CHAPTER X.

“METHINKS, amid the crowded room
I see one countenance of gloom.
Whence is young Edmund's pain or pique,
And whence the paleness of his cheek?
And whence the wrathful eye that now
Lowers, like Kean's, beneath the brow,
And now again on earth is bent,

'Twixt anger and embarrassment?"

ETONIAN.

A FEW days after the occurrences detailed in the last chapter, all the world of Calcutta and its environs were assembled at General Gordon's in the Chouringhee. The "street of palaces swarmed with vehicles of all descriptions, hurrying to or returning from the grand point of at

traction-curricles, palanquins, buggies, tonjons and other varieties of Indian conveyance were mingled indiscriminately together; and loud and clamorous vociferations were heard from sices, bearers, paikans, and massalgies, eager in asserting the rights of their respective saibs, and exchanging their "gallee" in such a variety of dialect as almost to form a miniature Babel. Nor was the interior less busy or less diversified. An elegant suite of apartments were already thronged with much of the beauty and fashion. of the capital, while the chaprassies" "Barca Saib, Barca Saib," were continually announcing fresh arrivals. The splendor of the lights, the tastefulness of the decorations, the exhilarating sounds of the music, the delicious perfumes of the choice flowers and aromatic shrubs, which, in rich and fanciful vases, charmed the senses alternately with their fragrance and their beauty, and the forms of elegance and loveliness which glided to and fro like the presiding Peris of the scene, seemed to form an enchanted circle, within whose sparkling sphere no sombre shadow dared obtrude, and which was wholly sacred to the G 2

light laugh and song of joy, the beautiful serenity of peaceful and tranquillized gratification, and the more tumultuous throb of eager, unrestrained delight.

But the Supreme Being has ordained in his wisdom, that neither the beauty nor the happiness of earthly things shall be as perfect as they appear. The fairest flower carries the germ of decay in the bosom which seems all freshness and purity; and the smiling cheek, the unruffled brow, and even sometimes the dancing sparkle of the trained eye, will conceal a heart which is writhing beneath the smartings of sudden agony, or in which the cloud of settled sorrow has cast a depth of gloom that no future. sun shall shine on, and within whose folds all that was lovely or desirable seem to lie hidden for ever. By how many of the actors in the present festive scene this mask was worn, it is not our province to inquire. Even if a practicable, it were at best an ungrateful task to tear aside so fair and pleasing a veil, in order to force the eye to gaze upon the melancholy or revolting objects which may lie concealed beneath it.

Who does not regret to be awakened from a dream which had, for a while, deluded him with the fancied enjoyment of some happiness that he has long sighed for, but knows he shall never possess in reality,—or, when he is lost in contemplation of the rich hues of the rainbow as it seems proudly to span the heavens, would not repine at the officiousness which aroused him from his delicious reverie, to explain to him, that these beautiful tints had no actual existence, and that their very appearance would soon fade from the admiring eye, and be as though they had never been?

But we are compelled to record, that there was at least one eye which wandered over the sprightly scene with a listless gaze; one ear upon which the concord of sweet sounds fell unheeded, and one heart which had no responsive throb for the gaieties with which it was surrounded. Edgar had long promised to meet Clara at this assembly; he had anticipated it with almost childish eagerness (for love always was, and always will be a child); and his busy fancy had sketched for it a thousand pictures of

pleasure and delight. The evening was come, but where was its promised happiness? That complex and not very definable emotion, usually understood by the word spirit, had forbidden him to confess his feelings by abstaining from the festivity, but his presence made them, at least to the discerning, scarcely less obvious. True, he was gay and lively, talked so rapidly, and laughed so loud, that many remarked in what excellent spirits Captain Arlington was. But those who looked below the surface, observed, that his gaiety was wild and fitful—that his features, even in their smiles, looked unusually pale and thin-and that his bursts of merriment were not unfrequently abruptly succeeded by fits of musing, in which the heart at ease is seldom prone to indulge. The struggle between his feelings, and his self-possession, grew more apparent as he discerned Mr. Aimwell and his daughter at a short distance. It was, indeed, a painful crisis. He had not till that morning summoned resolution to perform what he considered his duty-the task of apprising Mr. Aimwell of the unfortunate change that inca