashion for the bridesmaid to accompany a newly-married couple, so I have remained at home." Percy was almost as stationary and paralyzed as he had appeared at Madame Tussaud's wax-work, and firmly did he resolve never again to put faith in a young lady's declaration that she should follow her lover to the grave; the credulous adorer who believed in the declaration traced on the sand by the Spanish maiden— "Death for Diana, not inconstancy," which was washed away by the next tide, appeared to him rational in comparison of himself. He gave no vent, however, to his agitation, but hastily pleading want of time, retreated from the room, pursued by Mr. Carey's entreatics that he would drink just one glass of champagne to the health of the young couple, and Mrs. Carey's solicitations that he would only wait while a piece of bridecake was put up in paper for him. "At least," thought Percy, "I have gained one good from the report of my death-it has disclosed to me the perfidious Lucinda in her true character. But, as the "perfidious Lucinda" had never really boasted any hold of his heart, he easily reconciled himself to her loss, and determined that he would immediately proceed on his visit to Darfield. Darfield was on the steps of his house as Percy drove up, and received him with great cordiality, and without any astonishment. "Your death," he said, as he introduced Percy into his study, was scarcely published in the papers before I was made aware that it was a mis-statement. On your first seizure, the messenger who was sent to summon Mr. Watkins to your assistance affirmed that you were either dead when he left the house, or must be so before he returned. Mr. Watkins's daughter Euphemia had a cousin in London who was connected with one of the daily papers; she hastily wrote to him, to impart this valuable piece of information, and he instantly penned an elaborate paragraph, stating "the sad and sudden death of the talented and celebrated Percy." When she heard from her father that you were still alive, she began to be rather fearful of the consequences of her officiousness, and, meeting Apreece, disclosed to him what she had done. He immediately wrote to me, telling me of the circumstance, and suggesting to me whether it would not be better to allow the report to remain uncontradicted, as you had no relations and no lady-love, were the child of fame alone, and might possibly find fame more favourable to you, if she believed your removal from the possibility of deriving any pleasure or advantage from her flatteries. I saw the justice of this remark; I wrote to your friend, expressing my acquiescence in his plan, and entreating him to send me frequent information of the progress of your illness, which he has kindly and punctually done. The full tide of public grief for your loss then took its course; journals lowly and exalted vied with each other in extolling your excellencies; some praised your poetry, some your prose, some your morality, and some your humility, and all agreed in uttering the bold prophecy that we ne'er should look upon your like again.' The review that cut up your novel so severely, noticed your tragedy with unmixed commendation, saying that your former defects of style, which were like specks upon the sun, had completely disappeared in this, your last best work, and the magazine which had begged to decline the honour of all further contributions from you,' spoke of you as 'our late talented, admirable, and—must we own it ?—favourite contributor! New editions of your novel and tragedy were immediately called for, and a golden shower of no trifling amount has descended upon you and myself; the manager of the theatre where your tragedy is now performing has also sent me a letter, requesting to be informed of the name of your heir-at-law, that he may settle with him concerning the profits of your piece. These are the principal facts attending upon your supposed demise. I have also some minor anecdotes which will greatly amuse you. Sir Charles Cosby has written a monody on your death which draws tears from all the aristocratic circles in which he nightly reads it; and you have likewise been celebrated by Dick Dunstan, one of the inferior gentlemen of the press." "Dick Dunstan!" exclaimed Percy: "I never exchanged half a dozen words with him." "Nevertheless," continued Darfield, "he has published in an obscure magazine (and the article obtained an amazing sale for that one number) Reminiscences of the late lamented Percy' they occupy about a dozen pages, and you will, I am sure, be amused by the account of speeches that you never uttered, deeds that you never did, letters that you never wrote, and thoughts that never entered your brain. Poor Dick considered that no one was ever likely to contradict him; he will now find his mistake, and will be severely mortified." "Not at all," said Percy; "I feel in such good humour with him and the rest of the world, that if he says I compared him to Milton I shall publish no counter statement. But now to the important subject of my patron-what said the Earl of Orrington ?" "Oh!" replied Darfield, "he appeared quite in a new character; he threw off all his pomposity and coldness, and wept and sentimentalized like an old gentleman in a German drama; he said that he had been the first to draw forth your talents, that they had been the solace of his declining years, that he had felt for you as a father would towards a son, and that you had not the slightest idea of the depth of his regard towards you." "The last part of the declaration is perfectly true," said Percy ; "however, I see his name put down to a magnificent donation for the purpose of erecting a monument to me, and therefore, according to the line, They who part with money never feign,' I suppose he had really some good-will towards me." "Do not think me uncharitable," answered Darfield, "but, as the monument was his own idea and suggestion, ostentation might have had as much to do with his liberality on the occasion as affection." "And," said Percy, hesitatingly, "Lady Anne Gransden--have you heard anything about her?" "A great deal," replied Darfield-"more than I think it altogether prudent to repeat. Lady Anne has been very ill, nay, still continues so, and report does not scruple to say that she is overwhelmed, not only with grief, but with remorse, at your loss, and that she believes you died 'Lamenting of a lady's love, And plaining of her pride.' "Can it be possible?" exclaimed Percy, his eyes sparkling with hope. "Do you not think her illness may be accidental, and unconnected with my reported death ?" "Her illness," said Darfield, "immediately followed the tidings, but I do not feel justified in telling you more, since I derive a great part of my information from Mrs. Euston, her friend and companion, with whom I have been well acqnainted from her childhood. I will only tell you that I felt strongly tempted to reveal the secret that you were still in the land of the living, so great was my pity for the fair mourner; but I resisted the temptation. Lady Anne, you will pardon me for saying, had always too much pride in her composition, and I thought it well that she should undergo the punishment of her fault for a little while longer." "How "What am I to do, my dear friend?" said Percy, bewildered by the new and delightful ideas that poured in upon his mind. shall I present myself before her ?" "I will immediately," said Darfield, "proceed to Belgrave Square, as in duty bound, to tell Lord Orrington of your existence; it is not fair to expose his patrician nerves to the horror of fancying that he encounters a spectre, should you come suddenly before him in your own person; and, having prepared the way for your reception, I will leave you to improve your position as you best may, and to persuade the haughty noble who professed to have loved you as a son,' that the next best thing he can do will be to love you as the chosen partner of his fair ward." Darfield departed to Belgrave Square. Lord Orrington was absent for the day. He asked for Mrs. Euston, and the unfeigned joy with which she received the pleasing commission of breaking the communication to Lady Anne was sufficient to convince Darfield, if indeed he had required to be convinced, that the heart of the "proud ladie" was completely conquered. Mrs. Euston soon returned to Darfield, after a private colloquy with her patroness, and the result was that Percy was sent for, and introduced into the boudoir of the haughty fair one who had treated him so coldly on their last meeting; she was now pale and gentle, dressed in deep mourning, and evidently had suffered severely since their separation. She extended her hand, too much affected for speech, and Percy silently and fondly pressed it. I meant to detail to my readers the conversation that ensued, but I think it will be more prudent to refrain. Every one must allow, that when a damsel of rank and fortune has a predilection for a poor author, it is desirable that she should condescend rather more to him than she would think it necessary to do to a duke or a marquis: people, however, are apt to differ respecting the necessary degree of encou ragement which may be prudent and expedient for ladies of long pedigree to extend to "squires of low degree;" and were I to recount the dialogue between Lady Ann Gransden and the love-stricken Percy, I am convinced that half my readers would say that my heroine evinced too much condescension, and the other half would declare that my hero presumed upon too little. Suffice it, then, to say, that Percy left Belgrave Square the accepted suitor of Lady Ann Gransden, and that on the return of Lord Orrington in the evening, his ward first delighted him by telling him that his interesting protégé was alive, and that he would not be called upon to disburse the large sum which, in a fit of munificence, he had promised towards the monument, and had repented of ever since, and then reminded him that "the web of our life is of mingled yarn, good and ill together," by informing him of her own engagement to the young author. Lord Orrington's dignity was somewhat wounded by the tidings of this disproportionate match; but he remembered that Lady Ann was within a month of being of age, that he had not even the claim of relationship to advise her, having merely been the intimate friend of her father, that his opposition would be of no use, and that his love of patronage and display might be fully gratified by extending his willing approbation to her choice. Consequently, he was enabled to give his consent (which was neither asked nor needed) in the most gracious manner, and dispatched a few very obliging lines to Percy, congratulating him on still ranking among the living, and inviting him to breakfast in Belgrave Square on the following morning. Percy, meanwhile, had repaired to the lodgings of Apreece, and was busily employed in recounting to him the adventures of the day. 66 66 Truly," he concluded, have I reason to be grateful to Miss Euphemia Watkins for leading the world into a mistake about me, and to you for suffering them to continue in it. When an author begins to decline. in public favour, it may be said, in the words of Goldsmith, that is, to die in dramatic fashion, in front of the audience, but, in reality, to revive as soon as the curtain falls, and enjoy, behind the scenes, the sound of the plaudits and bravos that celebrate his demise." "I did not offer to accompany you in your ramble," said Apreece, fearing that you would apply to me, in your difficulties, for an explanation which I by no means wished to precipitate. I have not, however, been destitute of amusement; I have been looking over files of newspapers, all vieing with each other in extolling your talents; and I have also paid a visit to your landlady, who has been favoured with an influx of company ever since your death was announced, all begging in the humblest terms for relics. She has dispensed, with munificent prodigality, covers of letters, stumps of pens, bits of India rubber, remnants of sealing wax, empty wafer boxes, and exhausted ink bottles. Your intended successor, fortunately, had not quite concluded his bargain with her, and she instantly doubled the price of her apartments, and has let them to a young poet comfortably off,' (strange contradiction of terms!) who hopes to gather inspiration by sitting in your easy chair, and dipping his pen in your stained and shabby inkstand. I then wrote paragraphs for all the newspapers, announcing the fact of your existence, and I conclude that paragraphs will soon appear announcing your singular good fortune in the career of love as well as in that of fame." A preece's anticipations were realized; the public had hardly recovered the surprise of being told how many tears they had wasted, and how many sentimental speeches thrown away, when they were called upon still further to wonder at the matrimonial exaltation of their favourite. At the close of the season, Lady Ann Gransden bestowed her hand upon Percy, and he has since occupied a place of decided consideration in the literary world; his publications are universally approved, and he has been solicited to write another tragedy; but he is no longer considered as an unique genius, no longer compared to Shakspeare or to Sir Walter Scott. In returning to life, he has lost at least two thirds of the popularity with which death had invested him, and the warmest praises that now greet him are poor and faint compared with the funeral chorus formerly raised by the mourning public, who, so far from saying, with King Henry in Chevy Chase, when informed of the death of his gallant namesake, Earl Percy, "I trust I have within my realm seemed to consider the hundreds of poets, novelists, dramatists, and magazine writers still left to them, quite unable to supply, by their united powers, the vacuum left in the world of letters by the exit of "the late lamented Percy!" THEMES. BY MAJOR CALDER CAMPBELL. "Tis said, "the spider and the bee oftimes Suck from one flower!"* Then wherefore should not I The pilgrim's earthen bowl, the monarch's cup Of burnished gold-this soils not-that not clears Ben Jonson's "Volpone." |