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other! before she had learned to doubt his truth, or he to dread or resent her displeasure.
The announcement that his cabriolet was at the door, was a relief to them. He muttered a few words of his regret at the necessity of leaving her; and, as his lips slightly pressed her cheek, it required no little effort on her part to repress the tears that were ready to bedew them, while she silently and passively received, without returning his caress. It was not thus that they had been wont to part even for an hour. He would fondly loiter, unwilling to tear himself from her presence, and she would as fondly urge his stay. But now—all was changed, and they felt, but dared not revert to the alteration. The tears, repressed in his presence, flowed abundantly when Lord Henry left the house. They were the bitterest his wife had ever shed; for they mourned the death of those young and romantic hopes of happiness, the completion of which are to be found only in the pages of fiction.
While Lady Emily still continued to weep in uncontrollable emotion, the doors of the library were thrown open, and before she could discern who entered, she was fondly pressed in the arms of her sister, Lady Lutterworth. The senior of Lady Emily by three years, and nearly that period a wife; Lady Lutterworth had acquired all the experience which is the inevitable result of a constant intercourse with society. She, too, had, during the first months of her marriage, wept over the destruction of those illusions peculiar to the young and romantic; illusions fated to be dissolved by the sober realities of life--and had learned to value the steady affection of the husband, which supersedes the more animated, but brief devotion of the lover. She had passed through the phases of the honeymoon, and noted the barometer of love, from extreme heat to variable, and found the quicksilver remain steadily fixed at temperate. Nevertheless, though she might sometimes give a sigh to the memory of her departed illusions, she was satisfied, nay, more, was happy in her domestic life. Arrived but late that evening in London, from the continent, where she had been sojourning during the last two years, she could not repress her impatience to embrace the dear sister she had left budding into beauty when she last beheld her, and had hurried off in a voiture de remise, from the Clarendon, as soon as she and her lord had finished the late dinner that awaited their arrival.
“But how is this, dear Emily, you have been weeping ?” were the first words uttered by Lady Lutterworth, after having again and again pressed her sister to her heart.
“I've been nervous, and somewhat low-spirited," replied Lady Emily, and the tears streamed afresh from her eyes as she spoke.
“Where is Lord Henry? I long to become acquainted with my new brother," said Lady Lutterworth.
“ He is gone to the House of Commons," answered Lady Emily. “ Which I dare
say you find to be just as plaguy an affair as I used to consider the House of Lords the first year of my marriage, n'est-ce pas, ma chère petite sæur? Oh, how well I remember counting the long, dull hours, that I thought interminable, while my lord and master was discharging his senatorial duties, listening to the pungent satire of a Lyndhurst, or the bitter irony of a Brougham. I recollect, too,
the heroic courage with which I resisted the attacks of the drowsy god Morpheus, for the praiseworthy purpose of being able to tell Lutterworth what a sleepless wretched night I had passed. I have struck my repeater, when so overpowered by drowsiness as to be almost incapable of counting its silvery sounds, that I might be able to acquaint my caro sposo how many, many hours I had counted. And then how offended, how angry I used to feel, when he has said, Why not go to sleep, Louisa ? You would then have been unconscious of the tardy flight of time, and I see you can hardly keep your eyes open.' I did learn wisdom, did go to sleep, and acquired sufficient philosophy to be amused the morning after a late debate, in listening to a résumé of it from Frederick, instead of looking, if not uttering reproaches for his having occasioned me such long vigils.”
“But where is Lord Lutterworth?" inquired Lady Emily.
“ Indulging in a most comfortable siesta, sin a chair which he has pronounced to be perfect for such indulgence," replied Lady Lutterworth. “He will then visit his club, hear the on-dits and become au fait of all that is passing in London, which will be retailed and detailed to me at déjeuner to-morrow.”
“ And does he indulge in these siestas in your presence ?" demanded Lady Emily, her brow elevated into an angular curve, indicative of displeasure and surprise.
“Does he not!" answered Lady Lutterworth. “Yes, my dear little sister, et sans cérémonie, sans peur, et sans reproche.”
“And you suffer it?" asked Lady Emily.
“Ay, more; arrange the pillow, and make as little noise as possible, lest I interrupt his slumber," answered Lady Lutterworth.
“But surely, sister, this is very undignified! We ought not to forego those attentions, those petits soins, to which we are entitled, and which form the agrémens of wedded life.”
“ Yes, Emily, during the honeymoon, perhaps ; but be assured that the sooner a wife resigns these petits soins, only voluntarily paid while she is yet a bride, the better will it be for her future happiness. Let her receive with pleasure, every demonstration of her husband's affection, without ever exacting a single one. Let her ever welcome him with smiles, and conceal the tears his absence costs her. If he will sleep, and husbands have all a peculiar tendency to court tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep,' is it not wiser to ensure his gratitude, by administering all gentle appliances to render his slumbers agreeable, than to resent, though unable to prevent, the indulgence.”
" But then, sister, we are so loved, so adored, during courtship, and the early days of marriage, that it is difficult, if not impossible, to bring ourselves to be content with the commonplace civilities, into which husbands allow their attentions to degenerate when the honeymoon is over.”
“Wo to her, Emily, who cannot soon, and cheerfully submit to be content with such! It is the false notions engendered during the days of courtship and the honeymoon, that lay the foundation for many, if not all the dissensions that too frequently imbitter married life. Men, the lords of the creation, forego their prerogatives, when they stoop to sue and propitiate those whom they believe themselves born to protect, if not to command. The object attained, for which this sacrifice was offered, they quickly resume their natural and ill-concealed sense of superiority, and begin to treat her, whom they seemed to consider a goddess, as a creature sent into the world, to contribute to their wants and wishes. A deposed monarch, driven from the throne where he commanded universal homage from his subjects, is not placed in a more false position, by expecting similar demonstrations of respect in exile, than a wife is, who exacts in the staid and unromantic position of a matron, the devoted attentions offered to her during the illusive hours of courtship and the first bridal days. Let then both the deposed sovereigns resign with decent dignity' the homage they can no longer command, and they will best ensure that continued regard which, though more homely, is not less precious.'
The words of Lady Lutterworth, made a deep impression on the mind of her fair young sister, who, the moment that lady retired, sought her pillow; and though a few natural tears dewed her cheeks, as she resigned the sweet but delusive hopes of youth and romance, which led her to imagine that the husband would ever continue the lover, she went to sleep with the firm resolve of seeking content, and of conferring happiness in the discharge of her duties.
When Lord Henry returned from the House of Commons--and this night he did so without dropping in at his club--he found his fair young wife asleep, her cheeks still retaining the traces of recent tears. There was something peculiarly touching in the sight of that beautiful and youthful face, thus marked with sorrow, though under the blessed infuence of sleep. The rich crimson lips still quivered, and broken sobs escaped them, like those of a slumbering child who had wept itself to unconsciousness; and a tear still trembled beneath the long silken lash that shaded the the fair and delicate cheek.
Lord Henry stood in mute admiration, regarding the lovely object before him, and felt all the lover's enthusiasm and husband's tenderness revive in his heart, from the contemplation. His own name, uttered in the softest tone of affection, stole from the lips of the sleeper; and was followed by a sigh so deep as to agitate the snowy drapery that shrouded her finely-formed bust. That sigh appealed more powerfully to his feelings, than the most eloquent speech could have done; and he reproached himself severely for having caused it.
Poor, dear Emily !” thought he, “even in her dreams I am remembered. And I can be so unfeeling as to blame her, that she is disappointed at finding me so much less faultless than she expected! So pure a mind as hers, cannot be expected to make allowance for the breach of veracity she has discovered, where she thought all was truth. And I, like a brute, could be angry, instead of endeavouring to sooth her wounded feelings!"
These salutary reflections produced a happy result. The morrow's sun shone on the reconciliation of Lord Henry and Lady Emily. He acknowledged the error into which a desire to avoid displeasing her had hurried him; he explained the sacrifices entailed by the conventional usages of fashionable life; the necessity of occasionally submitting to them; the expediency of a wife's cheerfully yielding to these unavoidable interruptions to domestic bliss ; and by a perfect confidence in her husband, and a freedom from exacting a monopoly of his attentions only practicable he solitude of their country-seat, exempting him from the painful necessity of concealment or prevarication.
The tenderness with which his advice was bestowed, ensured its adoption. From that day forth Lady Emily learned to bear seeing her husband behave with the courtesy practised by every well-bred man towards women, without feeling any jealousy; submitted without uneasiness to his frequently engaging his old friends to dinner, nay, could smile at the mention of the “ bewitching widow," and hear of his occasionally supping at his club without being made unhappy.
A letter despatched a few days after to her dear friend, Lady Frances Lorimer, in answer to one from that young lady announcing her approaching nuptials, contained such excellent advice on the danger of young wives exacting attentions only paid during the days of courtship, that it had the best effect on that lady. This judicious counsel consi. derably lowered the exaggerated and romantic expectations she had previously indulged of the unbroken felicity of wedded lovers, and saved the husband of Lady Frances from the scenes of domestic chagrin that had clouded the conjugal happiness of Lord Henry and Lady Emily Fitzhardinge, during their first entrance as a wedded pair into fashionable life in London.
( After the manner of Herrick.)
BY MRS, C. BARON-WILSON.
Upon my cheek youth smiles no more,
No more with hope my pulses move,
And yet- I love!
My brow is stamp'd with many a care,
Whose with’ring influence I prove;
And yet- I love!
My heart is like a broken lute,
Whose strings no more to rapture move :
And yet-I love!
I have no’witching skill to charm,
No spell a kindred flame to move ;
And yet-I love!
THE FALLS OF THE CAUVAR Y.*
BY THE OLD FOREST RANGER.
“Lo ! where it comes like an eternity,
As if to sweep down all things in its track,
Before daylight, in the morning after the successful encounter with the Man-eater, Mansfield and Charles, accompanied by the Doctor, who had joined them on the previous evening, were making the best of their way, across a wide extent of barren plain, towards the sacred island of Seevasamoodrum. Here they intended to halt for a day, on their way home, to visit the celebrated falls of the Cauvary. The country, over which they travelled, being of that uninteresting character which affords neither fine scenery nor any prospect of adventure, beyond a chance shot at an antelope or a bustard, Mansfield beguiled the tedium of a long march, by giving his companions a description of the island and the falls. This our readers will perhaps pardon us for repeating, in as few words as possible, to save explanation hereafter:
Seevasamoodrum, one of the small islands of the river Cauvary, affords an object of interest to the antiquary, as having been the site of the ancient and sacred city of Gungah Parah. It is now almost a wilderness, overgrown with high jungle-grass, and forest-trees; the only traces of its former splendour which now remain, being the ruins of two or three pagodas, with fragments of ancient sculpture, half-buried in the earth. It is also interesting to the admirer of nature, from the beauty of its scenery, and the magnificent falls which the river forms on either side of it; and to the sportsman, as being a favourite haunt of tigers and other wild animals.
The island still retains its sacred character, and a few modern pagodas have sprung up among the ruins, like suckers from a decayed root, affording shelter to a nest of lazy Brahmin priests, its only inhabitants. It is the property of a petty Jagiardar named Rhamaswamy, who, from having been head servant to an European Gentleman, has gradually amassed a fortune, and raised himself to a situation of some import
Whether he came by his wealth honestly or otherwise, does not appear. But, at all events, he has shown his gratitude to those from whom he derived it, by erecting upon the island a handsome, wellfurnished house, the hospitable doors of which are ever open to his European friends. An establishment of servants, and a palanquin, are also kept. And, to particular friends, the key of a well-stocked cellar is generally offered, although sew there be who trespass so far upon his hospitality as to make use of it.
The larger branch of the river, which flows on the western side of the island, forms the fall called “ Gungan Jooki,” or the “ Leap of Gungah.” The corresponding fall, on the eastern side, is called “ Bir Jooki,” from Bir, a banyan-tree. The legend from which the falls derive their names, is as follows: It is a translation from an ancient Hindoo MS. preserved in one of the pagodas of Seevasamoodrum.
Continued from No. ccxxv., page 99.