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much civility by Sir Ralph Blenford, the steward of the house, who, on learning the accident which had happened, very politely ordered refreshments to be brought them, offering, at the same time, any conveyance to Rivaulx which the Duke's stables in his absence could afford. As Hoel, however, now professed to be, and really felt, almost perfectly recovered, and they were likewise apprehensive that such a mode of return might occasion great and unnecessary alarm, the offer was declined with many acknowledgements, and they left Helmsley with as much rapidity as the bruises which poor Hoel had received would allow.
The evening, though fine, was now so far advanced as to render almost every object indistinct and obscure, a circumstance peculiarly welcome to one of the parties, as it, in a great measure, concealed the blushes and confusion which the late accident had not yet ceased to occasion.
The feelings, in short, of both, with respect to each other, had undergone, within the compass of one short hour, a strange alteration; and they journeyed on for some time absorbed in thought, and with scarcely the exchange of a word, though the kind assiduity of Edward in relieving, as much as possible, the exertions and fatigue of his companion, was such as very clearly to indicate what was passing within his breast. He had, indeed, been more or less than man, if the discovery which he had just made, preceded as it was by all the circumstances and events we have recorded, had not made an impression on his heart. But when we recollect how that heart was constituted, how susceptible of the best, and noblest, and tenderest affections, how singular and romantic had been the incident, and how good and beautiful the being who had formed its object, we shall not wonder to find that the friendship he had so recently entertained was fast maturing into love.
“May I venture to enquire,” he at length said, as he had just assisted his trembling companion over the stepping-stones of a shallow brook, “ may I venture to enquire by what name I am in future to address her whom chance has so lately and so kindly introduced to me?” My name, my real name," replied the lovely girl, smiling, yet with trepidation, is Adeline, the name of my beloved mother; and believe me, Edward, when I say, that though Hoel is no more, Adeline will, with never-dying gratitude, remember the kindness you have ever shown him.”
As she said this, and with an accent and manner which
added sweetness to the sentiment, Mr. Walsingham, with Llwellyn leaning on his arm appeared in sight; and Edward and Adeline, fearful that apprehensions for their safety had brought them thus far, and at so late an hour from home, hastened, though with some anxiety, to meet them.
(To be continued.)
Μεγαλοι οι λογοι, και εμβριθεις αι εννοιαι
A work sublime in words, and weighty in matter.
Among the great writers of the seventeenth century, whose productions, though meriting an immortality of fame, have fallen into neglect, may be mentioned the name of Sir Thomas Browne.
When Dr. Johnson, more than half a century ago, employed his powerful talents on the biography of this once celebrated physician and philosopher, it was to have been expected, that such an effort from such a quarter would have excited the attention of the public, and brought forward the object of his just praise. But the result has not been in any degree commensurate to the wishes of those who have studied the writings of Browne, with a deep and well
founded admiration for their value and originality.
One great cause of this failure, may probably be ascribed to the circumstance, that of those whose curiosity has been stimulated by the encomium of Johnson to consult the works of Browne, the greater number has been induced, from the attraction of title, rather to refer to the “ Enquiries into Vulgar and Common Errors,” or to “ The Garden of Cyrus," than to the “ Religio Medici,” or the “ Hydriotaphia.” The consequence has been, that the two chief faults of the writer, the latinity of his style, so striking a feature in the first of these productions, and the lawless eccentricity of his fancy, so singularly prominent in the second, have occasioned either perplexity or disgust; and the folio has insensibly dropped from the hands of its disappointed readers.
That this could ever have been the case, had the Religio Medici been entered upon by any reader of taste and feeling, I am most unwilling to believe; for I know of no prose work of the century in which it appeared, not even excepting the writings of Jeremy Taylor and