CHAPTER II.

"Les sons que rendent les passions dans le vide d'un cœur solitaire ressemblent aux murmures que les vents et les eaux font entendre dans le silence d'un désert; ou en jouit, mais on ne peut les peindre."

SIR HERBERT SEDLEY had, after he parted from the St. Johns at Milan, returned to England, and passed some time in retirement, with his mother. He possessed a fine estate in shire, and there he sought to recover his former peace of mind, which so many circumstances had tended to disturb :

"Solitude! oh! combien je t'aime !

Ton calme aux cœurs souffrans offre un charme suprême, Un attrait séducteur qui ne trompe jamais,

Heureux qui recherche ta paix !"

Herbert Sedley was gifted with a peculiarly strong mind, and therefore, although from that very circumstance, grief, when it did fall on him, sank deeper than it would have done in a common heart; still he struggled manfully against the indulgence of enervating feelings. He strove to enjoy the present without being overanxious respecting the future, reflecting on the many blessings he still enjoyed; and when most unhappy, he was most resigned and gentle, strenuously fighting against listless depression, and seeking stern, hard study, rather than permitting it to subjugate him.

How much more difficult is it for poor, weak woman to combat an absorbing grief!

It is one of the most consolatory reflections we can indulge in, when regretting the past and comparing it with the cloudy present, that what recurs to our memory as perfect happiness, was any thing but such at the time. We forget the many thorns which pricked us in our sweetest flowers; the very restlessness of happiness,

arising from our dread of its terminating; its never seeming to be complete, but always capable of increase; the low spirits which assail us, we cannot tell why, when we have most cause to rejoice. When we reflect on all this, it makes our present appear more bearable, as although we may be in that stagnant state where the affections lie dormant, is it not far better than that they should be called forth to "turn again and rend us." If we once give them scope, what mighty tyrants they become,-how desolating in their effects; how they change to us the whole face of nature, making every thing subservient to the one great object, which, if unattained, throws us back wearied and sick of life.

It is a fearful thought, that scarcely three persons out of a hundred are blessed in their affections; yet who would guess it to look around at the unceasing smile of the world?

When we reflect thus, how forcibly does it impress on us the conviction that this beautiful world is indeed to millions but a "vale of tears,'

their lives "vanity and vexation of spirit," and
that truly they are "born to sorrow as the
sparks fly upward.'

Sedley found great comfort and pleasure in the society of a young man, the son of Sir Bertram Annesly, a Baronet of the old school, of old family, with an old place, old servants, and everything about him old, with the exception of his children.

Charles Annesly had been Herbert Sedley's schoolfellow in early life, and there is something inexpressibly strong in that tie. We may not have esteemed them at the time; on the contrary, they may have been even objects of dislike to us; yet when in after life, we meet our schoolfellows, our hearts involuntarily yearn towards them, they knew us, they were our companions ere sorrow had set his mark on our

brows, and when hope was extravagantly bright in our hearts. What pleasant days, what lovely dreams of the imagination their familiar

faces recal.

Poor Charles Annesly had been cruelly deceived by a beautiful coquette, who after persuading him that he was necessary to her happiness, had married a rich French nobleman, being herself a Frenchwoman. Sedley saw that the wound rankled deep in his friend's bosom, and that his attachment to this heartless girl had been true and fervent, consequently was difficult to eradicate. His health, at no period strong, was evidently much shattered by his recent disappointment, and change of scene (that common remedy prescribed for wounded hearts) was recommended for him.

Lady Sedley, who beheld with concern her son's continued dejection, proposed that they should accompany young Annesly on his tour, and Herbert agreed to the plan with eagerness.

They waited to be present at the marriage of a cousin of Charles Annesly's who had formed an attachment which much surprised all who knew him. He had lived all his life in the most refined and intellectual society, and had partaken