compositions which little Bessy had praised the most, and, hastily locking up the rest, hurried into his cab and drove off. The drive is rather a long one, but to him it seemed hardly to occupy three minutes, so insufficient did the interval appear for his last meditations as to the manner in which he ought to present himself. Shyness, as naturally the result of the manner in which he had passed his life as was the bloom on his cheek, and the unquenched brightness of his eye, struggled hard within him against his immense disdain of every species of distinction not arising from literary renown. "If there be any authors there," thought he, "authors who have already published, and are received into the republic of letters, to these I will bow, low as an eastern slave before the throned master of his existence; but I will not, for I ought not, to tremble, or suffer my spirit to quail, before any other distinction whatever. It is this which I must ever keep in mind, it is this which must teach me to raise my eye undaunted, forgetful that my home has been a farmhouse, and my kindred the tillers of the soil." At this moment the cab drew up suddenly, very suddenly, and Charles was thrown forward with a jerk, which very nearly brought him, nose foremost, on the pavement. Being active and alert, however, he saved himself by seizing upon some portion of the harness, and swung himself safely to the ground, But this tour de force was much less difficult than that by which, after paying his cabman with a hand which shook from nervous agitation, and stammering his own name, first to one puzzled servant and then to another, he at last mounted the stairs to make his first appearance in the arena where alone he wished to combat and to conquer. The sound of rushing waters seemed to gurgle in his ears, as the drawing-room door was thrown open. In the midst of this he distinguished the words "Mr. Charles Chesterfield!" and in the next moment he found himself, without knowing very well how he got there, standing precisely in the middle of the room, one hand in that of the gentleman whom he had met at breakfast in the morning, and the other clasped by a lady, who evidently deemed herself privileged to take it, held it firmly, and long enough to make the following speech before she resigned it.

"Welcome, Mr. Charles Chesterfield! a thousand times welcome! We literary people have a sort of freemasonry amongst us, which out-values a thousand introductions! I feel at once that you are of us! May I not flatter myself that you too feel that you are got among kindred souls ?"

The features of the tall lady who thus addressed him were large, and strongly marked, and might, perhaps, in early youth, have been accounted handsome by the class of persons who admire a countenance of almost masculine firmness and decision. Whether Mr. Gibson, who was of a slight and rather delicate fabric, might have ventured upon so disproportioned an alliance, if not encouraged and stimulated by the lady's being in possession of ten thousand pounds, may be doubtful; but be this as it may, the marriage was accomplished, and proved one of singular felicity. Nothing, indeed, could exceed Mr. Gibson's admiration of his lady's intellectual powers, which she confessed herself were something of a masculine order, and which he delighted to proclaim aloud to be "first of the first." Of the five daughters who

crowned this happy union no detailed description can be necessary, as any curiosity which the kind reader may feel concerning them will probably be sufficiently gratified in the course of the following pages.

There are few novices whom Mrs. Gibson could have addressed in the words above quoted who would have listened to them with so satisfactory a degree of self-assured intelligence as himself. Charles Chesterfield understood her perfectly. "Yes! there is such freemasonry!" was the response instantly and distinctly made by his kindling eye and delightful smile; and, had he spoken volumes, the lady could not have comprehended better the gratitude and the happiness that were swelling at his heart. She pressed the hand she held with an energy and freedom which ladies of fifty (if they like it) may bestow unchallenged upon any hand, and nodding her head with very significant approbation, added, "Enough! I know you, Charles Chesterfield, as well as if I had myself assisted in the development of the mind so delightfully legible at this moment in your features!"

I was

"I knew it! I was perfectly sure of it!" exclaimed Mr. Gibson, in the glad voice of one to whom disappointment in the hope just realized would have brought terror, as well as grief. "I was quite sure, my dear, darling love, that with your astonishing and unerring tact, you would immediately appreciate the talent of this young man. perfectly sure of it. Upon my honour I was. Dalrymple will be delighted, perfectly delighted, when he hears you have taken him by the hand. You are launched, young gentleman, I can tell you that, and I heartily wish you joy of it. I shall leave you in her hands; altogether and entirely in her hands. She will tell you, better than I can, in whose presence you are, which, if I mistake not, you will count among the things worth knowing." And Mr. Gibson turned his thumb, which had probably become flexible by the habit of indicating the distinguished persons in his circle, to the uninitiated, over his shoulder, towards a personage who stood leaning against the chimney-piece, silently reconnoitring the company by a pair of glasses which were suspended round his neck, though looking the while as if he scarcely thought it worth his trouble to do so.

Having performed this expressive manoeuvre, accompanied by a sig nificant yet mysterious nod, Mr. Gibson walked off, leaving Charles in a state of perfect felicity, all timidity having for the moment completely left him, while his secret but long-cherished belief in his own powers, returned upon him, freed from all the paralyzing effects of shyness. It was, in truth, a moment of ecstasy. As Mr. Gibson walked off, he caught the arm of his youngest daughter, who was the one of all his four intellectual children to whom he was the most inclined to venture upon a little display of individual consequence, and said, "Theodosia, my dear, I wish you to be very civil to that young man. I decidedly mean to patronize him. It is a marked thing, Theodosia, a very marked thing, to be the first to bring a débutant into notice. I own I like it."

"Is this the first literary soirée at which he ever assisted ?" demanded the young lady, passing her fingers through the knot of papa's black stock, in order to improve the set of it; a species of personal attention, indeed, which she often bestowed upon him; for, inheriting in a strong

degree his own propensity to patronize, she was wont to exercise it in a very flattering manner upon himself, never failing to set him to rights in all ways when she thought him wrong, which, as it happened frequently, occasioned his receiving a degree of notice from her which made her decidedly his favourite. Not that he in] the least degree wondered at or resented, the inattention of his other daughters. Mr. Gibson was much too sensible a man not to be aware of the effect of great intellectual powers upon the manners and tempers of young ladies so distinguished by Providence, and he felt too proud of being the husband of Mrs. Gibson, and the father of those four very superior young women, the Miss Gibsons (not to mention the one called Marianne, who did not indeed count for much), to complain of what he considered as the inevitable consequence of their early and devoted attention to literature. Yet, notwithstanding the philosophical love of mind to which he had thus brought himself, he certainly did like Theodosia's praising and patronising, and they were considered by every body as being most wonderfully attached to each other, and as offering a perfect pattern of fatherly and daughterly love.

"Is this the first literary soirée at which he ever assisted?" said the young lady a second time, giving her papa a little pat upon his cheek as she completed the arrangement of his cravat.

66

Certainly the first in London, my dear," replied the stock-still father, for he arrived only yesterday. Thank you, Dosy, darling, that will do, won't it? There, I can see it in the glass, my love, and you have made it look quite stylish. Go to your mamma now, and I dare say she will present him."

Theodosia took the hint, and repaired to the side of her mother, but the animated lady was not at that moment at leisure to attend to her. In explanation of her husband's parting words she had said, "Yes, Chesterfield! I will do you this service without delay. That gentleman with the long hair and uncovered throat, is Marchmont! That I can reckon him as my dearest friend, and most constant guest, is the great glory of my life! When I tell you that there is nothing which the world could offer which I could not sacrifice rather than lose this distinction, you may judge in some degree what he must be. Noble creature! Does he not seem, as he stands there, lorgnette in hand, looking out upon the world, does he not look like a being of a superior order reading the very souls of all around him?"

The voice of Mrs. Gibson was rather remarkable for being loud and clear, and as she did not lower it while she uttered these words, it was difficult to believe that Mr. Marchmont did not hear them, but no trace of his doing so was perceptible on his countenance; nay, when she had approached close to him, with her arm passed through that of Charles, and pronounced aloud, "Marchmont !" within a foot of his ear, he still appeared unconscious that she spoke.

"Gracious Heaven! what abstraction !" said Mrs. Gibson, turning to Charles." Does it not remind you of the stories we have heard of Sir Isaac Newton? Beyond all question his power of withdrawing the soul from outward objects is one of the most precious privileges which nature accords to genius."

Charles looked in her face, not very well comprehending the nature
Sept.-VOL. LX. NO. CCXXXVII.

D

of the privilege of which she spoke, but, fortunately, the look was more that of a person hanging entranced upon every syllable she uttered, than of one merely puzzled, and she therefore almost affectionately pressed his arm, as she replied, "A moment's thought, dear Mr. Chesterfield, will show you what I mean. Look at that striking countenance. Observe its calm-its utter ignorance of all around. Surely that power of withdrawing, as it were, the heavenward spirit from all that besets it here, and permitting it to soar on the wings of thought far above us all, has something godlike in it! But I must not leave him thus. My voice must penetrate e'en to the depth of his shrine-for do I not bring him a new worshipper? Marchmont! dear Marchmont !" she continued, speaking ever clear and loud, so that all present might have heard her, "descend! come down! 'tis time.' I must and will have you on earth, while I present to you Mr. Charles Chesterfield, a young votary of the nine, whom I have every reason to believe deserving that you should look upon him."

As Mrs. Gibson, notwithstanding the natural powers of her voice, did not wholly trust to it, but laid her hand on Mr. Marchmont's arm as she spoke, she at length succeeded in arousing his attention.

"What would you, my dear friend?" said he, in a whisper, soft as a

western breeze.

"What would I, Marchmont ?" she replied, joining her hands as if in act to pray. "This, would I. That you should leave the region of pure and serene air, and inhabit our nether world for some short space, that I may present to you this young man, Mr. Charles Chesterfield, the chosen friend of Mr. Dalrymple, of Ripley-park, whose name you well know, and the protegée, or, rather, the adopted son of Sir George Meddows, who has just brought him to town as his guest."

Mr. Marchmont, who now evidently heard every word she said, set his heels together, turned out his toes, and holding his eye-glasses in one hand, while he occupied the other in twiddling the chair, he made the nearest approach to a bow permissible to men of his class, that is to say, he bent his head till his chin touched his breast-pin.

Charles bowed too, in an old-fashioned way, and his handsome face spoke an animated wish to cultivate the acquaintance.

Mr. Marchmont laid his glasses with emphasis on Mrs. Gibson's shoulder, and, accompanying the action by an expressive glance, the lady comprehended that a tête-à-tête was demanded, and accordingly led the way to an isolated sofa at the furthest extremity of the back drawing-room, a locality which seemed admirably suited for the

purpose.

"You know I am your slave," he began, "and that my refusing to make the acquaintance of any one forced upon me by you, is something quite beyond the reach of any conceivable probability. But will you have the excessive kindness to throw some light upon this matter? Why, my beloved Mrs. Gibson, why should I receive to my heart this pink and white young gentleman? This rosebud of a youth, with his magnificent gray eyes, and curly hair? Why must I cherish all this? Is it in my way, my dearest Mrs. Gibson ?"

"A great deal more in your way than you have any idea of, amico mio," replied the lady, speaking as nearly in a whisper as it was in her

nature to do. "This young man is, I will venture to declare, very completely in your way. Of course I don't mean," she continued, suddenly checking herself, "of course I don't mean that he is one of the finest poets and prose writers in Europe-neither do I mean that he is the most influential literary patron in London. You raise those wicked eyebrows of yours, Marchmont, just as if you fancied I was saying so. But you don't really think any such thing, and, therefore, you may listen to me gravely, and believe what I state. This youth, this Charles Chesterfield, has received a particularly learned education. Such, at least is the statement of Dalrymple to Mr. Gibson, and certainly he is a man to be trusted. But his passion for composition is so strong that he will adopt no profession, and has been brought to London by Sir George Meddows, solely for the purpose of being put forward as an author. It was but last week, you know, that you were telling me I must beat about for contributors, for that your editorial box was not so rich as usual. Did you not, Marchmont? And can any thing appear upon the scene more perfectly à propos than this incipient Apollo?"

"You are ever the same!" exclaimed Mr. Marchmont, snatching her hand, and pressing it with much energy, "forgive my petulance, my dearest friend! How perpetually it happens to me, when I am least thinking of it that I find you

Still the unseen light,
Guiding my way!'

Yes! I do want contributors. Alas! I want many things, dearest friend!-many things absolutely essential. But this is no moment for the unrestrained confidence which I like to bestow upon you-I must ask for another moment-to-morrow morning, perhaps? or the next day? Now we will think only of the young man you wish me to patronize. To say the truth, his learned education is, of itself, no great recommendation to me, My grammar is mankind, my friend; my dictionary is in the clouds. The winds are my syntax, and rushing cataracts my prosody! But the objection is not fatal. More than one of the most chosen spirits of young England-thanked be the Gods! we now can talk of our young England, as our bright-soiled neighbours do of their jeune France. More than one of these, I have the happiness of knowing, have, at my bidding, thrown aside the wormeaten toga in which for ages the intellectual strength of the country has been entangled. Depend upon it, my charming friend, learning is to genius what long and heavy drapery would be to Taglioni. To such a mind as yours the illustration requires no commentary. But to return to this young Chesterfield. I am quite ready to take him by the hand, and will give him an audience either to-morrow morning or as soon afterwards as I can manage to find leisure."

"Would you like to see him here, dear Marchmont? I know that sometimes your room-. You men of genius, you know, do sometimes indulge in a little eccentric confusion," said Mrs. Gibson, affectionately. "Ever thoughtful! ever kind!" replied Marchmont. "But no. If this youth is to work for me and with me, I must stand on no