make us more anxious to see your first attempt in a line which always meets with severe criticism." How long this conversation would have lasted, had it not been interrupted, it is difficult, even from analogy, to say; but we all know to what lengths clever young people of different sexes will go when they once are fairly embarked in a conversation of which poetry is the beginning and end. I suppose that an opportunity is thus afforded them of expressing sentiments which they cannot, or dare not, convey in any other more direct guise. It is astonishing how many pretty and very significant things are said through the medium of discussions on novels and poems. Diffident young men (among whom I do not mean to insinuate my hero ought to be classed), by this useful and easy means, constantly open to tender, blushing maidens the most hidden secrets of their heart. As a rule, the elders think it not worth their while to listen to such rubbish; and so under their very eyes love is made, and creates no suspicion. I must own that these last remarks have but little to do with Edgar and Miss Fairfort; but they are strikingly true, and will do as well noted down here as elsewhere. And again I say, that it is impossible to form any conjecture as to how long the above conversation would have lasted, had not Lord Fairfort's entrance interrupted it. His Lordship was a tall man, though somewhat bent. His unimpeachable courtesy half betrayed his natural coldness; yet his address was pleasing. He was yet handsome, and had the tout ensemble of one wellborn and well-bred. He entered with an outstretched hand and an apology. "I have been trespassing largely on your forbearance, Mr. Huntingdon! Will you pardon me? These people from my estates, with their demands on my good-nature and supposed influence, have nearly driven me to quote Mr. Pope's words 'Shut-shut the door, good John!-fatigued, I said; Tie up the knocker-say I'm sick-I'm dead.' Am I correct?-you will know." "Perfectly, my Lord." "And very apropos," put in Frank, "if you give the two following lines:— 'The dog-star rages-nay, 'tis past a doubt, Poetry has been the order of the dayand I am quite out of the field: Huntingdon glowing with eloquence, and Annette just catching fire as you entered." "Miss Fairfort," remarked Edgar, "certainly meets the eloquence (if such it be) with the warmest yet most discriminate taste." "You ought to know, Mr. Huntingdon," said his Lordship—" you ought to know. You have chosen an eminently literary profession-such, sir, as I should have chosen," he added courteously, "if circumstances had not made me a slave without a choice. My son prefers obscurity to distinction." "And a headache." Edgar laughed, and shortly after rose to depart. As he walked to the door, Lord Fairfort said "I am aware of the friendship existing between you and my son. I trust that nothing will ever interfere with it, and I shall be happy to afford the means of its being cultivated. You will, without ceremony, be always welcome here." As Edgar walked back alone to the Temple, he began to think that his misgivings had been unfounded, or founded only on his stupid pride. Could anything be more assuring than Lord Fairfort's frank cordiality? And Miss Fairfort—what a charming girl! And so, time went pretty happily with our hero, who was studying for the bar, and thinking of being-a poet. |