MALTRAVERS left Doningdale the next day. He had no further conversation with Valerie; but when he took leave of her, she placed in his hand a letter, which he read as he rode slowly through the beech avenues of the park. Translated, it ran thus:

"Others would despise me for the weakness I showed -but you will not! It is the sole weakness of a life None can know what I have passed through-what hours of dejection and gloom-I, whom so many envy! Better to have been a peasant girl with love, than a queen whose life is but a dull mechanism. You, Maltravers, I never forgot in absence; and your image made yet more wearisome and trite the things around me. Years passed, and your name was suddenly in men's lips. I heard of you wherever I went-I could not shut you from me. Your fame was as if you were conversing by my side. We met at last, suddenly and unexpectedly. I saw that you loved me no more, and that conquered all my resolves: anguish subdues the nerves of the mind as sickness those of the body. And thus I forgot, and humbled, and might have undone myself. Juster and better thoughts are once more awakened within me, and when we meet again I shall be worthy of your respect. I see how dangerous that luxury of thought, that sin of discontent which I indulged. I go back to life resolved to vanquish all that can interfere with its claims and duties. Heaven guide and preserve you, Ernest! Think of me as one whom you will not blush to have loved-whom you will not blush hereafter to present to your wife. With so much that is soft as well as great within you, you were not formed like me -to be alone. "FAREWELL!"

18

CESARINI ARRIVES.

Maltravers read and reread this letter; and when he reached his home, he placed it carefully among the things he most valued. A lock of Alice's hair lay beside it—he did not think that either was dishonoured by the contact.

With an effort he turned himself once more to those stern yet high connexions which literature makes with real life. Perhaps there was a certain restlessness in his heart which induced him ever to occupy his mind. That was one of the busiest years of his life-the one in which he did most to sharpen jealousy and confirm fame.

CHAPTER XII.

"In effect he entered my apartment.”—Gil Blas.

"I am surprised, said he, at the caprice of fortune, who sometimes delights in loading an execrable author with favours, while she leaves good writers to perish for want."-Gil Blas.

Ir was just twelve months since his last interview with Valerie, and Madame de St. Ventadour had long since left England, when one morning, as Maltravers sat alone in his study, Castruccio Cæsarini was announced.

"Ah, my dear Castruccio, how are you?" cried Maltravers, eagerly, as the opening door presented the form of the Italian.

"Sir," said Castruccio, with great stiffness, and speaking in French, which was his wont when he meant to be distant-" sir, I do not come to renew our former acquaintance-you are a great man" (here a bitter sneer), I an obscure one" (here Castruccio drew himself up); "I only come to discharge a debt to you which I find I have incurred."

"What tone is this, Castruccio, and what debt do you speak of?"

66

On my arrival in town yesterday," said the poet, solemnly, "I went to the man whom you deputed some years since to publish my little volume, to demand an account of its success; and I found that it had cost one

AN AUTHOR'S QUARREL MADE UP.

19

hundred and twenty pounds, deducting the sale of fortynine copies which had been sold. Your books sell some thousands, I am told. It is well contrived; mine fell stillborn; no pains were taken with it-no matter" (a wave of the arm). "You discharged this debt, I repay you there is a check for the money. Sir, I have done; I wish you a good-day, and health to enjoy your reputation."

“Why, Cæsarini, this is folly."

"Sir"

"Yes, it is folly, for there is no folly equal to that of throwing away friendship in a world where friendship is so rare. You insinuate that I am to blame for any neglect which your work experienced. Your publisher can tell you that I was more anxious about your book than I have ever been about my own."

"And the proof is that forty-nine copies were sold." "Sit down, Castruccio, sit down and listen to reason;" and Maltravers proceeded to explain, and sooth, and console. He reminded the poor poet that his verses were written in a foreign tongue; that even English poets of great fame enjoyed but a limited sale for their works; that it was impossible to make the avaricious public purchase what the stupid public would not take an interest in; in short, he used all those arguments which naturally suggested themselves as best calculated to convince and soften Castruccio: and he did this with so much evident sympathy and kindness, that at length the Italian could no longer justify his own resentment. A reconciliation took place, sincere on the part of Maltravers, hollow on the part of Cæsarini; for the disappointed author could not forgive the successful

one.

"And how long shall you stay in London ?" "Some months."

I am

"Send for your luggage, and be my guest." "No; I have taken lodgings that suit me. formed for solitude." "While you stay here you will, however, go into the world."

"Yes, I have some letters of introduction, and I hear that the English can honour merit, even in an Italian." "You hear the truth, and it will amuse you at least to see our eminent men. They will receive you most hospitably. Let me assist you as a cicerone."

20

ARGUMENTS ON LITERARY QUACKERIES.

"Oh, your valuable time—”

"Is at your disposal; but where are you going?"

"It is Sunday, and I have had my curiosity excited to hear a celebrated preacher, Mr. —, who, they tell me, is now more talked of than any author in London." "They tell you truly; I will go with you; I myself have not yet heard him, but proposed to do so this very day."

"Are you not jealous of a man so much spoken of ?" "Jealous! why I never set up for a popular preacher ! ce n'est pas mon métier."

"If I were a successful author I should be jealous if the dancing-dogs were talked of."

66

No, my dear Cæsarini, I am sure you would not You are a little irritated at present by natural disappointment; but the man who has as much success as he deserves is never morbidly jealous, even of a rival in his own line: want of success sours us, but a little sunshine smiles away the vapours. Come, we have no time to lose."

Maltravers took his hat, and the two young men bent their way to chapel. Cæsarini still retained the singular fashion of his dress, though it was now made of handsomer materials and worn with more coxcombry and pretension. He had much improved in person: had been much admired in Paris, and told that he looked like a man of genius; and with his black ringlets flowing over his shoulders, his long mustaches, his broad Spanish-shaped hat, and eccentric garb, he certainly did not look like other people. He smiled with contempt at the plain dress of his companion. "I see," said he, that you follow the fashion, and look as if you passed your life with élégans instead of students. I wonder you condescend to such trifles as fashionably-shaped hats and coats."

"It would be worse trifling to set up for originality in hats and coats, at least in sober England. I was born a gentleman, and I dress my outward frame like others of my order. Because I am a writer, why shoud I affect to be different from other men?"

"I see that you are not above the weakness of your countryman, Congreve," said Cæsarini, "who deemed it finer to be a gentleman than an author."

"I always thought that anecdote misconstrued. Congreve had a proper and manly pride, to my judgment,

A FASHIONABLE PREACHER.

21

when he expressed a dislike to be visited merely as a raree-show."

"But is it policy to let the world see that an author is like other people? Would he not create a deeper personal interest if he showed that even in person alone he was unlike the herd? He ought to be seen seldom-not to stale his presence-and to resort to the arts that belong to the royalty of intellect as well as the royalty of birth."

"I dare say an author, by a little charlatanism of that nature, might be more talked of, might be more adored in the boarding-schools, and make a better picture in the exhibition. But I think, if his mind be manly, he would lose in self-respect at every quackery of the sort. And my philosophy is, that to respect one's self is worth all the fame in the world."

Cæsarini sneered and shrugged his shoulders; it was quite evident that the two authors had no sympathy with each other.

They arrived at last at the chapel, and with some difficulty procured seats.

but

Presently the service began. The preacher was a man of unquestionable talent and fervid eloquence; his theatrical arts, his affected dress, his artificial tones and gestures, and, above all, the fanatical mummeries which he introduced into the House of God, disgusted Maltravers, while they charmed, entranced, and awed Cæsarini. The one saw a mountebank and impostorthe other recognised a profound artist and an inspired prophet.

But while the discourse was drawing towards a close, while the preacher was in one of his most eloquent bursts-the ohs! and ahs! of which were the grand prelude to the pathetic peroration-the dim outline of a female form, in the distance, riveted the eyes and absorbed the thoughts of Maltravers. The chapel was darkened, though it was broad daylight; and the face of the person that attracted Ernest's attention was concealed by her head-dress and veil. But that bend of the neck, so simply graceful, so humbly modest, recalled to his heart but one image. Every one has, perhaps, observed that there is a physiognomy (if the bull may be pardoned) of form as well as face, which it rarely happens that two persons possess in common. And this, with most, is peculiarly marked in the turn of the head,