THE TWO BRIDES; OR, ETHEL CHURCHILL. CHAPTER I AGE AND YOUTH. "I tell thee, said the old man, "what is life. A gulf of troubled waters-where the soul, Like a vex'd bark, is toss'd upon the waves, Of pain and pleasure, by the wavering breath Of passions. They are winds that drive it on, But only to destruction and despair. Methinks that we have known some former state More glorious than our present; and the heart Is haunted by dim memories-shadows left By past felicity. Hence do we pine For vain aspirings-hopes that fill the eyes With bitter tears for their own vanity. Are we then fallen from some lovely star, Whose consciousness is as an unknown curse ?" "AND yet, you chose to marry him!" "I did, and should marry him again; but ear with me for this night, dearest uncle, as ou have often borne." 66 The old man's answer was to pass his hand usage, to be 'a little more than kin, and less than kind,' still, Lord Marchmont's coldness oftentimes comes over me with the effect of suddenly rounding a headland in one of our valleys, and finding the north wind full in my face. He takes not the slightest interest in aught I say, and I have continually thoughts and feelings which I am restless to communicate. Here I do feel not this"-and she turned towards him her glistening eyes-" for my own dear uncle will always hearken to me, explain, encourage, and show me how to comprehend others and myself. But, far away from him, surrounded by new scenes, filled with fresh impressions, longing to clothe in utterance all the bursting thoughts they will excite, must I be lastingly condemned to a silent life, and a closed heart." "Better keep them so forever. Wherefore unlock to others treasures priceless to yourself, and valueless to them, unless the disclosure serve to render you their dupe and victim." “How differently, my uncle, do we view the world!" "The difference lies but in knowledge. I know that world-you know it not." "Nay, I have learned it from yourself, and experience teaches well." 66 "Ay; but before we profit, the experience must be our own. A few short years, Henrietta! for, to a temper such as yours, life "You have your husband, Henrietta;” but gives its lessons quickly; and we shall think expression which accompanied the sen- but too much alike. I may not live to see it, ce was half sarcastic, half distrustful. but the time must come—and, ah! how soonA still deeper shade of doubt passed across when you will commune with yourself in the high and finely cast features of the youth-solitude, perhaps, of this very chamber, and female. admit, gloomy as were my uncle's views of "You have, from my cradle, impressed existence, the reality is yet more dark.'” On me the folly of love; and so far as my "O, no! Fate cannot but have made an owledge goes, it goes with you. All the exception in my favour. Is there a single adairs of the heart that I have witnessed, have vantage that fortune has not blest me with ited but my wonder or contempt; nor could young, high-born, married to one of England's ver understand what people see so charm-richest and proudest peers, handsome, clever— in each other. I could no more pass hours is it not so? At morn I shall go hence, and, ay, like dear Ethel, in imagining perfection what sort of triumph and pleasure can I anticinameless boy, than I could yield up all pate at the metropolis?" faculties to the arrangement of colours in endless Penelope-pleasing piece of embroi; perhaps I am too quicksighted for the asions of love. Be "And you will find both; but, alas! human enjoyment is all too dearly atoned. The ancients gave the balance of life to a dark goddess, who, following in the track of fortune, as the shadow follows the sunshine, enforces bitter payment for our few and transitory delights. Nothing is good but evil comes thereof. I took you, Henrietta, when an infant, from your dying mother's arms. |