and consolation of his old age, and to share this soothing office with Adeline Lluellyn, were now the objects nearest to his heart. Yet did he feel no common interest and anxiety at the idea of an approaching meeting with her, who, however criminal in many respects had been her conduct, had watched, with tenderness, his infant years, and had placed him under the protection of one who had, in every point of view, proved himself so admirably calculated to discharge the noblest duties of instruction and example.

It was towards the middle of May, and about a month after the decease of the Duke of Buckingham, that one morning, as the family was sitting down to breakfast, the expected carriage drove up to the cottage of the Rye, and the same lady who had fifteen years before brought Edward a mere child to the spot, re-entered the humble dwelling of the man who had snatched her and her infant from a premature grave, and who had formed the offspring of her unfortunate attachment for all that virtue. could approve, or partial fondness could suggest.

Agitated, pale, and trembling, she was con

ducted by Mr. Walsingham into his study, and here, after an interesting preparatory conversation of a few minutes, Edward was allowed to attend her.

Much as the Countess had heard from his guardian of the person and manners of her son, yet had she formed to herself no idea of him so pleasing and prepossessing as that which his entrance now conveyed. It was true he was pale, and somewhat emaciated, the consequences of his late indisposition, but these even added to the expression of feeling and sensibility that at all times marked his countenance, but which were now most powerfully excited; and, as he bent the knee before her, she thought she had never, even in the most polished ranks of society, beheld form or features more impressive.

Nor was Edward less surprised and affected by the sight of her whom he had almost involuntarily associated with the thought of broken vows and licentious passion. There was, in fact, in the present appearance of Lady Shrewsbury, much that might have won upon the pity, of a perfect stranger, so humiliated and heart

broken did she stand in the presence of a son, whom she well knew must, as well from the very tenor of his education, as from the sense of degradation accompanying his birth, have passed a bitter and unqualified censure on her former conduct. It was, indeed, this unquestionable proof of self-conviction, this mixture of shame, remorse, and tenderness, that alternately flushed and rendered pale the yet beautiful though faded features of the Countess, which disarmed Edward of every harsh or ungracious feeling; and which, while she wept over him with unrestrained affection, suffered no other emotions to touch his breast, save those of filial love and generous compassion.

Anxiously and apprehensively, in short, as the meeting had, in many respects, been contemplated by both parties, its result was in the highest degree soothing and consolatory to each. To Edward it had presented a mother, whose image, penitent, affectionate, and tender, would, though durable as life itself, no longer recur mingled with any dark or revolting association; and to the Countess it had brought the blest assurance, that the child whose earliest infancy

she had tended, and which sorrow had but the more endeared to her, would never curse his erring mother, but, as he breathed a prayer for her forgiveness in another world, would drop a tear to her memory in this.

Reluctantly, therefore, and as a matter of stern necessity, did they submit to that separation which imperious circumstances demanded. It was in all probability to separate for ever, and Nature, just restored to those feelings which constitute her best and purest enjoyments, felt the disruption with proportionate pain.

It was not, however, until every thing had been arranged for a future correspondence, and her Ladyship had seen and admired, and approved, the lovely and innocent Adeline, that Edward and the too celebrated Countess of Shrewsbury parted to meet no more!

It now merely remained, to carry into execution the plan which had been formed by Mr. Walsingham for their residence in Wales; but this was a task accompanied by so many natural sorrows and regrets, that anxious as Edward had been on some accounts for the expedition, it was entered upon, even by him, with great

reluctancy, and only after many delays. By Mr. Walsingham himself, who was returning to his native land, it could not be contemplated without pain; for he had long become attached to the beautiful scenery of the Rye, and the hours which he had passed within its bosom, had been those of literary ease and calm enjoyment. It seemed, however, a necessary step; for, in consequence of the incidents which had

ately occured, curiosity and enquiry were on the wing; and even setting aside the delicacy which was due to the Countess from the character of her new connections, he well knew that Edward's peace of mind, exquisitely sensitive as he had experienced it to be on the subject, would be perpetually liable to be broken in upon by the breath of calumny, and the whispers of detraction. He endeavoured, therefore, as much as possible, to reconcile his young friends to the pilgrimage they were about to undertake; representing to Edward, independent of the vexations to which he was himself aware he should be frequently exposed in his present situation, the deference which he owed to the wishes of his mother, and recalling to