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NORMAN SINCLAIR.

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

CONCLUSION.

CHAPTER LX.-ANOTHER VISIT TO WILBURY.

IT was, I confess, rather an annoyance to me to find Wilbury Hall, which I had hitherto known as the sanctuary of elegance and domestic quiet, transformed into the headquarters of a grand electioneering movement. Colonel Stanhope, though much esteemed by his neighbours and greatly beloved by his tenantry, was, I believe, regarded as a somewhat fastidious man, methodical in his arrangements, orderly in his mode of living, and with just so much of the martinet about him as kept people from presuming in the slightest degree to trespass upon his affability and good-nature. No one, therefore, expected that his mansion would be made an open house to all comers, even although his future son-in-law had taken so prominent a part in the contest; but the Colonel emphatically declared that, if he could not otherwise assist in the furtherance of the good cause, Wilbury Hall must be recognised as the centre for political communication, and that the credit of the house for old English hospitality should be most amply maintained. As a natural consequence, every person who had election business to transact, or who could frame a plausible pretext for presenting himself in the character of a well-wisher or a partisan, came thither; and if popular devotion could be estimated in a ratio corresponding to the consumption of beef and beer, there was no ground whatever for attributing lukewarmness or indifference to our supporters. I suspect that the estimable old butler, though frantically zealous for the success of Master George, whom he said he could remember before he was

breeched, was inwardly sore aggrieved by the wassail and profusion which made the usually well-ordered servants'-hall resemble the taproom of a tavern. As for the agents and men of respectable status, who would have been affronted if on such an occasion they had been treated otherwise than as parlour guests, it was the Colonel's express desire that the choicest wines which his cellar contained should be set before them—a mandate which the old man durst not disobey, though it went to his heart to give out rich Burgundy and first-growth claret for the refection of some score of individuals who would have gulped down with equal zest the fieriest port and sherry that ever came direct from the vaults of a wholesale and unscrupulous adulterator.

Such a scene might not have been altogether unamusing at another time; but, situated as I was, the ceaseless bustle and turmoil somewhat jarred on my nerves. I could not bring myself to listen with anything like interest to the numerous bulletins that reached us about declared auxiliaries, hesitating compromisers, and voters who were impressed with the notion that their suffrages were as marketable as green-pease. In short, I wanted quiet; but that inestimable boon was denied me. I was dragged into the vortex, nolens volens, as the fisher's boat is caught by the swirl of the absorbing maelstrom. Politics, like champagne, had got into the heads of every one, and had slightly affected their reason. Carlton was hardly recognisable. He had been taken possession of by the whole seven demons of oratory, and expended more breath in

one day than might have maintained the lungs of an apostle of Wesley for a week. Frank Stanhope, who had come express from Oxford for the election, and who acted as George's adjutant, was thoroughly in his element, galloping through the country from morning to night under the vain delusion that he was canvassing, a function which he thought was best performed by kissing the prettiest girls he encountered. Little Dr Wayles was so ardent in the cause, that he would with the most hearty goodwill have excommunicated any recusant parishioner who demurred to being pastorally driven; and nothing but a solemn sense of duty restrained him from enlivening his pulpit discourses with pungent political allusions. Of Lumley we saw little he was fighting his own battle elsewhere, as we were assured, most vigorously, and with every prospect of success.

That was no lover's Elysium, such as I had hoped to find; for now that every obstacle was removed, and disheartening doubts no longer clouded the horizon, I yearned to indulge in that sweet sympathetic intercourse, the rapture of which is beyond the power of poetry to express-in those visions of the future, so brightly tinted and so fair that they far surpass in vividness and delight our dreams of the early Eden. Already we had spoken of the past-of our fears and trials -of our secret thoughts and halfunconscious aspirations-as those who have voyaged together discourse, when safely arrived in haven, of the perils and dangers of the deep. These, however, were but remembrances, surely never to be forgotten, yet not altogether free from that sombre tinge which is the invariable attribute of the past. For amidst the triumph which we cannot but feel at the retrospection of difficulties overcome, of doubts resolved, and of enmities met and vanquished, there still lingers a sense of the sharp pain we have endured, and the sorrow that preyed on our

souls; for where woe has been, there will its traces remain, as no subsequent growth of verdure can efface the track of the winter torrent. But it is our noble privilege and sublime inheritance that we may regard the future as our own ; not alloying it by any base element of dread, or marring its fair expectation by evoking phantoms of dismay. Bright and clear before us lies the sunny landscape-over earth and sea broods a holy calm, and no speck is in the limitless ether; wherefore, then, disturb the enjoyment of the hour by anticipations of storm and tempest?

I too had been a day-dreamer, and had limned a picture which, I fondly hoped, Mary would contemplate with an enthusiasm similar to my own. It was, to be sure, only extant as yet in my own imagination, and perhaps the details were not very carefully finished; but I had a vision of a Highland home embosomed in woods, musical with the warbling of the thrush and the plaintive call of the cushat-of a waterfall hard by, half-hidden by the boughs of the graceful birchof a broad blue lake, starred by an islet, wherein, surrounded by a group of venerable firs, stand the ruins of an ancient monastery, its buttresses entwined by ivy-of a range of purple hills beyond, overtopped by the storm-beaten crest of a giant mountain, the first of all the alpine brethren to redden in the glories of the dawn. I wanted to describe the scene to Mary as I saw it, or fancied that I saw it, and expatiate upon the delights that awaited us there, far away from the throng of the crowded city, the devouring cares and the paltry ambitions that make men prematurely old, stain their souls with avarice and envy, and blunt the better feelings of their nature. I was not a poet, but I knew that on such a theme I could descant delightedly; and in itself it seemed so fresh and fair as to demand no embellish

ment from art. Eloquence could not heighten its charm, nor could

language enhance its beauty. Wordpainting cannot pretend to do more than shadow forth an imperfect image-enough if it can create a desire to behold and enjoy the original.

But alas for day-dreams when they are opposed to stern realities! Not more surely does the descent of a stone shatter the clear mirror of the pool and make havoc of the reflected landscape, than do mundane thoughts disperse the fairy pictures of the imagination. No bower at Wilbury now was sacred to lovers' vows-neither garden nor conservatory afforded an inviolable place of refuge. That wretch, Carlton, under the influence of politics, had become a monster of cruelty; and never was unfortunate Huguenot more hotly persecuted by familiar of the Inquisition, than was I by the remorseless friend in whom I had been weak enough to repose my trust. Often, in the midst of our most delicious communings, did I hear him shout forth my name; and if I responded not directly to the call, the savage appeared in person, and with a chuckle of infernal glee dragged me forth to do his bidding. One while I had to ride out on a canvassing expedition; at another I was desired to make myself useful by concocting or revising an address. In spite of my most earnest remonstrances, I was installed as chairman of the placard committee; the ругоtechnic department also was confided to my charge, in virtue of which appointment I was expected to furnish an unlimited supply of squibs; and lastly, at farmers' dinners, I was compelled to hold forth upon the state of the nation, agricultural depression, the probable effect of foreign importations, and the prices of wheat at Rostock and Riga; all which I did with becoming gravity and unction, and with quite as much practical knowledge of the subjects as was possessed by the most noted economists of the day. Indeed, I was in the fair way of attaining reputation as a first-rate statistical authority; and I make

no manner of doubt that, if I had chosen to prosecute such studies, or, without encumbering myself at all with study, persevere in strenuous assertion, I should by this time have become famous as the founder of a new school of politico-economical doctrine, have utterly eclipsed the feeble star of Bastiat, and perhaps have been ranked as a luminary alongside of Adam Smith, whose intellectual achievements have shed such a rare lustre on the respectable burgh of Kirkcaldy.

One day, however, I determined to snatch from business, and to consider entirely as my own; so, resisting the entreaties of Carlton, who wished to despatch me on some profitless errand, I wandered forth with Mary into the chase. It was one of those delightful summer days in which the fair glades of England seem more than usually beautiful; the air was warm and fragrant, and the hum of insect life was loud in the pleasant umbrage of the limetrees. Couched amidst the fern lay the dappled deer, and ever and anon the gorgeous pheasant would run across our path, too secure from danger in that protected spot to rise on the wing, and perhaps not unwilling through vanity—a passion which some of the inferior creatures share in common with ourselves-to display the splendour of his plumage. Strolling onwards through a wilderness of Portugal laurels and exotic evergreens, we came to an artificial lake, where the pike were basking and the dragon-flies darting among the reeds; and there, seated on the soft elastic moss beneath a venerable oak, which had long ceased to be a sapling when King Charles took shelter among the boughs of one of its kindred, we renewed our vows of pure and undying love.

Sacred and blissful moments, when heart speaks to heart without disguise, and no word of hypocrisy impedes the frank utterance of the soul! O ye who, reared under the influence of a false and perverted system, regard love but as a passing weakness, or at best but an episode

in existence-ye who think of marriage, not as a union of souls which even death cannot entirely sever, but as a thing of barter and arrange ment-know this, that of all estimable blessings you are despising the purest and the best, and that you are blindly forfeiting your chance of regaining all of paradise that yet lingers upon earth, the foretaste of the beatitude of heaven!

Lovers take no count of time; but we could not thus have been long occupied, when a stentorian shout broke upon my ear, and a familiar voice in Doric accents made the woods vocal with the name of Sinclair.

"Hark, Norman!" said Mary, "some one calls you."

"Yes!" I replied; "and he bawls loud enough to startle Rip van Winkle from his trance. Don't disturb yourself! It is, if I may trust my ears, no less a person than my foster - brother Davie Osett; though what brings him here at such a time is more than I can possibly conjecture. There again! I must absolutely stop his bellowing, else he will frighten all the deer in the chase. Hallo-Davie! Davie Osett!"

And bursting from the evergreens, appeared the stalwart figure of the surveyor.

"Welcome, dear Davie!" said I, "though, to be sure, you are pretty well acquainted with the woods of Wilbury already. Last time, I remember, you were suspected of being a poacher; pray, in what capacity do you now repeat your visit?" "Ah, Mr Norman ! you might let that flee stick to the wa'. But I owe you an apology for breaking in where I maybe wasna just expected, mair by token that there is a lady in the case." And Davie, with natural courtesy, performed a profound salaam.

"The lady," said Mary, "does not regard Mr Osett as a stranger, though she never has met with him before. Mr Sinclair has told me how much he owes to your courage and fidelity."

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"Fie for shame, Mr Norman ! Wad ye betray confidences? Dinna believe him, Miss; he was aye fond of joking!"

"Not the less on that account," said I, "have the Fates decreed that in due course of time Jean Leslie shall become Mrs Osett. What! did I not hear you singing about her in your sleep? But, seriously, what brings you here, Davie? I suspect it must be some important errand."

"Deed it's that, Mr Norman. You are wanted in London immediately. It was auld Mr Poins that found me out, and bade me come down and warn you."

"O Norman !” cried Mary, turning very pale. "Can it be that some new misfortune has overtaken my father? If so, never would I forgive myself for being away from him!"

"Be calm, dearest Mary! My life for it, there is no ground for apprehension, else Osett would not have

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I'll tell you mair about that presently. Meanwhile, I think I'll just be stepping back to the house, and bide your coming. It's grand quarters there; for that auld respectable man, the butler, wadna hear of my coming out to seek for you till I had tasted both meat and drink; and, my certie, but the claret's running there as fast as it used to do langsyne frae the cross fountain at Linlithgow, when Scotland had a king o' her ain! But dinna be over lang, for Mr Poins will no be easy till he sees you."

"I dread very much," said Mary, after Osett had taken his departure, "that he brings some distressing intelligence. God grant it may not be of a kind to add to the afflictions of my dear father! O Norman is it not selfish in me to feel so happy amidst so much domestic distress?"

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"No, Mary," said I, for without distress we never should have known happiness. And you need not take alarm at Osett's affectation of mystery. He is a most excellent fellow, but, in common with my countrymen of the class to which he belongs, he dearly loves a bit of mystery, and will not be coerced into revealing it until it suits his own convenience. Besides, Speedwell has already made an ample confession, which it would be wholly impossible for him to retract."

"Yet I cannot help trembling, Norman! Why should they have sent for you in such haste? Surely you have done enough to be spared from further trouble in these wretched affairs!"

"You forget, dearest, that I have

now a right to be considered as one of the family. I had no greater boon to ask than that which your father has freely granted; and by that act he has bound me to him for ever. Do not be afraid. I shall not be long absent; and were it not that I must forego your dear company for a time, London would be as pleasant as Wilbury, which, in its present condition-I say that with all respect for our kind and hospitable friends-is a sort of political Pandemonium."

On arriving at the house I had a private interview with Osett.

"I didna like, Mr Norman," he said, "to come out wi' all I had to say before the young lady, for the news I bring is of a fearsome kind. That wretched creature, Speedwell

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What!" cried I. "Can he have escaped from prison?"

"Na-he's in prison still; but it is a prison the door of which will be steekit till the great day of judg ment! Escaped? That has he, if it be an escape for a reckless sinner to pass from the dowiest dungeon on earth to the place of fire and brimstone! Speedwell has gone to his account; and the Lord keep ony Christian man from running up sic an awful reckoning!"

"Dead!" I exclaimed.

"E'en sae," replied Davie. "The wicked man has been taken in his ain net, and has fallen into the snare that he set for others. Little thought the cruel wretch, yon time down-by at Tadcaster, when he was ettling to take the life o' the puir feckless lad, whose warst crime was keeping company wi' sic a circumceesed apostate, that in less than a month he himsel' wad be girning in the deadthraws, wi' the poison seething in his bowels, and the thick foam glueing up the lips that never had uttered a prayer!"

"Terrible indeed!" said I. "Did he die by his own hand?"

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