out shame-if so; it would be natural in a young | high-stepping horse that had cost £200; was well man who comes from the elder branch of the house known to young men of fashion, and considered by whose heiress was my wife." "You wound me, Mr. Egerton," said Randal, turning away. Mr. Egerton's cold glance followed Randal's movement: the face was hid from his glance-it rested on the figure, which is as often as selfbetraying as the countenance itself. Randal baffled Mr. Egerton's penetration-the young man's emotion might be honest pride, and pained and generous feeling; or it might be something else. Egerton continued slowly "Once for all then, distinctly and emphatically, I say never count upon that; count upon all else that I can do for you, and forgive me when I advise harshly or censure coldly; ascribe this to my interest in your career. Moreover, before decision becomes irrevocable, I wish you to know practically all that is disagreeable or even humiliating in the first subordinate steps of him who, without wealth or station, would rise in public life. I will not consider your choice settled till the end of a year, at least; your name will be kept on the college books till then; if, on experience, you should prefer to return to Oxford, and pursue the slower but surer path to independence and distinction, you can. And now give me your hand, Mr. Leslie, in sign that you forgive my bluntness;-it is time to dress." Randal, with his face still averted, extended his hand. Mr. Egerton held it a moment, then dropping it, left the room. Randal turned as the door closed. And there was in his dark face a power of sinister passion, that justified all Harley's warnings. His lips moved, but not audibly; then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he followed Mr. Egerton into the hall. "Sir," said he, "I forgot to say, that, on returning from Maida Hill, I took shelter from the rain under a covered passage, and there I met unexpectedly with your nephew, nephew, Frank Hazeldean." "Ah!" said Egerton, indifferently, "a fine young man; in the Guards. It is a pity that my brother has such antiquated political notions; he should put his son into Parliament, and under my guidance; I could push him. Well, and what said Frank?" "He invited me to call on him. I remember that you once rather cautioned me against too intimate an acquaintance with those who have not got their fortune to make." "Because they are idle, and idleness is contagious. Right-better not be intimate with a young guardsman." "Then you would not have me call on him, sir? We were rather friends at Eton; and if I wholly reject his overtures, might he not think that you-" "I!" interrupted Egerton. "Ah, true; my brother might think I bore him a grudge; absurd. Call then, and ask the young man here. Yet still, I do not advise intimacy." Egerton turned into his dressing-room. "Sir," said his valet, "Mr. Levy is here he says, by appointment; and Mr. Grinders is also just come from the country." "Tell Mr. Grinders to come in first," said Egerton, seating himself. "You need not wait; I can dress without you. Tell Mr. Levy I will see him in five minutes." Mr. Grinders was steward to Audley Egerton. Mr. Levy was a handsome man, who wore a camellia in his buttonhole-drove in his cabriolet, a their fathers a very dangerous acquaintance. CHAPTER XII. As the company assembled in the drawing-rooms, Mr. Egerton introduced Randal Leslie to his eminent friends in a way that greatly contrasted the distant and admonitory manner which he had exhibited to him in private. The presentation was made with that cordiality, and that gracious respect, which those who are in station command for those who have their station yet to win. "My dear lord, let me introduce to you a kinsman of my late wife's (in a whisper)-the heir to the elder branch of her family. Stanmore, this is Mr. Leslie of whom I spoke to you. You, who were so distinguished at Oxford, will not like him the worse for the prizes he gained there. Duke, let me present to you Mr. Leslie. The duchess is angry with me for deserting her balls; I shall hope to make my peace by providing myself with a younger and livelier substitute. Ah, Mr. Howard, here is a young gentleman just fresh from Oxford, who will tell us all about the new sect springing up there. He has not wasted his time on billiards and horses." Leslie was received with all that charming courtesy which is the To Kalon of an aristocracy. After dinner conversation settled on politics. Randal listened with attention, and in silence, till Egerton drew him gently out; just enough, and no more-just enough to make his intelligence evident, without subjecting him to the charge of laying down the law. Egerton knew how to draw out young men a difficult art. It was one reason why he was so peculiarly popular with the more rising members of his party. The party broke up early. "We are in time for Almack's," said Egerton, glancing at the clock, "and I have a voucher for you; come." Randal followed his patron into the carriage. By the way, Egerton thus addressed him "I shall introduce you to the principal leaders of society; know them and study them; I do not advise you to attempt to do more that is, to attempt to become the fashion. It is a very expensive ambition; some men it helps, most men it ruins. On the whole, you have better cards in your hands. Dance or not as it pleases you-don't flirt. If you flirt, people will inquire into your fortune-an inquiry, that will do you little good; and flirting entangles a young man into marrying. That would never do. Here we are." In two minutes more they were in the great ball room, and Randal's eyes were dazzled with the lights, the diamonds, the blaze of beauty. Audley presented him in quick succession to some dozen ladies, and then disappeared amidst the crowd. Randal was not at a loss: he was without shyness; or if he had that disabling infirmity, he concealed it. He answered the languid questions put to him, with a certain spirit that kept up talk, and left a favorable impression of his agreeable qualities. But the lady with whom he got on the best, was one who had no daughters out a handsome and witty woman of the world-Lady Frederick Coniers. "It is your first ball at Almack's, then, Mr. Leslie?" "My first." "And you have not secured a partner? Shall I "I see her-but I cannot think of her." "You are rather, perhaps, like a diplomatist in a new court, and your first object is to know who find you one? What do you think of that pretty | yet vouchsafed to it, and tried to talk of the Leslies. girl in pink?" is who." "I confess that on beginning to study the history of my own day, I should like to distinguish uish the portraits that illustrate the memoir." "Give me your arm, then, and we will come into the next room. We shall see the different notabilités enter, one by one, and observe without being observed. This is the least I can do for a friend of Mr. Egerton's." "Mr. Egerton, then," said Randal-(as they threaded their way through the space without the rope that protected the dancers) -" Mr. Egerton has had the good fortune to win your esteem, even for his friends, however obscure?" "Ah, indeed!" said Randal, surprised. "And, therefore," continued Lady Frederick, as he passes through life, friends gather round him. He will rise even higher yet. Gratitude, Mr. Leslie, is a very good policy." "Hem," muttered Mr. Leslie. They had now gained the room where tea and bread and butter were the homely refreshments to the habitués of what at that day was the most exclusive assembly in London. They ensconced themselves in a corner by a window, Lady Frederick performed her task of cicerone with lively ease, accompanying each notice of the various persons who passed panoramically before them with sketch and anecdote, sometimes good-natured, generally satirical, always graphic and amusing. By-and-by Frank Hazeldean, having on his arm a young lady of haughty air and with high though delicate features, came to the tea-table. "The last new Guardsman," said Lady Frederick; "very handsome, and not yet quite spoiled. But he has got into a dangerous set." Randal.-"The young lady with him is handsome enough to be dangerous." Lady Frederick, (laughing). -" No danger for him there-as yet at least. Lady Mary (the Duke of Knaresborough's daughter) is only in her second year. The first year, nothing under an earl; the second, nothing under a baron. It will be full four years before she comes down to a commoner. Mr. Hazeldean's danger is of another kind. He lives much with men who are not exactly mauvais ton, but certainly not of the best taste. Yet he is very young; he may extricate himself-leaving half his fortune behind him. What, he nods to you! You know him?" "Very well; he is nephew to Mr. Egerton." "Indeed! I did not know that. Hazeldean is a new name in London. I heard his father was a plain country gentleman, of good fortune, but not that he was related to Mr. Egerton." "Half-brother." "Will Mr. Egerton pay the young gentleman's debts? He has no sons himself." Randal.-" Mr. Egerton's fortune comes from his wife, from my family-from a Leslie, not from a Hazeldean." Lady Frederick turned sharply, looked at Randal's countenance with more attention than she had Randal was very short there. An hour afterwards, Randal, who had not danced. was still in the refreshment room, but Lady Frederick had long quitted him. He was talking with some old Etonians who had recognized him, when there entered a lady of very remarkable appearance, and a murmur passed through the room as she appeared. She might be three or four and twenty. She was dressed in black velvet, which contrasted with the alabaster whiteness of her throat and the clear paleness of her complexion, while it set off the diamonds with which she was profusely covered. Her hair was of the deepest jet, and worn simply braided. Her eyes, too, were dark and brilliant, her features regular and striking; but their expression, when in repose, was not prepossessing to such as love modesty and softness in the looks of woman. But when she spoke and smiled, there was so much spirit and vivacity in the countenance, so much fascination in the smile, that all which might before have marred the effect of her beauty, strangely and suddenly disappeared. "Who is that very handsome woman?" asked Randal. "An Italian-a Marchesa something," said one of the Etonians. "Di Negra," suggested another, who had been abroad; "she is a widow; her husband was of the great Genoese family of Negra a younger branch of it." Several men now gathered thickly around the fair Italian. A few ladies of the highest rank spoke to her, but with a more distant courtesy than ladies of high rank usually show to foreigners of such quality as Madame di Negra. Ladies of a rank less elevated seemed rather shy of her;-that might be from jealousy. As Randal gazed at the Marchesa with more admiration than any woman, perhaps, had before excited in him, he heard a voice near him say "Oh, Madam di Negra is resolved to settle amongst us, and marry an Englishman." "If she can find one sufficiently courageous," returned a female voice. "Well, she is trying hard for Egerton, and he has courage enough for anything." The female voice replied with a laugh, “Mr. Egerton knows the world too well, and has resisted too many temptations, to be""Hush!-there he is." Egerton came into the room with his usual firm step and erect mien. Randal observed that a quick glance was exchanged between him and the Marchesa; but the minister passed her by with a bow. Still Randal watched, and, ten minutes afterwards, Egerton and the Marchesa were seated apart in the very same convenient nook that Randal and Lady Frederick had occupied an hour or so before. "Is this the reason why Mr. Egerton so insultingly warns me against counting on his fortune?" muttered Randal. "Does he mean to marry again?” Unjust suspicion!-for, at that moment, these were the words that Audley Egerton was dropping forth from his lips of bronze "Nay, dear madam, do not ascribe to my frank admiration more gallantry than it merits. Your conversation charms me, your beauty delights me; your society is as a holiday that I look forward to in the fatigues of my life. But I have done with love, and I shall never marry again." "You almost pique me into trying to win, in order to reject you," said the Italian, with a flash from her bright eyes. " I defy even you," answered Audley, with his cold hard smile. "But to return to the point: You have more influence at least over this subtle ambassador; and the secret we speak of I rely on you to obtain me. Ah, madam, let us rest friends. You see I have conquered the unjust prejudices against you; you are received and fetée everywhere, as becomes your birth and your attractions. Rely on me ever, as I on you. But I shall excite too much envy if I stay here longer, and am vain enough to think that I may injure you if I provoke the gossip of the ill-natured. As the avowed friend, I can serve you-as the supposed lover, No"Audley rose as he said this, and, standing by the chair, added carelessly, "Apropos, the sum you do "It is shameful," cried the Italian with warmth; "what has my brother ever done to him, that he should actually intrigue against the count in his own court?" "Intrigue! I think you wrong Lord L'Estrange; he but represented what he believed to be the truth, in defence of a ruined exile." "And you will not tell me where that exile is, or if his daughter still lives?" "My dear Marchesa, I have called you friend, therefore I will not aid L'Estrange to injure you or yours. But I call L'Estrange a friend also; and I cannot violate the trust that"-Audley stopped short, and bit his lip. "You understand me," he me the honor to borrow will be paid to your bank-resumed, with a more genial smile than usual; and ers to-morrow." he took his leave. The Italian's brows met as her eye followed him; then, as she too rose, that eye encountered Randal's. Each surveyed the other-each felt a certain strange fascination-a sympathy-not of affection, but of intellect. "That young man has the eye of an Italian," said the Marchesa to herself; and, as she passed by him into the ball-room, she turned and smiled. The bitter tears that would not be repressed She weeps no more-her very sighs are stilled- The sculptor marked the change with earnest eyes; He struck her chastened beauty into stone ! There let it live, till Love and Hope decay; The willing captive that her eye could chain, home Pressed to her bosom, now can feel no more The genial warmth of old he used to love; "'T was but a bird;" but when life's years are few, The soft, pure wax of Childhood's ductile breast """T was but a bird," the world's stern stoic cries, banquet, without, however, telling them the exact period at which it was to take place. The wise men amongst them got their vestal robes prepared, and held themselves in constant readiness to obey the summons; while many thoughtless ones said to each other-"There are no signs as yet in the palace of preparations being made for the feast. Let us amuse ourselves as we please, we shall have plenty of time to prepare." And they went away in different directions. Suddenly the king's herald sounded his trumpet, and proclaimed that the banquet was ready, and that the guests should hasten to it without delay. The wise courtiers immediately presented themselves, fittingly arranged, while the foolish ones came straggling in, clothed in their soiled every-day garments. "You," said the king to the former, "shall sit at my table, and enjoy my feast, but you who have neglected my invitation shall be cast out from my palace, and never suffered to enter it again." Now this king was the King of kings, the Lord whose name is blessed forever. His feast was eternal 'Tis her first sorrow and she feels the more to it, can interpret for yourselves the remainder of the parable.-Eliza Cook, from the Chaldee. From the Examiner. | Peel the second. His subsequent career is well THIS is a very sensible, unpretending, and interesting memoir. We have read it with sincere pleasure, and with increased respect for the memory of the late Bishop of Llandaff. It consists chiefly of extracts from Doctor Copleston's diary and letters, and of communications from friends who had longer and closer opportunities of knowing him than fell to the lot of his biographer, who however connects and presents the memorials in a way that shows the best appreciation of his uncle's characteristic excellencies by the absence of all desire to exaggerate or overstate the admiration due to them. known. He supported the Test Act and the Catholic claims, opposed the Reform Bill, (though he was for voting it into committee and correcting it there, and exerted himself with good effect in his diocese in regard to education. One of his last votes in the House of Lords was in that majority of three which neutralized the bill for establishing diplomatic relations with Rome, and he died in the following year. (October, 1849.) There is something highly characteristic of him in one of his last letters, which, with great regard and affection for his early friend Archbishop Whately, expresses great impatience of the way in which the Edinburgh Review had been praising him. But all the personal bitterness of his first dispute with that famous periodical had long passed away; and as well in Sydney Smith's suppression of his share in the quarrel, (when he collected his reviews,) as in Doctor Copleston's steady refusal, when asked to republish those letters on Oxford Education, to perpetuate strictures "directed against individuals," we recognize the true spirit of literary chivalry. Nothing should induce us to revive what the parties to it have thus suppressed; but the same feeling does not hold in reference to the pleasant banter on reviewing (Advice to a Young Reviewer) which we dare say none laughed at more heartily than the reviewers for whose correction it was intended, and which we are very grateful to Mr. Copleston for having preserved in an appendix-to the Memoirs. We must borrow a couple of passages. Mr. Copleston, claiming for the bishop's letters no striking originality of thought or expression, says with much truth that they are generally models of good English and good taste. Thus, we should say, might also in a great measure be expressed the general characteristics of Doctor Copleston's habits and mind. He was of a robust and manly east in his ways both of thinking and acting. We find much occasionally to disagree with him, but we find no shabbiness, moral or otherwise, and no pretence to be what he was not. His range of reflection and philosophy seems not to have been very wide, but he saw clearly within it, and did not assume to be looking beyond it. He was himself decidedly an honest and independent man, (the only imputation ever cast upon him in this respect, in connection After a series of grave precepts, set forth in a with the Roman Catholic relief question, is here style quite worthy of Swift, the author offers, in satisfactorily rebutted,) and with a keener eye for practical illustration of his principles, a specimen the detection of imposture in others than such men always possess. He had strong affections, he inspired warm friendship in men whose opinions widely diverged from his own, and he retained to old age the associations of his youth. But his health was weak and uncertain; and while his fellowship life at Oxford seems to have thrown him into the inextricable habit of a bachelor's life, his kindly domestic temperament sorely unfitted him for it. We see towards the close of his life touching intimations of the want he felt in this respect. The outline of Doctor Copleston's career may be very brifly sketched. He was the son of a Devonshire clergyman, distinguished himself at Oxford, obtained a fellowship at Oriel when he was only nineteen years old, (in 1795,) held the office of tutor in his college for thirteen years, materially contributed to the success of Lord Grenville in the contest for the chancellorship in 1809, engaged in the following year in a very bitter controversy with the Edinburgh Review on the character and claims of the Oxford system of education, was elected to the provostship of his college in 1814, three years afterwards wrote a satire on the new mode of handling poetry brought into vogue by the Edin of the art in a review of Milton's L'Allegro. But how are we to understand the stage directions? Are the words used synonymously? Or is it meant And in thy right hand lead with thee To live with her, and live with thee. burgh Review, which ranks with the best specimens No sooner is this fair damsel introduced, but Mr. of that style of writing in the language, published M., with most unbecoming levity, falls in love with during the next few years some sensible pamphlets her, and makes a request of her companion, which is on economical questions, dabbled now and then in rather greedy, that he may live with both of them; antiquarian researches, contributed half-a-dozen articles to the Quarterly Review, in 1821 collected into a volume some sermons on the doctrines of necessity and predestination, which form his most important contribution to the literature of theology, and in 1827 received from Lord Goderich the bishopric of Llandaff. Lord Grenville was the first to congratulate him on his elevation, Sir Robert Even the gay libertine who sung, "How happy could The poet, intoxicated with the charms of his mistress, now rapidly runs over the pleasures which he proposes to himself in the enjoyment of her society. | literature if he had elected so to employ his talents. But though he has the advantage of being his own He wrote an easy, pure, and forcible style, and caterer, either his palate is of a peculiar structure, or he has not made the most judicious selection. To begin the day well, he will have the sky-lark -to come in spite of sorrow, The sky-lark, if we know anything of the nature of that bird, must come in spite of something else, as well as of sorrow, to the performance of this office. In his next image the natural history is better preserved, and as the thoughts are appropriate to the time of the day, we will venture to transcribe the passage, as a favorable specimen of the author's man ner: While the Cock with lively din Through the high wood echoing shrill. Is it not lamentable that, after all, whether it is the cock or the poet that listens, should be left entirely to the reader's conjecture? Perhaps also his embarrassment may be increased by a slight resemblance of character in these two illustrious personages, at least as far as relates to the extent and numbers of their seraglio. The review closes thus: Of the latter part of the poem little need be said. The author does seem somewhat more at home when he gets among the actors and musicians, though his head is still running upon Orpheus and Eurydice, and Pluto, and other sombre gentry, who are ever thrusting themselves in where we least expect them, and who chill every rising emotion of mirth and gayety. He appears, however, to be so ravished with this sketch of festive pleasures, or perhaps with himself for having sketched them so well, that he closes with a couplet, which would not have disgraced a Stern hold: These delights, if thou canst give, Of Mr. M.'s good intentions there can be no doubt; but we beg leave to remind him, that in every compact of this nature there are two opinions to be consulted. He presumes perhaps upon the poetical powers he has displayed, and considers them as irresistible; for every one must observe in how different a strain he avows his attachment now and at the opening of the poem. Then it was, If I give thee honor due, But having, it should seem, established his pretensions, he now thinks it sufficient to give notice that he means to live with her, because he likes her. Upon the whole, Mr. Milton seems to be possessed . of some fancy and talent for rhyming; two most dangerous endowments, which often unfit men for acting an useful part in life, without qualifying them for that which is great and brilliant. If it be true, as we have heard, that he has declined advantageous prospects in business, for the sake of indulging his poetical humor, we hope it is not yet too late to prevail upon him to retract his resolution. With the help of Cocker and common industry he may become a respectable scrivener; but it is not all the Zephyrs, and Auroras, and Corydons, and Thyrsises, aye nor his junketing Queen Mab, and drudging Goblins, that will ever make him a poet. It can hardly he doubted that Doctor Copleston might have left behind him a considerable name in always good English. Indeed, he had direct hereditary claims that might have promised him distinction in this walk, for his mother's father, and the author of the Beggars' Opera, were brother's sons. By nature as well as name, too, as Doctor Copleston often pleasantly tells us, his mother was Gay and cheerful. She lived till she was ninety-two, and retained to the last her constitutional cheerfulness and good-humor. "It is delightful to think," says the good bishop, and very delightful to us to repeat what he says so kindly, "that this innocent playfulness and light-heartedness was not disturbed, even in extreme old age; there was no fretfulness, no pain, no fear, or anxiety about quitting this world. She seemed quietly to sleep away." His father had died some seven years before, being then eightytwo; and it is singular to remark the interest taken by the bishop throughout the latter years of his life in all ascertainable instances of longevity. It probably arose from some unconscious connection of it in the instance of his parents with speculations as to the chance of his own age equalling theirs. He lived to seventy-three. We should not omit to mention his continued love and reverence for those parents as one of the beautiful traits of his character. They are the first to whom all his joys and successes are told, and he is to the last their "dutiful and affectionate son." The old gentleman must have had some proud and happy days among his sons and grandsons. Νου. 6, 1828. My father and mother arrived from Exeter, both in good health-one near eighty, the other eighty-two. Sunday, Nov. 9. My father and his grandson John served the church in the morning; my brother read prayers and I preached in the afternoon. This remarkable union of three generations in my native place made a strong impression upon us all, and upon the whole parish. Only two individuals of the congregation were there, whom my father found at his first coming to Offwell, in 1774. Jan. 8, 1829. Dined at Fulham. The bishop had all his near relations there except his brother, viz., his father, mother, and two sisters. It is remarkable that this family coincides nearly with my own, viz., a father, mother, and two sisters, and we are the only bishops on the bench whose fathers are living. It is pleasant to quote another passage from the diary in which the names of all his old opponents in the Edinburgh are good-naturedly mentioned. May 15. Wrote a letter of remonstrance to Mr. Brougham, on the false charge against myself in an article on the Catholic question, in the ninetieth number of the Edinburgh Review, said to be written by him. He answered my letter by return of post very civilly, and stated that before he received my letter he had written to Jeffrey to correct the erroneous statements. June 11. It being necessary that I should hold a chapter at Chester on the 23rd, which might last some days, and to begin my residence there for the summer, I set out by way of Birmingham, having brought all matters of college business to a settlement, and having seen the college in a tranquil, orderly state, which seemed likely to continue till the 27th, the day of commemoration. Sydney Smith was a fellow-passenger. His facetious good-humor was highly amusing, as well to myself as to two young ladies, passengers, who were returning from Paris to Dublin with their brother. But it must not be supposed, because Doctor Copleston defended Oxford against the extreme |