"A TRIFLING LOSS! X. A trifling loss? Stay, let us think What doth the future seem? XI. Looking in anguish madly back Of hour, and day, and year, As he beholds a life gone by, XII. Methinks I hear an answering voice- Are there not some who gaze across, XIII. "And is the past a waste of years— A wilderness of sin and fears? Must it be ever so? Can never memory retrace A well-fought fight, a finished race? XIV. Ah! then smile on-ye may be right! Was he that perished in the fight If so, it was a glorious strife! If so, that unknown soldier's life A trifling loss? Nay, think again, To him, perchance, "to die" was "gain!" U. U. P. 394 DYING OF LOVE. CHAPTER III. THE really tragic termination of Barton's story produced a strong effect upon Seymour. However little inclined he had been to be guided by the arguments against his proposed infidelity, he was now more determined than ever to break the faith he had plighted to his cousin. Her rival's influence to-day was twice as powerful as it had been last night. Barton's tale had decided the business. If one woman was capable of dying of love for his friend, why should not another die of love for himself? If one woman proved a true prophet of her own dissolution, why should not another vaticinate as correctly? He was now more than ever convinced that his new lover would die if he fulfilled his engagement with the old one. He had, however, forgotten the wisdom contained in the old song— ""Tis best to be off with the old love He ought to have in some way got rid of his original liaison before he allowed himself to be engaged in the present. He could not marry both women; bigamy is forbidden in narrow-minded England. An election he must make, and he made it: Emma Collins was thrown overboard. So there was no more to be said about it. No more to be said about it, perhaps, by himself; but a great deal to be said about it by his uncle. That respectable relative was a very irritable gentleman. He was proud and fond of his daughter, who was an only child, and he thought there was nothing like her in Great Britain. Ireland never entered into his thoughts; not because he had never been there, and could not therefore express any opinion, but because he would just as soon have asserted that his daughter was unequalled by the Hottentot or Esquimaux young ladies. But, sir," he would say, "show me in the whole of Great Britain a girl who can be compared to my Emma!" He naturally, then, considered his nephew as the luckiest fellow in the world to have secured such a treasure to himself; though the aforesaid world ill-naturedly considered that the luck was on the other side. People talked of the "treasure" in quite another manner altogether; of treasure in certain public securities, there invested by one Seymour, deceased. Seymour pere had made Mr. Collins his executor and the guardian of his son; and, knowing his heir's marked facility for falling in love, and desiring to protect him against the wiles of fair fortune-hunters, had made his uncle's consent an indispensable condition to his entering into the holy estate of matrimony. If he shall marry without it, three hundred per annum, paid quarterly, was all to which his son shall be entitled-various charitable associations reaping, in that case, the benefit of young Seymour's pre ference for love in a cottage. But Mr. Collins wisely considered that charity should begin at home, and taught his nephew betimes to consider him as both uncle and father-in-law. He had, nevertheless, great difficulty in keeping Seymour out of many a dangerous affaire until his cousin arrived at a marriageable age. The young gentleman had a strong propensity for tumbling over head and ears into love. He was perpetually entangled in the meshes spread for him by establishmentseeking young ladies, and mammas with seven daughters undisposed of. Poor Mr. Collins had unheard-of trouble in frustrating these felonious attempts. On one occasion matters had actually gone as far as the very church itself. By the way, we are wrong in calling a church, under such circumstances, a church. It is always "the sacred edifice," when spoken of in connexion with matrimony. The Lord's table, in like manner, is always called "the altar," even by the most violent anti-Puseyites. A gentleman who to-day calls you names if you speak of "the altar," leads Miss Smith to "the altar" to-morrow. The marriage service, too, is never "read;" it is "impressively performed " by somebody, "assisted" by somebody else. Well, Mr. Edward Seymour was actually standing at the altar with his bride, and the impressive performance of the service had actually commenced, when the news was conveyed to Mr. Collins. It was the first intimation that such a terrible blow to his own projects had been in contemplation. He had never even heard of the flirtation of which it was the fruit. But he was a man of energy and determination. He roared for his hat; he roared for a coat; he promised the driver a sovereign if he brought him to the sacred edifice in time. The horse was fresh; the way was short; the streets were unimpeded and clear. The clergyman's idea of impressive reading consisted in the slowest possible drawl. All things favoured Mr. Collins. He rushed into the church as the reverend gentleman required and charged the bride and bridegroom to confess if they knew any impediment why they might not be lawfully joined together in matrimony. The last words were scarcely uttered when a stentorian voice was heard at the other end of the church "Stop! stop! I know an impediment; I know an impediment! I forbid the banns!" And, puffing and steaming up the passage, Mr. Collins burst through the bevy of bridesmaids who stood behind the bride. Coriolanus in Corioli could not have fluttered the Volsces more completely than Mr. Collins fluttered the doves of the wedding dovecot. All the bridesmaids screamed in chorus, and one of them performed a fainting solo. The bridegroom stood in consternation; the bride threw herself prematurely into his arms. The bride's mother looked indignant, the high priest awkward, the assistant Levite dismayed. And Mr. Collins, after hurling a glance of tremendous wrath at the unfortunate bridegroom, and meeting the indignant looks of the bride's mother with looks as indignant as her own, for he knew by instinct that he beheld in the lady the Cataline of the conspiracy, again lifted up his voice and prohibited the performance of the ceremony. "I forbid the banns, sir," said he, addressing the principal clergyman. "I warn you at your peril to proceed." "This is a most extraordinary, and, I must say, a very indecent in terruption, sir," observed the clergyman, at length recovering his selfpossession. "I do not know who you are, sir, and "My name is Collins-Joseph Collins-and that young fool there is my nephew, sir, and my ward, sir; and I forbid the banns, sir-I forbid the banns. I warn you not to proceed, sir." "We are not publishing the banns, you must permit me to observe," remarked the assisting clergyman. He was a very strict ritualist, and could repeat every rubric off by heart. "We are not publishing the banns, and it is accordingly impossible for you to forbid them." "Well, I forbid the marriage, then," roared Mr. Collins. young rascal!" muttered he, looking an armoury of daggers at his nephew. & You "Really," said the bride's mother, addressing the clergyman, “this is most outrageous conduct. May I request that you will have the goodness to proceed with the sacred ceremony." "No, ma'am, he shan't," exclaimed Mr. Collins; "not one word of it, ma'am. Come home with me this moment, sir," added he, seizing his nephew by the arm which was not in the occupation of the bride. The bride tightened her grasp of the member which was in her possession, and the old lady seized the other, as joint-tenant with the bridegroom's uncle. "Go on, pray," cried the latter lady; "go on with the ceremony. It will be twelve o'clock immediately." "Canonical hours," murmured the Levite. "Do go on, pray do," said the bride's mother imploringly. "Go on at your peril!" vociferated the bridegroom's uncle. The high priest was puzzled. He was not well up in ecclesiastical law, and did not know what on earth he ought to do. At length he asked Mr. Collins, what he ought to have asked at first, whether he had any impediment to allege. "To be sure I have," was the answer. "What else am I here for? As good an impediment as need be, I can tell you." "And what is the impediment why these two persons may not be joined together in matrimony?" "The impediment is just this, that if that jackanapes makes a fool of himself by marrying without my consent, he does not get one shilling of his father's money-that's all. Not one shilling, except an annuity of three hundred a-year, and that is scarcely enough to support a family on, I fancy." "Can this be true?" exclaimed the bride's mother. "True as gospel, ma'am," said Mr. Collins, "as your daughter will find to her cost." "You will give your consent?" faltered the bride's mother. My consent!" almost roared the other; "I'd see him—I'd see him-hanged first; and you, too, ma'am." "This is no legal impediment," observed the priest. "Clearly not," said the Levite. "You had better proceed at once, or it will be too late to-day." The priest took up his book. "Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live—' |