THE reader has, I dare say, come to the same conclusion with regard to the Countess of Carleton that I arrived at when I had read thus far in the old, worn letters-viz., that she was of a higher nature than she seemed, or than she believed herself to be. It was clear that her fashionable education and worldly-minded associates had not been able to spoil her good disposition. I must not forget that I had better means of forming this opinion than the reader, because I read the whole of these letters many times, and found indications of character in those portions which are not set down here, because they have nothing to do with my present story.

There was a full-length portrait of this lady, styled in the catalogue of pictures at Carleton Castle, "Caroline, wife of Frederick, sixth Earl of Carleton," by Gainsborough, that hung over the mantelpiece in my aunt's bedroom. In this she looked very pretty, and decidedly coquettish. She was painted in a court-dress. Ostrich feathers, a train, diamonds, and the usual paraphernalia seemed to sit on her with a careless and half-mocking, rather than with a stately air. This was painted just after her marriage; and I believe the artist has contrived to give the character of the woman.

There were two other portraits of the "Countess Caroline," as she was generally called. They were not so valuable as works of art as the one just spoken of; but I have been

assured, by many persons who knew her, that they were good likenesses. If it be so, no one could say of the countess that she had " no character at all." It would sound much more like the truth to say that she had three distinct characters, so unlike were these three pictures, and yet each was so full of individuality. The second picture represents her with her two infant sons. An exquisitely touching look of motherly love animates her pretty face.

The third picture hung in Mr. Arundel's chamber in my childhood. In this, the features looked worn and almost colourless, with the exception of the lips, which retained a tinge of their old generous red, and the dark mark under the eyes, which gave them almost a luminous appearance as they glanced out from beneath the well-bent brow. In this picture the eyes of the countess are like those of her son Arundel, and there is a general resemblance to him in the face. She wears a black dress, and a white lace cap shades her thin face and confines the hair, once black, now fast turning to grey. She sits upright, but it seems as if it were an effort to do so. The small delicate hands are folded in her lap; the mouth is firmly closed, and the corners have a painful expression; the eyes look out straight before her; they are still and calm, with an uncommon mixture of keen intelligence and gentle resignation. Though in the countess's latest portrait there was much sorrow, there was no remorse-no self-upbraiding. You felt that she had not been the cause of her own griefthat whatever it was it came from without, and not from within. There was nothing of self in the sadness-no selfabsorption--no self-tormenting. This gave her countenance its dignified calmness and resignation.

I will now give some particulars of the Lady Carleton's life subsequently to the events already described. The reader will then be able to judge how far the great change in her appearance may be accounted for. I have ample materials in the form of old journals kept by my grandfather and others, and letters from members of his family, as well as from the earl himself to various persons; besides the very exact oral

testimony of my Aunt Margaret as to what she herself saw and heard; but it is still from that bundle of the countess's letters to her sister Bessy, who seems to have been her habitual confidante, that I must continue to make extracts for some time. This seems to me the most satisfactory way of telling what there is to be told-the countess being given to a love of detail in her letters, almost Richardsonian. We return, therefore, to the time of my Aunt Margaret's christening.

CHAPTER IV.

THE RECTOR'S SISTER AND THE CHRISTENING.

"Inured to any hue

The world can cast; that cannot cast that mind
Out of her form of goodness, that doth see
Both what the best and worst of earth can be."

DANIEL.

"I HAVE nothing to entertain you, my dear Bessy, but a gossip about the christening of my little god-daughter; and as you have seen many christenings, and found them all very much alike, I dare say, you shall be spared a full, true, and particular account of this one. But perhaps you are curious about my partner in the sponsorship. As she is the object most in my thoughts this morning, I will talk to you about her. I did not see her until yesterday, the morning of the christening. It was to be a grand gala day for all the children; and my two boys, with their nurses and Miss Price, went to join the little Hastingses before I drove over to the Rectory myself. We were all to walk thence to the church; Mr. Hastings will not hear of baptizing a healthy infant in a house.

"I was in the drawing-room alone, waiting for Mrs. Hastings, when the door opened, and a lady I did not know entered. She did not see me at first, and advanced to a work-table that stood by the open window. She sat down; and I did not move, for I wished to examine her unnoticed,

feeling quite sure it was Mr. Hastings' sister. She is very like him. She is a tall, elegant-looking young woman; indeed, a very striking figure. Her face is not handsome; the features are too strongly marked, and she is much too sallow. Still there is something very agreeable in the expression of her face when she speaks; the eyes beam out with such a soft melancholy kindness. When she is at rest I do not know that I quite like the expression; it strikes me as being unnaturally calm, as if she took strong measures with herself not to show any feeling. However, it does not affect everybody in this way. Miss Price says, that Miss Hastings' face, when she is not speaking, reminds her of a lake she once saw in Scotland, where the water was so deep, and the shelter from the wind so complete, that there was never a ripple on its surface. I think her face is like a lake, too, but a frozen one, seen by moonlight. Her whole manner is rather subdued, than what one calls soft or gentle. She speaks in a clear, steady voice, that never falters. I do not think she has so much feeling as Miss Price gives her credit for. She is thought very much of by her brother, I can see; and to him her manner is really affectionate. I fancy Mrs. Hastings is a little afraid of her. Cold and reserved people always throw a little gloom wherever they go. They may be very estimable, but to my thinking they would be a great deal more so if they would take a little pains to make their manners agreeable. We impulsive, warm, social people are constantly being dragooned by them into the suppression of our feelings. I may not be an impartial judge, but it seems to me that there is quite as much unhappiness caused in the world by your very correct prudent people of principle as ever nous autres, indiscreet folks, cause by our impulsive actions. But if I had had the making of my own faults, I would have erred on the safe side; so that other people should suffer from them instead of myself. I might lower the thermometer wherever I went, but I should only be the more respected. Ah, Bessy! joking apart, we English are solemn simpletons, when we might be merry and wise. How absurdly we try to check impulsive,

sympathetic natures in our children, and erect our national vice of dreary reserve into a cardinal virtue. I mean to inculcate cheerfulness and gaiety upon my boys as the highest moral excellence.

"Don't think that all this is à propos of my new acquaintance. No. She does not throw cold water over you by her presence; she is not conspicuously silent when other people are talking in a frivolous style, as many would-be wise folks are-forgetting that it is 'une grande folie de vouloir être sage tout seul.' She converses easily and cleverly. I can imagine that in a thoroughly congenial society she would be very brilliant. I say congenial, for it was clear to me that though she was quite at ease and contented with our company at the christening yesterday, yet she was not in her proper element. I felt that she was superior in mental vigour and culture to Mrs. Hastings and myself. She never said a common-place thing; and no one else present said anything at all sensible or witty but she capped it with something better; and this without an effort or apparent consciousness of superiority. I never saw any one whom I think less likely to be ill-natured or satirical, and I would rather leave my character in her hands than in those of half my acquaintance. It is the judgment of little minds I fear, not that of great ones: and whenever I make a fool of myself, I hope it may be before a very wise personlike Miss Hastings. Miss Price wonders whether she will ever write a book, and says she thinks it would be worth reading. I do not think she will marry; yet she is not more than thirty, and is good-looking. I have made up my mind that no man will fall in love with her now. I dare say she was different ten years ago.

"It was a pretty sight, the drawing-room at the Rectory on the morning of the christening, when we were all assembled to go to church. Mrs. Hastings looking her handsomest, and Mr. Hastings, looking gentle and stately in his surplice, stood in the middle of the room caressing a group of childrenreally beautiful children-their own three and my two, who were all allowed, as a great treat, to go to church and see the