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It is the remark of a profound but revere observer of mankind, that to judge of love by most of its effects, it is more like hatred than kindness. This sprightly and well imagined story, seems to have been written in illustration of the remark, for its main interest consists in the wayward caprices to which a mind naturally exalted and noble, is subjected by the tyranny of love. The pains and difficulties to which the main character is exposed, and in which he involves the object of his adoration, are many of them of his own seeking; enthusiastic and fastidious, suspicious and resentful of suspicion, vacillating incessantly between hope and fear, confidence and jealousy, he goes on refining away his own happiness almost to the end of the chapter; and it is not until the lady has achieved a complete victory over him, by a proper union of gentleness and decision, that he becomes at all worthy of the hand to which he aspires; nor is it until then that he atones for the repeated provocations which his hesitating captiousness has inflicted on the reader.

There is much novelty, if not in the general cast of this story, at least in the manner in which it is managed. There are two under-plots of great interest, which relieve and diversify, without confusing it, and tend in their progress and termination to the denouement of the whole. A great variety of characters are introduced, and in delineating them, the author has evinced a knowledge of life, and a power of discernment, which will remind the reader of some of Miss Edgeworth's happiest efforts. The supposed period of the tale is so recent, that many of the public events noticed in it have scarcely ceased to be the theme of general conversation, and hence it may be truly said to hold forth a picture of living manners.

After what has been observed respecting the character of the hero, it may perhaps be gratifying to the reader to witness his first unequivocal declaration of love. This scene takes place at Brussels, on the eve of the battle of Waterloo.

'In case of the enemy's attach proving successful, they would, in course occupy this city,' said Miss Argyle, desirous to hear the tone of that voice, which might soon, perhaps, be hushed for ever.

'I hope there is no probability of such an occurrence,' replied Lord Montague; 'I will, however, make every arrangement for your safety.'

[52] 'Regardless only of your own!' interrupted Miss Argyle, with an interest and emotion it was impossible to repress.

'Isadora,' he said, passionately alive only to the blissful convictions of the moment, pressing her hand repeatedly to his lips. 'You are my safety, my hope, my life, my all! Your happiness is the dearest, the most important - almost the sole object of my existence; and do not suspect me of colouring too highly, when I declare to you, that the moment I would die to secure it. The scene - the awful scene, in which I am soon to be actively engaged, seems to demand from me this avowal. Isadora, I love - nay, I adore your [sic]!

But these are words that all can use:
I'd prove it more in deed than word!

I would lay myself at your feet: but I know that the glory - the proud pre-eminence my native land has hitherto enjoyed above the nations of the earth, are set upon one dreadful cast. You, Isadora, loved and dearest, you, surely, would not have me shrink in this tremendous hour! I ask of you, at this moment, to lay aside the minute formalities which cold punctilio requires, and to tell me that I may hope. Say to me only, that if I return, I shall be dear to you. Assure me that, during my absence, you will think of me; and I shall be glad to preserve a life which that assurance will render valuable.'

Astonished, delighted, overpowered, Isadora could reply only by a tear that was invisible.

'Isadora,' said Lord Montague, clasping her hands in his own, 'will you not speak to me?'

'Alas, my lord,' she replied, almost inarticulately, 'it is a painful feeling to become fully sensible of a blessing in the very moment we must relinquish it, perhaps for ever. In an hour like this, hesitation and concealment would be cruel and degrading. I would emulate your lordship's candour: I confess that my heart has never known to love but once, and that it has long desired no other object, than yourself. Perhaps the golden period of my life which I passed with you at Mr Walworth's, may be the date of a preference since heightened -' She paused.

'Proceed, dearest Isadora: do not conceal from me one blissful assurance,' exclaimed Lord Montague, rapturously, 'At Mr Walworth's! Oh, Isadora, even then

Thou wert, thou art,
The cherished madness of my heart!

Proceed: every moment is precious; I cannot allow one instant to pass without being marked by some avowal form you, that I may continually remember; that I may live upon during my absence. - A preference since heightened: let me complete the sentence for you - since heightened into a passion!'

Isadora was silent a few moments. At length she continued! -

'At present my life seems identified with your's. If you are again to be the preserver of it, be careful of your own.'

If there be on earth the feeling of pure, unadulterated delight!, - the thrill of boundless ecstasy, - a present realization of all we hope and wish to enjoy in heaven, - a conviction that the measure of bliss is indeed o'erflowing, Lord Montague's heart was at this moment the abode of them, and expanded to admit the full measure of them.

The event of the approaching conflict, the danger of his friends and country, - all, all were forgotten: he saw only the dear object of every solicitude consenting to unite her destiny with his; he heard only the soft vibration of those accents that assured him he was happy.

The carriage stopt; - Lord Montague conducted Miss Argyle into the saloon. What overpowering sensations agitated them on encountering the glance of each other! - Isadora wept in his embrace; Lord Montague concealed the agitation of his countenance on her shoulder. A thousand delightful and interesting ideas occupied him; a thousand brilliant visions floated before his gaze; - the avowal he had so lately heard, produced a delirium, that gave to all he felt, and all he hoped, the semblance of phantasy and delusion. It seemed as if he were viewing the brilliant meteors of a northern sky, that distracted the eye enraptured with gazing on them. - He looked up; the phantoms vanished; he saw - he felt [53] the influence of the bright star beaming on him: reality was around him: he had, at length, secured that happiness so often fleeting from his grasp; he felt it in his arms - in his heart; it was in the present - it was in the future; it existed - and the term of its existence was to be eternity.

The details connected with the battle are very interesting, but they cannot in this place be given entire, and would suffer materially by abridgment. We pass to an instance of the amantium irae, on the occasion of an anonymous letter sent to Miss Argyle, imputing to her lover an illicit amour, in which his honour is compromised. In an interview, he demands to see this letter; and after detecting its fallacies, proceeds: -

'I think, madam, you will allow that this is a fair comment on the text before us; not distorted or misapplied, but adapted to it, and naturally deducible from it. And yet -

'I cannot bear witness to your usual penetration, Isadora; to the facility with which you detect imposture, and to the little credence you are accustomed to yield to assertion, more especially to anonymous assertion, unsupported by evidence.

'In this instance only, you have admitted the assertions of an unknown; and condemned, with a precipitancy and facility hitherto uncharacteristic of you, a man whose every hope of happiness rested in you! Alas, madam! what inference am I to draw - what conclusion to form from such premises? what other than that you were eager to think unworthily of me, and to sever those delightful links which have lately united us?

'You have roused me from a delicious dream, in which I should have been glad to slumber a little longer. Why, why have I adored you so madly! Why have I thrilled to tenderness at the confession of your love for me! - Only to prove that the assertions of an anonymous assassin could stagger your faith in me!

'For my own peace sake, for the redemption of my honour from that stain which blots it, I shall seek for, and I do not despair of discovering, this wanton assassin. You will confide this letter to me?'

Isadora, continually changing colour, trembling, and agitated, had not the power of replying. Lord Montague imputed her silence to another motive.

'You do not doubt my honour, madam?' he said, almost sternly.

The eyes of Isadora swam in tears. 'Why will you always misunderstand me!' she faintly articulated.

Lord Montague looked at her with tender earnestness: he approached; he took both her hands in his: 'Any thing but this, Isadora, I could have forgotten - forgiven! God bless you! forget, for the present, that this morning ever had existence.'

'For the present, my lord!' said she, rising with dignity, and disengaging herself from him: 'not only for the present, but for ever! Adieu, my lord! when we meet again, it will be for our mutual advantage that our perceptions should be somewhat clearer!'

She retired with majesty. Lord Montague looked at her with mingled admiration and anger: 'It is plain she never loved me!' he sighed, and departed.

The terms of the reconciliation, as we have already observed, are highly honourable to the spirit of Miss Argyle, and effect a salutary reform in the impetuous temper of her destined lord. [complete]

Provided by Julie A. Shaffer, January 2000