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The first carriages that rolled over the
lawn to Bolton parsonage, on the succeeding
day, were those of the baronet and
his sister—the latter in advance.

“There, Francis,” cried Emily, as she impatiently
waited his removing some slight
obstruction to her alighting, “thank you,
thank you, that will do,” and in the next
moment she was in the extended arms of
Clara; after pressing each other to their bosoms
for a few moments in silence, Emily
looked up, with a tear glistening in her eye,
and first noticed the form of Denbigh, modestly
withdrawing, as if unwilling to intrude
on such pure and domestic feelings as the
sisters exposed, unconscious of a witness—
her aunt and Jane, followed by Miss Chatterton,
now entered, and cordial salutes and
greetings flowed upon Clara from her various
friends.

The baronet's coach had reached the door;
in it were himself and wife, Mr. Benfield, and
Lady Chatterton—Clara stood on the portico
of the building ready to receive them, her
face all smiles, and tears, and blushes, and her
arm locked in that of Emily.

“I wish you joy of your new abode, Mrs.
Francis”---Lady Mosely forgot her form, and

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bursting into tears, pressed her with ardour to
her bosom.

“Clara, my love,” said the baronet, hastily
wiping his eyes, and succeeding his wife in
the embrace of their child—he kissed her and
pressing Francis by the hand, walked into
the house in silence.

“Well—well,” cried the dowager, as she
saluted her cousin, “all looks comfortable
and genteel here, upon my word Mrs. Ives;
grapery—hot-houses—every thing in good
order too, and Sir Edward tells me the living
is worth a good five hundred a-year.”

“So, girl, I suppose you expect a kiss,”
said Mr. Benfield, as he ascended the steps
slowly, to the entrance—“kissing has gone
much out of fashion lately; I remember, on
the marriage of my friend, Lord Gosford, in
the year fifty-eight, that all the maids and
attendants were properly saluted in order.
The lady Juliana was quite young then, not
more than fifteen, it was there I got my first
salute from her—but so—kiss me,” and he
continued as they went into the house,
“marrying in that day was a serious business;
you might visit a lady a dozen times,
before you could get a sight of her naked
hand—who's that?” stopping short, and looking
earnestly at Denbigh, who now approached
them.

“Mr. Denbigh, sir,” said Clara, and

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turning, she observed to Denbigh, “my uncle,
Mr. Benfield.”

“Did you ever know, sir, a gentleman of
your name, who sat in the parliament of this
realm in the year sixty?” said Mr. Benfield;
and then, turning an inquiring look on the
figure of the young man, he added, “you
don't look much like him.”

“That is rather before my day, sir,” said
Denbigh, with a smile, and respectfully offering
to relieve Clara, who supported him on
one side, while Emily held his arm on the
other. The old gentleman was particularly
averse to strangers, and Emily was in terror,
lest he should say something rude—but after
examining Denbigh again, from head to foot,
he took the offered arm, and replied by
saying—

“True, true, that was sixty years ago;
you can hardly recollect so long—ah! Mr.
Denbigh, times are sadly altered since my
youth: people who were then glad to ride on
a pillion, now drive their coaches; men who
thought ale a luxury, now drink their port;
aye! and those who went bare-foot, must
have their shoes and stockings too. Luxury,
sir, and the love of ease, will ruin this mighty
empire; corruption has taken hold of every
thing; the ministry buy the members, the
members buy the ministry---every thing is
bought and sold; now, sir, in the parliament
I had a seat, there was a knot of us, as upright
as posts, sir; my Lord Gosford was one,

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and General Denbigh was another, although
I can't say I always liked his ways; how
was he related to you, sir?”

“He was my grandfather,” replied Denbigh,
with a benevolent smile, and looking at
Emily. Had the old man continued his
speech an hour longer, Denbigh would not
have complained; he had stopped while talking,
and thus confronted him with the beautiful
figure that supported his left arm. Denbigh
had contemplated in admiration, the
varying countenance, which now blushed
with apprehension, and now smiled in affection,
or with an archer expression, as her
uncle proceeded in his harangue on the
times; but all felicity in this world has an
end as well as misery; Denbigh retained
the recollection of that speech, long after
Mr. Benfield was comfortably seated in the
parlour, though for his life he could not recollect
a word he had said.

The Haughtons, the Jarvises, and a few
others of their intimate acquaintances, now
arrived, and the parsonage had the air of a
busy scene; but John, who had undertaken
to drive Grace Chatterton in his own phaeton,
was yet absent; some little anxiety had
begun to be manifested; when he appeared,
dashing through the gates at a great rate, and
with the skill of a member of the four-inhand.

Lady Chatterton had begun to be seriously
uneasy, and was about to speak to her son to

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go in quest of them, as they came in sight;
but now her fears vanished, and she could
only suppose, that a desire to have Grace
alone, could keep him so late, whose horses
were so evidently fleet; accordingly she met
them in great spirits, with—

“Upon my word, Mr. Moseley, I began
to think you had taken the road to Scotland
with my daughter, you staid so long.”

“Your daughter, my Lady Chatterton,”
said John, cooly, “would neither go to Scotland
with me, or any other man, or I am deceived
in her character—Clara, my sister,
how do you do,” and he saluted the bride
with great warmth.

“But what detained you, Moseley?” inquired
his mother.

“One of the horses was restive, and broke
the harness, and I stopped in the village
while it was mended.”

“And how did Grace behave?” asked
Emily, laughing.

“Oh, a thousand times better than you
would, sister; and as she always does, like an
angel,” said John, with fervour.

The only point in dispute between Emily
and her brother, was her want of faith in
his driving; while poor Grace, naturally timid,
and unwilling to oppose, particularly the gentleman
who then held the reins, had governed
herself sufficiently to be silent and motionless;
indeed, she could hardly do otherwise
had she wished it; and John felt flattered to

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a degree, that, aided by the merit, the beauty,
and the delicacy of the young lady herself,
might have led to the very results her mother
so anxiously wished to produce. But managers
too often overdo their work. “Grace
is a good girl,” said her mother; “and you
found her very valiant, Mr. Moseley?” “Oh,
as brave as Cæsar,” answered John, carelessly,
and in a way that proved he was ironical.
Grace, whose burning cheeks showed
but too plainly, that praise from John Moseley
was an incense too powerful for her resistance,
now sunk back behind some of the
company, endeavouring to conceal the tears
that almost gushed from her eyes; as Denbigh,
who had been a silent spectator of the
whole scene, observed, that he had seen an
improvement which would obviate the difficulty
Mr. Moseley had experienced; John
turned to the speaker, and was about to reply,
for he had heard of his being at the rectory
the day before, as the tilbury of Colonel
Egerton drove to the door, containing himself
and his friend the captain.

The bride undoubtedly received congratulations
on that day, more sincere than what
were now offered, but none were delivered
in a more graceful and insinuating manner
than those from Colonel Egerton; he passed
round the room, speaking to his acquaintances,
until he arrived at the chair
of Jane, who was seated next her aunt;
here he stopped, and glancing his eye round,

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and saluting with bows and smiles the remainder
of the party, appeared fixed at the
centre of all attraction to him. “There is a
gentleman I have never seen before,” he observed
to Mrs. Wilson, casting his eyes on
Denbigh, whose back was towards him in
discourse with Mr. Benfield.

“Yes, it is Mr. Denbigh, of whom you
heard us speak,” replied Mrs. Wilson; and
while she spoke, Denbigh faced them—Egerton
started as he caught a view of his face,
and seemed to gaze on the countenance,
which was open to his inspection, with an
earnestness that showed an interest of some
kind, but such as was inexplicable to Mrs.
Wilson, the only observer of this singular recognition,
for such it evidently was; all was
natural in the colonel—for the moment, his
colour sensibly changed, and there was
a peculiar expression in his face; it might be
fear, it might be horror, it might be a strong
aversion---it clearly was not love; Emily sat
by her aunt, and Denbigh approached them,
making a cheerful remark; it was impossible
for the colonel and him to avoid each other,
had they wished it; and Mrs. Wilson thought
she would try the experiment of an introduction—
“Colonel Egerton—Mr. Denbigh;”
both gentlemen bowed, but nothing striking
was seen in the deportment of either, when
the colonel, who was not exactly at ease, said
hastily,

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“Mr. Denbigh is, or has been, in the army
too, I believe.”

Denbigh now started in his turn; he cast a
look on Egerton of fixed and settled meaning;
and said carelessly, but still as if requiring
an answer,

“I am, sir, yet; but do not recollect
having the pleasure of seeing Colonel Egerton
in the service.”

“Your countenance is familiar, sir,” replied
the colonel, carelessly, “but at this moment,
I cannot tax my memory with the
place of our meeting,” and he changed the
discourse. It was some time, however, before
either gentleman recovered his ease, and
many days elapsed ere any thing like intercourse
passed between them; the colonel
attached himself during this visit to Jane,
with occasional notices of the Miss Jarvises,
who began to manifest symptoms of uneasiness,
at the decided preference he showed to
a lady they now chose to look upon, in some
measure, as a rival.

Mrs. Wilson and her charge were, on the
other hand, entertained by the conversations
of Chatterton and Denbigh, with occasional
sallies from the lively John. There was
something in the person and manner of Denbigh,
that insensibly attracted towards him
those whom fortune threw in his way. His
face was not strikingly handsome, but it was
noble; and when he smiled, or was much animated
with any emotion, it did not fail

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invariably to communicate a spark of his own
enthusiasm to the beholder; his figure was
faultless—his air and manner, if less easy
than that of Colonel Egerton, was more sincere
and ingenuous, his breeding clearly
high, and his respect rather bordering on the
old school; but in his voice there existed a
charm, which would make him, when he
spoke of love that he felt, to a female ear,
almost resistless; it was soft, deep, melodious.

“Baronet,” said the rector, with a smile
on his son and daughter-in-law, “I love to
see my children happy, and Mrs. Ives
threatens a divorce, if I go on in the manner
I have commenced; she says I desert her for
Bolton.”

“Why, doctor, if our wives conspire against
us, and prevent our enjoying a comfortable
dish of tea with Clara, or a glass of wine
with Frank, we must call in the higher
authorities as umpires--what say you, sister;
is a parent to desert his child in any case?”

“My opinion is,” said Mrs. Wilson, with
a smile, yet speaking with emphasis, “that a
parent is not to desert a child, in any case,
or in any manner.”

“Do you hear that, my Lady Moseley,”
cried the baronet, good humouredly.

“Do you hear that, my Lady Chatterton,”
cried John, who had just taken a
seat by Grace, as her mother approached
them.

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“I hear it, but do not see the application,
Mr. Moseley.”

“No, my lady! why there is the honourable
Miss Chatterton, almost dying to play a
game of her favourite chess with Mr. Denbigh;
she has beat us all but him, you
know.”

And as Denbigh politely offered to meet
the challenge, the board was produced; and
the lady attended, with a view, however, to
prevent any of those consequences she was
generally fond of seeing result from this
amusement; every measure taken by this
prudent mother, being literally governed by
judicious calculation--“Well,” thought John,
as he viewed the players, while listening with
pleasure to the opinions of Grace, who had
recovered her composure and spirits; “Kate
has played one game without using her
feet.”

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