PRETENSION AND PREJUDICE. CHAP. I. (A Tale of Ireland.) BY ALICE ANNE LAWSON, What would this world be without its changes and chances? its varieties, contradictions, excitements, anticipations, and then its disappointments? Is there one who has not worshipped, or sighed after, some unattainable object? and in wisdom has not all this been decreed, since it teaches us humility-to doubt our own strength and prevents the possibility of inordinate self-love? Our eyes are opened in spite of that wilful blindness, which clings-a portion of earth-to each; and we see plainly the excellence, it may be the superiority, of our neighbours. There are lights and shadows in every walk of life, one rendering the other more striking by contrast. Two flowers, even on the one stem, have never yet been found exactly alike; and in the wide paths of the world human nature has its own distinguishing traits. Of the same family will be born children, who have known the same kindness, felt the same love, breathed the same air, received the same instruction, and in the end how one man differs from his brother! Stephen and Percy Osbaldistone, brothers by the law of nature, associating from their earliest years together, and of the same profession, did not resemble each other in the smallest particular where one might expect to trace relationship. They were the youngest sons of an English general officer, who had died, leaving little for his lady but a proud name, high reputation, three sons, and a diminished property; the eldest son took upon him, with his mother, the family honours and remnants of the estate, while the two younger were dismissed with commissions in the regiment of foot, and a scanty allowance irregularly paid. Years and years had passed; the brothers returned from India, and were ordered to a quarter in southern Ireland. Stephen, a tall, sallow, quiet, silent, dignified man of thirty, had just succeeded, after years of economy in a foreign clime, during sickness and loneliness, in purchasing his company-that goal of a soldier's ambition; while Percy, at six-and-twenty, the fair-haired, blue-eyed, egotistical, vain, superficial, eloquent, polite, dandified little Adonis, had, by a death vacancy, been promoted to a lieutenancy. How different, how widely apart were those two brothers! yet each, in his way, was necessary and valuable to the regiment. Stephen's steady gravity, never descending to dulness; his sound judgment, so necessary to a a friend in trouble; his quiet, entertaining man ner, so gentle and decisive, devoid of affectation or pretension: whilst Percy was the amusement, the rallying point for all jests—with his loud tone and high accent; his haughty, arrogant, almost insolent assumption of superiority; his worship of all things aristocratic; his boastings, so elegantly delivered; his dress, so full of coxcombry; his learning and information put forth so pedantically, and with such impertinence; all, everything, even to his little person, erect head, sunny smiles of affability mingling with sneers of satire, and dazzling teeth; all proclaimed Percy Osbaldistone the Man of Pretension! It was Midsummer Day, in those "country quarters," about the scorching hour of four, that Percy leaned out of an open window in the barracks of — ; his eyes dwelt on the hot parade ground beneath, and the young man almost fancied himself once more in India; perhaps some banished memory was recalled by the fierce glare of the sun, for his features wore no smile, as he passed a hand across his handsome brow. A rattle on the pavement struck his ear, and a tilbury, driven by a young man, dashed furiously through the gates, and drew up at the door: the occupant was about to spring from his seat when Percy's loud laugh and exclamation of surprise at his late arrival, caused him to look up. "Ha! Percy; you despaired of seeing me. Come, get ready; we have not a moment to lose," said the owner of the tilbury, in the rich, peculiar, but not disagreeable tone which distinguishes the southern Irish. 66 They have all gone an hour ago," answered Percy, as he tied on his sash, and turned from the window to give a parting look at the mirror. The forage cap was tastefully placed over the fair curls, and a smile of doubtful meaning lighted up the twinkling eyes, as he stood a moment on the steps. 66 "But what detained you, Singleton?" he inquired. I doubt if we shall get any dinner at this-fête champêtre, I think they call it." "Ah! we Irish, my dear fellow, have a morsel for every hungry man, be he friend or foe. But step in, you shall have the history of my late coming on our road. It is just four, by Jove! the hour of dinner. Has Osbaldistone unearthed himself for the occasion?" And the young man drew out an exquisite gold repeater; but the friendly act of comparing time did not suit Percy, as, though he wore a gold chain for appearance' sake, the appendage was only silver. Some little token of assent passed, but whether to intimate the knowledge of the hour, or his brother's departure, was a conclusion to be guessed at. Here we must mention that our hero was always addressed by his Christian name, to distinguish the elder from the younger, so that the habit had passed almost into a recognition of no other name. Both were seated, Mr. Singleton caught up the reins, and the horse plunged violently forward. Percy involuntarily grasped the iron rail of the vehicle, with an exclamation about Irish recklessness, and the horses partaking of the nature of the people. The charioteer laughed long and loudly, stood erect, and with practised skill managed the fiery animal. "Hold on, Percy! Never doubt Jack Singleton; this is a famous fellow, only a little uncertain, which suits his name; he will soon take us to Castle Dermott." 66 'What do you call him?" asked Percy, when they were on the high road, and the horse had become quite tame. 66 Saxon," answered his companion, in a tone at once furious and defying, which gave Percy no inclination to contradict him; he gently changed the subject (no one possessed more address, or used it more suitably than the accomplished officer), and inquired, "How far distant is Mr. Dermott's Castle?" "Mac Dermott-you mean, of Castle Dermott -about a mile. Now, seriously, my friend Percy, if you mean to be a favourite among our Irishwomen-a lady-killer-you must change a little; encourage national prejudices, adore Irish absurdities, write poetry on the glory of days departed, and all names beginning with O and Mac. My mother long ago adopted this course, and has become a general favourite." "Is Mrs. Singleton an Englishwoman?" quired Percy. and generous disposition, which caused him often to pity rather than condemn an erroneous judgment; above all, he despised affectation, and his look expressed it, as he replied, "Percy, if you would keep friends with them, they must be called Mac Dermotts: he has three daughters, very peculiar girls; nice and quiet, but sensible. Rachel I think the most loveable, but they say her sailor cousin has engaged her hand and heart. See what you can do; they are prizes." "Dieu defend!" exclaimed Percy. "What would my lady mother say to an Irish wife grafted on the aristocratic tree of the Osbaldistones! Heavens! is that square stone house called Castle M'Dermott? I shall ever say a castle in Ireland means a house, with three windows and a door!" "Out on you," laughed Singleton, as he sprang to the ground and watched the studied descent of the officer; "look to your right, scoffer, and see yon proud remnants-the ruined castle, the overgrown moat, the wreck of what once might have excited your fastidious admiration. But I am too hungry to lionize you further; I hear music and revelry; the marquees are always pitched down towards the lake." A servant led their horse away, while the young men went in the direction of the sounds. A pleasing spectacle broke on their vision; tents crowded with company engaged at the important business of dinner, while groups of young people of both sexes had escaped from the luxuries provided within, and sat in shaded spots on the green cool grass, to laugh and enjoy the hours while they ate. A band played merrily at some distance; and boats lay-to on the lake, gaily decked for the occasion. Mr. Singleton prein-sented his companion to Mr. M'Dermott, their host, who, with the most graceful courtesy welcomed him. Mr. M'Dermott was a genuine Irish gentleman, affable, and devoid of pride in manner. "You are not too late at any hour," he answered, when Percy apologized for their seeming neglect. "Allow me to present my eldest daughter; and now I shall resign you to the care of my friend Singleton, who knows every one, and is au fait at all arrangements in such a scramble as this." "No, a Spaniard; Donna Ismene de Castro, of a high family out there, captivated my father, then a wild, reckless Irishman on his travels; they married, and a gentler, purer specimen of woman never breathed; a little silent 'tis true, and a rigid Catholic; but Laura is the charm of her existence." The impetuous young man had become quite calm. Percy looked up, amazed that the flashing eyes and loud tones could modulate to an almost feminine softness. "Who is Laura?" inquired our hero, interested in spite of himself. "My only sister: but I forgot that you do not know her; I shall present you in due form. It was driving them which kept me from fulfilling my engagement with you. Our coachman was taken ill, and my mother is too timid to trust any one who does not drive well; so your humble servant had to return again for Saxon and the tilbury. Here we are at Castle Der mott." "Where we shall be the more valued for coming late, eh, Singleton? What a time-worn, ivy-clad entrance! I see there are romantic spots in Ireland. Has Mr. Dermott any family, Singleton?" Mr. Singleton was gifted with a kind heart Percy had just time to glance at Miss M'Dermott, and see a fair, quiet, pretty girl with downcast eyes, blush rather than bow to his greeting, when Singleton secured places among a group outside. Ah! "There is no place like the open air, under the shade of a tree, my good Percy, on a rural party," said Singleton; every one thinks us poor expelled mortals from Paradise; but I say, we have pearls and Peris before us. Flora, my little wife," he continued, caressing a little girl of seven years, with bright auburn hair and sapphire eyes, who flew smiling into his arms. "I thought, dear Jack, you would never come!" she exclaimed in an impetuous manner; every one was so stupid without you." 66 66 Do not teaze him, Flora; poor Jack has not dined like you," said a voice, so sweet that Percy involuntarily looked up, and the gayest, merriest, dark-eyed, rich-cheeked little brunette stood before him; she just paused to lay a fairy hand on Mr. Singleton's head as he sat beneath her, then passed on with Captain Anketell and Flora to loiter through the gardens. "Your sister!" said Percy in a voice of inquiry. "Yes, that's Laura; but how stupid I am— another time remind me. Is not Flora a fine little animal?" "A spoiled child I should say. Who is she?" "Flora McDermott, the youngest daughter; her mother died shortly after she was born. What an excellent páté !” Time wore on most agreeably with our hero; he had been introduced to Laura Singleton, and could not deny that her movements were fraught with grace and beauty; he danced too on the lawn with Miss M'Dermott, and found her polite, refined, but cold and distant. Little Flora, too, improved on acquaintance, and Percy began to think the Irish an entertaining people. The day was dying into twilight, when Percy and Miss Singleton walked slowly by the lake, watching the display of fireworks cast up from Mr. M'Dermott's yacht; vehicles were arriving to remind the loiterers of departure, and some had already left the festive scene; Madame Singleton had sent a message to hasten her daughter's return, and Laura, with Percy, went in search of her brother; the sound of oars splashing in the water reached them, and presently a boat shot past towards the landingplace. “I see Jack; he is with Rachel M'Dermott," exclaimed Laura: "his back is to us; we must go round to the quay." 66 Quite delightful, that little extension of leave; pray accept my arm to assist you," returned Percy, as he looked after the boat; for in the officer at the stern he recognized his brother, whom he had never seen during the day, and was curious to know who had entertained him. "Do you see great difference in our Irish manners?" inquired Miss Singleton in an arch tone; and her dark eyes danced mischievously as she spoke. "Do not our nationalities astonish you? I have heard that you will not recognize our equality with the English in any particular. Are we very inferior?" Percy smiled ambiguously; he did not wish to destroy any impression which he had made on the attractive girl; yet he longed to vent his satire on the people who had so entertained him. "You heard of me! Who could have told you? I think after this day I shall say that I could love an Irishwoman. Here we are landing-place; but they have all gone." time. Did you see our party on the lake? We were near returning minus one." "How?" both inquired in a breath. "The boat leaned to one side, and the rowers called out to right her;' Zenobia started up, and stepping on the seat, she over-balancedbefore one could speak or stir she was in the water, and we had shot ahead; I verily think she would have sunk but for Osbaldistone; some of us did not even know of the accident; he caught part of her floating drapery, and drew her into the boat." "Poor Zeno!" cried Laura, "I must go to see her before meeting Mamma." "No, Laura," returned her brother; "Rachel desired me to make no fuss about it, as her sister has gone to change her wet clothes. I never saw Zeno laugh so heartily in my life, and yet I thought she was dead at first; you ladies are very uncertain. Laura, come; my mother waits. What do you say, Percy?” "Yes; ladies' minds are not easily fathomed," smiled the officer as they proceeded. "Is it too late to get a sight of this heroine of the lake?" Laura answered rather sharply, and with a piquant tone, which shewed Percy his bright companion was easily excited. You will not be at all likely to please Zeno M'Dermott; she is cold as stone, and solemn as an anchorite; yet I do love her-who could help it? Her window is that from which the light streams now. Good bye." Percy whispered his adieux, asked permission to call on her, and after watching the carriage disappear, turned to look for some of his companions. Every moment saw some one vanish from the scene of merriment. Captain Anketell just came up. Come, Percy, I have been looking for you; we must see our host and vanish. This has been a very gay affair; and the ladies-ah! I have lost my heart to a Miss Singleton, our friend Jack's sister-dear little fairy! But who is that at the window? It is some one talking to Osbaldistone." They stood in the shade, and Percy saw a lady raise the window which Laura had pointed to him; her voice came clearly on the air. "Thank you, I am quite well. Pray do not mention the circumstance to papa." The window was closed immediately, and Captain Osbaldistone raised his sword-hilt to his lips and withdrew. 66 "Cool enough, in all conscience," muttered Percy. Stephen is a fool; those Irish would take three times as much gallantry; but he always does things by halves." And his little figure looked haughty. 66 the Laura! Laura!" was loudly callea, and presently Mr. Singleton came running o meet them. "Ah! you are safe," he said. "My morner is in such anxiety to get you home. Come, it is "Come now, Percy," returned his companion, you are jealous. We English may be a little superior, but really those fair ladies to-day might enslave the most fastidious of the Osbaldistones." Percy said something about " contamination," but the subject changed, and shortly the gay officers returned to their barracks. CHAP. II. One week after the rural party at Castle Dermott, on a fine, soft afternoon, Laura Singleton amused herself in her drawing-room, now talking to a visitor, then playing a wild strain on a splendid harp, which stood near an open window. Again the young, gay, wild coquette would fly to her friend's side, kneel beside her, and with sunny laughter, or an endearing caress, silence the mild chiding, for some careless word. Laura Singleton was a charming, sweet-tempered, merry-tongued girl; a beauty, an only daughter, and well-portioned, with a kind heart, generous and friendly. She had a strong tincture of coquetry, pride, and self-esteem-not to be wondered at, considering she was of Irish extraction, mingling with the warm blood of Spain, and joined to the usual effects of overindulgence; yet she was not spoiled, only apt to be wilful. The Grove-the residence of the Singletons was an earthly paradise; comfort blended with elegance and refinement; while the room where the young mistress presided during the summer, and in which we now find her, was a retreat the Graces might have been proud of. Laura darted to her friend, who reclined with a stillness almost statue-like, in an arm-chair, close to a French window, whose open doors admitted a fragrance varied and delicious. She rallied the inanimate visitor, and passing on, stood in the open window, pointing one little exquisite foot to the green carpet of nature. "Come, Zeno," she exclaimed, "shall we walk through the gardens? They look lovely! I see old Peter yonder, rake in hand, and the conservatories are, he says, magnificent. Shall we?" Madame Singleton to-day. Do you like him, "I don't think I remember his appearance," returned Zenobia. "Is he a cheerful man, with dark eyes and hair?" "No; that is Captain Anketell. How could you, stupid one, mistake any other for my knight-the gallant Percy?" 66 I was not in the way when they returned visits at the Castle. But what about Mr. Percy? Is he your adoration now, Laura ?" "It may be ; I do not know quite yet: but he is very polite, refined, well-informed, and displays it. He is anti-Irish, and his affectation amounts to insult-at least, so Jack says. I think I shall like him." "Absurd!" interrupted her friend, rising, with a gesture of impatience, and leaning on the harp. "Laura, you could not like a man of pretension as you have described-a bauble, a thing of vain emptiness. Play something; I do love music, grand, rich, swelling melody— music such as entranceth-not your love-sick, sentimental ballads, half-sighs, and altogether nonsense!" "Then play yourself, my love," laughed Laura: 66 you might achieve such perfections as oratorios; but simple I am fit for gay folly only: come, Zeno, begin." Miss M'Dermott placed herself, and drew the instrument to her. The tall figure and exquisitely moulded limbs would have struck any one; but Laura dashed with wild impetuosity to her, and cried aloud in rapture, with clasped hands-"You would be perfect, Zeno, if you would only laugh a little: your voice "Tis more than human; Never till now had it been given "Do not mind me, Laura; I can wait until you exhaust your animal spirits: remember that I have walked from our house; I must have lost To utter notes so fresh from heaven!" my gaiety by the way," answered the sweetest, "That is enough for one time, dear Laura," most musical tones which an ear could drink in. interrupted the performer, as she concluded a Zenobia M'Dermott's accent was the most sil- beautiful part of the opera of "Norma," and very, harmonious sound in nature-so pure, so swept with an almost magic power the strings, simple, so rich in melody, so inartificial through-looking like an inspired being, or a goddess at out. It could have won her many a heart, for her shrine. none might pass it by: but though attractive, young, and without a sorrow, she was not one who enjoyed folly for folly's sake. A coldness amounting to hauteur, a gravity and seriousness of demeanour, distinguished her, and awed triflers into prudence. One could not be in Zenobia's company, without seeing that she was no common-place individual: that clear, cold eye of deep grey spoke volumes-that brow of marble whiteness-that cheek with the lily hue, so fair, that a colour would have destroyed its classical expression-the chiselled lip, fine, thin, telling in its perfect modelling, but still rigidity, of high resolves and upright integrity-there was a character on it, saying, "Secret and true." The beauty was not formed for love, yet capable of inspiring undying attachment. "Little Mr. Percy told me yesterday," began Laura again, "that he would come to see Laura paused wonderingly at the animated loveliness before her; for though intimate from childhood, such fitful, strange humours were of so rare an occurrence, that she could scarcely believe her eyes. A knock at the inner halldoor roused Laura into exclaiming, "There is Percy, no doubt; and I am so sorry-nay, don't stir; oh, finish, you queen of sweet sounds!" But the harp was hushed, the seat empty, and the performer again silently reclining in the deep chair beside the window: not a sign of colour was there, and, but for the eye so bright and dilated, one might have thought her asleep, as the door opened to admit the expected guest. "How d' you do, Miss Singleton?" said our friend Percy, advancing with extended hand to the young lady. "I lingered, entranced by the sounds of your harp. Why did you stop so suddenly?" Laura was going to introduce the true musician, but a warning finger from Zenobia checked her; and the officer, turning round for a seat, became conscious that they were not alone. Laura laughed like a child; but no change passed over the solemn girl, who reclined in the chair. "And now, Mr. Percy," began Laura, "say something very amusing. I have been wishing for you all the morning. Have you fallen in love with Ireland yet?" "The witches of this country I may not choose but adore," he answered, moving near hear, and sinking his voice almost to a whisper. "This is a beautiful spot; but your mother is so superior, and la belle Laura such a fairy charmer! Anything for me but the square stone house of that place, so inappropriately called 'Castle,' where we burnt ourselves last week." Laura fidgetted, drew a crayon head from a portfolio, and handed it to the young man to check any further conversation. "It is very lovely," he exclaimed: "who is the artist? They have caught your radiant expression, just as you smiled when I was introduced to you at Castle Barbarous !" A smile is an uncertainty at best," returned Laura, glancing to Zenobia, who was looking with meaning at both, her large eyes enjoying every word. "We Irish, you know, smile at, and smile with it is an impossibility to discover our true meaning. Mamma was the artist, and flattered me, as you perceive." 66 Oh, Madame Singleton is a great favourite of mine," and the officer raised his head on high, thereby intimating, that such condescension on his part was not usual." So mild, so refined. But I did not tell you that I paid a visit to the Dermotts the other day." Stay a moment !" said Laura; "the M'Dermotts are my dearest friends: even if they were not, I consider them quite beyond the reach of scrutiny or ridicule. Pray do not entertain me at their expense; I should only dislike you, which I do not wish to do. It is a return for hospitality, which I think does not accord with the enlightened character of the English." Miss Singleton's eyes flashed fire, and her whole frame looked excitement. "Nay, pardon me, and mistake not," pleaded the young man, with anxiety in his face: "let me but bend my knee to you in token of favour, or extend a little finger to raise me from the depths of such horror. Thanks to that smile, e'en though it is uncertain. I have nothing to say against the M'Dermotts: they gave very good champagne, and in great abundance-the old fellow is very much the gentleman; the daughter a polite, well-meaning, but rather under-bred girl, full of smiling simplicity; and a young, red-haired romp, half-gipsy, half-vulgarity!" "Ah! the Lady of the Lake!' I have never seen her; she did not present herself during my visit, which I regretted, as my brother speaks highly of The Queen of the East;' I have some curiosity to view the lady, who could elicit one word of praise from my grave brother." "Your brother! I did not know you had a brother in the regiment. It was Captain Osbaldistone who rescued Zeno." "He is my brother; I bear the name of Osbaldistone also-I trust honourably," returned the officer, with such hauteur, that Laura involuntarily laughed in exctasies, as she exclaimed, "You are too ridiculous! How can you think to impose on my simplicity?" "I assure you, Miss Singleton, that my name is Percy Osbaldistone," said the officer gravely, and then in his most bland accents he continued, "my nom de baptéme sounded so sweetly in your charming accents, that I could not set you right, so excuse me I pray, and tell who is that statue-like beauty, so automaton-like, that glided from the room just now; her white dress is floating through yonder grove." "Has Zeno vanished at last?" smiled Laura. "Mr. Osbaldistone, agree with me this is an age of discoveries: the tall beauty is Zenobia M'Dermott, whose family you have so reviled! Take the advice of a young Irishwoman-in future, practice more urbanity of manner, and less unmerited severity. If you do not think yourself our equal, at least sink your rank and pretensions in society." Again Laura's colour deepened, as she continued, after a pause, "You ought to have an enemy in Zeno even more than in me; yet I doubt not she has forgotten your rudeness already: she is a strange girl, rare as beautiful: for myself, I never could forget or forgive such 'enmity."" "Who speaks of enmity? not my Laura, surely!" said Madame Singleton's gentle voice beside them. She had glided in unheard by either, and stood like a spirit, smiling blessings on her child. Laura's eyes filled with tears, for her mother's faded, shadowy appearance at that moment struck a chill to the warm, petuous girl she flew to her side, clasped the hand which held a carved crucifix of jet, exclaiming, "Mamma, are you worse? Why did you not send for me?" 66 im "Foolish child!" murmured the invalid, as she smoothed the bright curls of Laura, who knelt with her head on the arm of the chair, which Mr. Osbaldistone placed with much attention. My dear Laura, you know I am, and ever shall be, an invalid: dry those tears, love, and tell me, what cause excited the tones, which I have just interrupted? Mr. Percy, explain to me.' وو "He is no longer Mr. Percy, mamma," cried Laura, looking up again, her eyes shining more brightly even than before, and the gay smiles banishing every trace of emotion; "we have taken the liberty of addressing him by his Christian name, when he is brother to the grave Captain Osbaldistone. Is it not very ludicrous?" "No, not very, Laura," returned Madame |