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“ Fie on ambition ! Fie on myself ! that have a sword, and yet am
ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods, and
durst not peep out, for all the country is laid for me."

SHAKSPEARE.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. III.

LONDON:

HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.

LONDON

PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, DORSET STREET.

REUBEN APSLEY.

CHAPTER I.

Oh dismal dole, when the secret soul

Is mock'd by the outward showing;
When we dress the eyes in a gay disguise,

While the tears are inward flowing ;
When groans and grief would be a relief,

But with carols we keep them under,
And a laugh we start when the throbbing heart

Is ready to burst asunder!

Oh wound most sore in the bosom's core,

That mocks relief or healing,
When the man we love all others above

At our feet is fondly kneeling;
When we deeply yearn his vows to return,

But, oh! most thrilling trial !
We force the tongue, while the heart is wrung,

To utter a faint denial!”

Nor many days had elapsed after the communication mentioned in our last chapter, when, as Helen was occupied in painting, her sister

VOL. III.

burst into the room, exclaiming, O Ciel! quelle joie extatique! he's coming! he's coming Ah! Helen, did I not tell you that he was a faithful and a loyal knight,-_brave as a Bussy d'Ambois or a Scanderbeg, and true as the steady Clytus to his Statira, or Arethusius to his Hyacinthia, or Orontes to his fond Andromeda ?" She sailed about the apartment in an ecstasy as she uttered these words, drawing up her head, assuining a stately step, casting furtive glances at the mirror, and affording no other explanation of her transports than a reiteration of the words

“ He's coming! he's coming !”

“ I am in no hurry,” said Helen, resuming her painting ; " when your fit is over, you will, perhaps, inform me who is coming."

“La, my dear, how can you be so inconceivably opaque ? Eh, comme tu as l'esprit bouché! Who should it be, but my own dear Arcadius ? Come to the window, and see him with your own eyes.

Doesn't he look handsome in his own clothes ? May I die, if it isn't the prettiest plum-coloured suit I ever beheld. And there's Mr. Goldingham with him, in his flat

three-cornered beaver, and his old-fashioned horn-headed cane. See how his coat pocket sticks out! La, Helen, only suppose it should contain the marriage articles, the settlements, and the favours for the footmen, and all that ! I vow I shouldn't wonder.”

“ Your imagination, Adeline, seldom fails you upon these points; but, for iny own part, I see no reason to conclude

Fi donc, Helen ! always reason, reason, reason. Comme tu me parais simple avec tes raisonnemens! Hark! hark! there's the bell of the great gate, and we'must of course go down to the drawing-room. La, what a figure I am ! My berger has come out of curl, and these confidants don't hang becomingly, and my cornet is too much over my cheeks. Tell me, Helen, do my Crêve-cæurs set off the nape of my neck killingly ?"

“Oh, no doubt they will merit the name !" replied her sister, smiling.

Bien pensé, ma sæur! May I die! if I must not have a favorite at each temple, a meurtrière to unite the locks, engageants to my sleeves,

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