No clue was to be derived from the behaviour of either of the parties. The cold austerity of Lord Ruthven's demeanour did not invite question, and the heart of Lady Ruthven suffered, but her lips never complained. Neither by word or action did she betray that she thought herself wronged, or oppressed. By her husband's friends she was darkly accused of petulance, of affectation, of coquetry: such insinuations as these she bore patiently, and weightier charges even they did not dare to circulate. It was an interesting sight to look upon a beautiful woman, who had now just attained that age at which other females mingle in the world and its dissipations with hourly increasing relish, relinquishing without a sigh the publicity to which her rank and talents were entitled; burying the fascination of her loveliness and her wrongs in unpresuming seclusion; and finally, suffering the breath of reproach to taint her own fame, instead of attempting a defence which might have injured the character of her husband. Under such circumstances the frivolous would enjoy the commiseration their misfortunes would excite, and the revengeful would endeavour to interest their hearers by narratives of domestic grievances, dictated by an animosity alike unjustifiable and disgusting. Lady Ruthven went not to these sources for relief in her affliction: she had a consolation and a support of which none but the religious can be sensible. She became an inmate of the house of her sister, Mrs. Mervyn, whose affection did all that care and attention could do, for the revival of her spirits. She seemed to be in good health, and joined without reluctance the little parties of intimate friends which were occasionally assembled at the house; but Dr. Mervyn soon perceived that she concealed in her heart a disease which no medicine could alleviate, no assiduity overcome. Its advances were slow-but certain ! I was present with poor Edward at one of these little coteries. It would have been prudence in him to have declined an invitation which prepared for him so severe a shock, but he was bent upon seeing her once more," and after that," he said, "I shall”. he did not conclude the sentence, but his look spoke all that he meant to express" I shall die happy." His unfortunate attachment had hitherto been a secret between him and me: he promised me that no one should divine it from his behaviour that evening, and he kept his word. Although we arrived early, the greater part of the company were there before us. Lady Ruthven was sitting with her sister; and her child, a beautiful girl which already began to remind us of her mother's infancy, was playing at her knee. Lady Ruthven seemed pale and fatigued; but there was nothing in her features or behaviour which showed a consciousness that she was the object of general attention. A person unacquainted with her history would have observed in her nothing remarkable, but ill health without peevishness, and loveliness without affectation. Many of the present party came, eager with curiosity or envy, to scrutinize every look and criticize every action of a Lady, whose life had excited so much interest. But she disarmed these inquisitive tempers by the ease of her demeanour, in which there was nothing unusual, nothing constrained; and she diverted from herself our attention, by the perfect carelessness which she evinced to it. The conversation turned at first upon general subjects, and Lady Ruthven bore her part in it, not perhaps with the liveliness which was hers in better days, but still without any very apparent depression. But I observed that her sister studiously avoided an allusion to any topic which might have recalled to her mind her former sufferings; and if any such allusion was made, the conversation was carefully, though almost imperceptibly, directed into another channel. Mrs. Mervyn, however, was by some untoward accident called away for a few minutes; and a circumstance then took place which immediately destroyed the success which her affectionate caution had hitherto obtained. An old gentleman, who by some strange fatality had just returned from abroad, totally unacquainted with Lady Ruthven's history, had been surprised at the silence which had been assiduously observed upon the subject of Lord Ruthven, and not aware of any uneasiness which could be produced by the words, he said, "I have not seen you, Lady Ruthven, since your wedding-day! It seems to me only yesterday;-and yet I think two years have elapsed!"—Her cheek grew rather paler as she bowed assent. He continued unknowingly to wound her feelings: "I do not see Lord Ruthven in the company! I hope he is well!" "I believe Frederick," she began, but that familiar name recalled too forcibly the recollection of other days. She stopped, and blushed deeply. Immediately recovering herself, and observing the inquisitive glances which were thrown upon her, she continued with greater composure, "I believe Lord Ruthven is in Paris!" Morton's brow was flushed, but he said nothing; the gentleman perceived that he had done wrong, and was silent. In the course of the evening some of the young people proposed dancing. Lady Ruthven was asked to join them." I was once very fond of dancing," she said, "but I now prefer looking on!-beside," she added, " I am a married woman!" and, in the beautiful smile with which she spoke, you might almost read the happiness of a Bride; but it vanished immediately. However, when she found that one was wanting to complete the set, she joined the dancers, and went through the quadrille with elegance, if not with animation. 群 ; Various subjects were afterwards discussed, and the Lady again conversed freely,-I had almost said cheerfully. The glow which her face retained from dancing gave her an appearance of health and I heard Mrs. Mervyn remark to a friend, that she had not seen her sister so well since her marriage. Her husband whispered to me, that appearances were not to be relied upon. At that moment one of the ladies present made some allusion to the case of an intimate friend who had recently been separated from her husband, and indulged in some very bitter reflections on the conduct of the latter; but immediately recollecting the similarity of the situation of her friend to that of Lady Ruthven, she stopped, and would willingly have recalled her expressions. It was now too late; and Lady Ruthven listened and replied with a serenity which was astonishing." In circumstances like these," she said, "there is commonly much to be repented of by both parties. Youth and inexperience are too prone to give and to take offence; and even the calmest tempers are not always proof against the provocation of a hasty word; especially" (and she blushed slightly) "where an union is founded on mutual affection, for a strong attachment has always in its composition something of jealousy! Domestic differences generally arise from accidents so trivial in themselves, that, however wounding they may be to the feelings of the individuals concerned, they appear not a little ridiculous when published with comments and embellishments to the world. The less that is said of them the better." She paused, and looked as if she feared she had said too much. "I know of a case," said a low melancholy voice," in which the repentance should be all on one side." It was Morton. He was quite abstracted from all considerations but one, and seemed hardly conscious that he had given utterance to his thoughts. Lady Ruthven appeared as if she understood not the allusion, and the subject was dropped. Every one present, however, seemed too much interested to converse with freedom on any other, and the company soon after separated. "She is more beautiful than ever," said Morton, as we left the house. What was the cause of this opinion? for the form of Lady Ruthven was too true a witness of the painful conflict her soul had endured. Her cheeks had lost their colour, and her eyes beamed with the light of serenity, but no longer sparkled with the rays of youth. Her present attractions were derived from other sources; less striking to a transient spectator; but less fallacious, and less evanescent. Morton had been accustomed to admire in Lady Ruthven the perpetual animation of her manner, the constant smilingness of her countenance; the unceasing brilliancy of her wit. But the charm he had this night found in her behaviour was greater than these; it was "the Beauty of Holiness!" Morton saw her no more. He left this country shortly afterwards, being desired to travel for the benefit of his health. But his appearance on his departure plainly told me that the endeavour would be unavailing. "My friends," said he, as he left me for the last time, "have long flattered themselves that I have been recovering, and I have suffered them to believe so; but you and I, my dear Courtenay! always knew that it would come to this." Since his death a small collection of poems, written by him at different periods of his life, has been put into my hands, which I shall insert, from time to time, in "The Etonian," with the signature of "E. M.' As for Mary, her health declined gradually, but her fortitude continued unimpaired. The approaches of the dissolution to which she looked forward with more of confidence than of alaım became rapid and apparent. My mother was latterly much with her, and I thus had frequent opportunities of observing her tranquillity in sorrow, and her efforts to hide the struggles by which that tranquillity was produced. When her illness had come to such a height that ultimate reco→ very was impossible, it was judged proper that she should be made acquainted with her situation. Both her parents had died shortly after her marriage, and she had few relations to leave behind her, save that sister who would not yet persuade herself that there was no hope. The probability of her speedy departure from this world was cautiously hinted to her: she received the intelligence as a thing which she had expected, and replied with a smile, "I have been long aware of this, my good friends; longer, perhaps, than you yourselves have been; and I am pleased that you do not so far suspect me of weakness as to withhold from me the truth.” She then desired her child to be brought to her; and, taking from her bookcase a small Bible, she showed to my mother the child's name written by Lord Ruthven in a blank leaf:- "It was given to the child," she said, " by her father; and I wished to put it into her hand myself before I left her motherless as well as fatherless." In that interview she instructed the child in a beautifully impressive manner upon the advantages to be derived from that book, and the duties which she owed to her father, whose gift it was, and concluded by repeating to her sister, "Wilt thou teach her to say' Father,' Though she must that name forego?" This was the only allusion that she was ever heard to make to her deserted condition. A few days previous to her death she expressed a wish to see her husband once more; and though there was little hope that his Lordship would arrive before her decease, a messenger was dispatched to request his immediate return. It is said that he was visibly and strongly agitated by this unaffected summons; but his behaviour, when, upon his arrival, he found that she had expired a few hours before, had more the appearance of embarrassment than of emotion. When her death was only a few hours distant, Dr. Mervyn and another medical attendant supposed that she had fallen into that state of insensibility which frequently is the immediate forerunner of death, and were expressing their pity for her misfortunes, and their detestation of Lord Ruthven's character, in the most unequivocal terms. But her reason was still firmer than they imagined. "Gentlemen," she said, with greater energy than she had exerted for many weeks, your good sense should tell you that these observations must not be made in the presence of Lady Ruthven." 66 She left a letter to my mother, which she had originally signed, "Mary Fitzroy," but she had corrected it to " Mary Ruthven," as if afraid of showing resentment in death. Soon after writing it she breathed her last in the arms of her sister. I know not whether this plain unvarnished tale is likely to interest the majority of my readers. But for myself, who have been an eye-witness of the sufferings I relate, (and God only knows how deep and how unmerited those sufferings were), I am sure that I shall seldom reflect without a tear upon the story of Mary Fitzroy. P. C. Keminiscences of My Youth. No. I. "There's not a joy the world can give, like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay."-BYRON. THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS-THE VICAR-ELLEN. SCENE of my best and brightest years! And dreams of the forgotten past, That Memory flings on all she views, |