regard to my future conduct, I found the best security that it should be irreproachable. For what man, deserving the name, could be indifferent to a beautiful and accomplished woman, as long as he was satisfied that she continued devoted to him? Lady Eleanor was right in supposing that I never really doubted her affection; for though I knew that women of strong minds have seldom very warm affections, yet when both were combined, the latter were always in proportion, and I had seen enough of Alice to be assured that she was not deficient in the most important characteristic of her sex.

CHAPTER LIII.

THE period of probation was now within a few days of expiring, and accordingly I wrote to Alice. I stated at length, and in the most emphatic language I could command, my views and feelings, which were the same that I had expressed in London six months before. I assured her, as I truly might, that I had examined myself thoroughly, and had subjected the matter to the most calm deliberation, the result of which was a deep-rooted conviction that our sentiments and tastes possessed that degree of sympathy, which must ensure our happiness in an union through life. I implored her, therefore, if she placed any confidence in my sincerity, if she believed that I had any knowledge of my own mind and heart, and lastly, if time and absence had effected no alteration in her feelings toward me, not to suspend my happiness by any farther delay.

To this letter I received by return of post the following reply:

"Priory, September 4, 18“I cannot lose a moment in answering your most grateful letter, although utterly incapable of expressing all that I feel at this moment. I shall attempt no more than simply to make myself understood, which is best done by confessing, without farther disguise or restraint, the happiness with which your letter has filled me. Yes, dearest Sydenham, your love is, indeed, to me the greatest of all earthly blessings. Believe me I have the fullest confidence in you in every respect; it would be ungenerous to doubt after the earnest and heartfelt terms, in which you have expressed yourself. I thank Heaven that I had firmness enough to resist your importunities, although powerfully seconded by my own wishes, to consent to our marriage six months ago, for then I should not have accompanied you to the altar with that delightful security which I now experience. Forgive me then, dearest, for wronging you so far as to demand this delay, as a criterion of your sincerity, and ascribe it to anything but indifference,

from which I once heard with the deepest pain, you suspected it to proceed. I know, however, that you have been disabused of this error, and it shall henceforth be my care to render it impossible for such a suspicion ever again to cross your mind. I am sure I need not say how anxious I am to see you. My agitation is so great that I can hardly hold the pen. God bless you, my dearest Sydenham,

"And believe me ever your affectionate

"The Right Honourable Sir Matthew Sydenham, Bart., M. P.”

ALICE."

Reader, if you have ever been in love, you will easily believe, that within an hour of the receipt of this letter, I was in my travelling carriage, rolling over the road to the Priory, with all the speed that four horses could muster.

The reader, no doubt, anticipates most of what remains to be told. Why should I describe scenes, which, however interesting to the actors, are notoriously flat and wearisome in detail. The happiness of the principal parties, the joy of Lady Jane, and the fervent manner with which Paulet welcomed me as a member of his family, can be imagined. I eagerly pressed for an early day, nor did Alice affect to resist my wishes. An early day was therefore fixed.

The interval was for the most part, occupied by the necessary arrangements. By the desire of Alice, in which I cordially coincided, the ceremony was to be strictly private, and to be performed by our worthy friend Burgess, in the parish church. The members of the bride's family alone were to be present, with the exception of our mutual valued friend, Lady Eleanor Palmer.

CHAPTER LIV.

BEFORE I draw to a conclusion, it will perhaps be expected that I should give some account of what became of several persons, who have figured in these volumes.

Of the Havilands little remains to be told. Deprived of the great political power which they had possessed for half a century, they withdrew from the court in dudgeon, and went abroad, where the Marquis, disgusted with his disappointments, threatened in future to spend his princely fortune. Lady Charlotte Cookson ended her career, about two years after her marriage, by accepting the protection of a noble Duke, much celebrated for his choice collection of beauties. Her husband, like a sensible man, went to law, and received the handsome sum of ten thousand pounds, in exchange for a worthless wife. He subsequently assured me that he considered himself as having made an excellent bargain. Lady Elizabeth, as she advanced in years, grew more devoted to religious pursuits. Upon Lord Daventry's death, she lived in her brother's house, in the situation of the maiden aunt, her caprices consulted, and her sarcasms smilingly endured, by her nephews and nieces, for reasons which she perfectly understood. At length she was deposited in the family vault, and the affectionate attentions of her relatives were rewarded by legacies of fifty pounds each, to buy mourning rings. The bulk of her fortune, being nearly forty thousand pounds, was bequeathed to the " Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts," and various other religious and charitable institutions. Lastly, I must not omit to mention that a treaty of marriage was concluded between Lord Richard Haviland and the heiress of Elmwood, in consideration, it was said, of one hundred thousand pounds paid down, and the reversion of the noble property after the death of Mr. Jackson.

The latter name recalls to my mind that unhappy relation of my own, whom I now mention for the last time. He was not long a burden upon my bounty. His miserable end was

worthy of his life-his body was found in the Seine, with the head nearly severed from the body. It was supposed that he had been murdered by a young Frenchman of rank, of whom he had won a large sum of money, which the former could not pay without ruin. As there was, however no sufficient evidence against the nobleman, he was unmolested. Although I was of course shocked at the horrible manner of my uncle's death, I certainly could not but feel satisfied at his removal, for as long as he lived, I did not consider myself secure from his machinations.

Poor Burgess never held up his head after the disappointment of his son. He had set his heart upon this boy, and not all the worth of his other children could recompense him for the frustration of the hopes which he had formed, with the infatuation of a doting parent. The young man proved utterly incorrigible. Violent and openly profligate natures are not desperate, but the subtile and hypocritical are impracticable. The good Vicar was advised, and after postponing the measure until the last moment, when convinced by repeated instances that there was no chance of amendment, he consented, to article his son to an attorney, as the profession best adapted to his genius and character.