I was, as I have said, most impatient to set out for the continent. The uneasiness I felt at the idea of meeting Mr. de Vere, had increased upon me; and, in spite of my passion for Clarice, I could find no rest but in the thought of getting away and beginning the tour, which my good father had planned.

He had written to Mr. Broadhurst, the travelling tutor, and had made very particular inquiries about the young gentleman whose companion I was to be. This answer was not long in arriving—and, to my inexpressible satisfaction, informed us that his name was Reginald Vernon.

I have never mentioned this young man until now: but I had known and loved him, for some time. Reginald! Generous-joyous-Reginald! How shall I find words to convey a just impression of the fascinations of thy character? Thy bright blue eyes, instinct with vivacity and spirit; thy beautiful features; thy curling brown hair so lightly waving; that symmetrical figure formed alike for graceful and vigorous action; that cheering laugh, that infectious gaiety, before which dulness and melancholy melted away as morning mists before the sun!....

I loved thee-who but must have loved thee-who but must have loved that warm, candid, generous temper; that honest, and affectionate heart.

But to me, with my reserve, my languid spirits, my constitutional inertness both of body and soul-that weight oppressive, which I could so rarely throw off— thy presence was life and light.

And, thou too, dear Reginald, thou too, no doubt,

didst feel a certain enjoyment, when the bright beams of thy intellect played on and illuminated this clay;— summoning into fitful existence the ardent spirit, that struggled for expression within.

Academy,

I had first met Reginald Vernon at the where we had been educated together; and had been drawn towards each other by that sort of attraction which often unites oppositions.

And now this agreeable fellow was to be the companion of my travels. You may guess how pleased I was. It is not easy to say how very much I liked Reginald then, or how warmly I soon learned to love him.. My whole existence has been made up of my affections;Reginald and Clarice!-my heart has been divided between them.

I have loved them, not as men usually love. My friendship for Reginald has had almost the force of a passion-my love for Clarice all the strength and constancy of a friendship. In them I have lived.

And now, when the unhappy accident which had clouded my enjoyment at Holnicote had made me nervously desirous to get away; to change the scene; and to forget the vexations and regrets of the past;—it is needless to express with what satisfaction I turned to the idea of Reginald. As the one thing still left in life, on which this shadow that had darkened my existence would not fall.

With what expectation of relief, I clung to his idea! -to the remembrance of his courageous and cheerful spirit-and trusted that its influence would dispel the painful ideas that saddened me. I should receive fresh life from

the animating society of Reginald. And, by a good fortune, which in my depression of spirit I had thought never under any form would again be mine. Reginald was to be the companion of my travels.

My father, upon receiving this information, acceded to the plan with the greatest alacrity.

He was a father such as there are few to be found. Mothers tender, disinterested, generously devoted to the best happiness of their offspring, are not rare-it is the precious attribute of their sex; but fathers seldom look upon their sons with an affection so pure and genuine. They are too apt to regard them merely as the instruments of their ambition-as those who shall complete the schemes of life they have themselves commenced; or else, as very expensive and troublesome burdens, to be shoved off into the great ocean of life, to struggle and fight it out as best they may. The generous attention to a son's best happiness, that true test of real affection, is too often wanting. But my father had the kindest regard for mine.

Perhaps, his more than common tenderness was occasioned by the early loss of my mother;-and his compassion was excited for the helpless little boy; possessing no near female relation; and who was thrown entirely upon his gentleness and humanity, for all his enjoyments.

He invariably proved to me, the most indulgent, and the most valuable of friends; as well as the most charming of companions. I admired, as much as I loved and honoured him.

We had no secrets. On my return home I had con

fessed to him the vexatious cause of Mr. de Vere's disappointment.

I saw that he was excessively annoyed at it; but he would not wound me. He did his best to conceal a mortification that it was impossible for him, altogether, to disguise.

I saw clearly, that he sympathised with Mr. de Vere far more strongly than I did. At my age, and with my temper, any disappointment in which love has no share, excites after all but a feeble interest: but my father was no longer young,-and he understood how many, and how strong, are the passions which yet survive, when the first wild insanity of love is over.

He could appreciate the bitterness, with which this destruction of so many desires, and of so many plans, must have fallen upon his friend's heart.

I related to him the conversation with Mrs. Fermor.

"I agree with her," said he, "she decided like a woman of sense, as she is. But let neither of us forget, Edmund, that it is the duty of us both by every means that may possibly present themselves, to repair the evil you have so inadvertently occasioned. This is one of those fine obligations which bind the man of honour. A claim upon you, which no man could perhaps precisely assert, and certainly which no man could enforce. -It rests upon your own conscience, and sense of justice alone..... Such is true honour, Edmund."

I was never demonstrative; I could rarely express what I most strongly felt; I made no answer; but the words sank into my mind, he saw that they did, and was satisfied.

He comprehended the uneasy feelings, which would for the present make me less happy at Holnicote than I had formerly been, and he did not seem to regret it. His whole mind was now engaged on this tour. He was extremely impatient for me to set out.

July and August were now passed; it was September before all our various preparations were completed; and my father set out with me for London, to join Mr. Broadhurst and his pupil.

We had, among other causes of delay, been waiting for Reginald, who had been engaged, since we parted at the academy, in touring throughout Scotland and Ireland: portions of the empire then but rarely visited, and where, in the more remote parts at least, communications were so uncertain and slow, that I had neither heard from him, nor he from me, upon the subject of the projected scheme.

It was early in September when my father and I arrived in town, and took up our abode at the Old Hummums in Covent Garden, at that time a very fashionable hotel; and we had just finished what was considered a late dinner, at four o'clock, when the door opened, and Mr. Broadhurst and Mr. Vernon were announced.