WHEN D'Alonville arrived at the house of Captain Caverly, he had the satisfaction of finding Edward Ellesmere; who had left Eddisbury two or three days before he had originally intended. He had taken a final leave, he said, of every body at home; and D'Alonville could not forbear enquiring how he could so soon disengage himself from a family, who must undoubtedly feel distressed at his departure. Ellesmere answered, "You should recollect, my good friend, that my father has his politician to console him; and then little Master, who is so fond of English tunes; circumstances that, of course, abate his regret at parting with a younger son who is no politician at all."

     "But your mother, said D'Alonville, "she certainly must be made extremely unhappy, thus to part with you; and to see you enter a profession, attended with so much danger." "My

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 mother!" answered Ellesmere. "Oh, yes! poor dear woman, she wept a little, and gave me a great many blessings, and some good advice; but as to ideas of danger, she has none. She has not a mind capable of figuring what she never saw. Imagination never oppresses her with its visionary terrors; or if it did, the most terrific drawing would soon be erased by the home scenes around her; and she would think more of what had happened at the next market town. Such is the effect of living always in a narrow circle, without any change of ideas." In this instance, however, it is happy, my friend. Your sisters, were undoubtedly greatly hurt to part with you." Ellesmere smiled. "My eldest sister," said he, "is in love, you know, which is a wonderful defence against any collateral distresses. A young lady, Sir, thus circumstanced, sees no object in the universe but the dear youth. As to Mary, she is too happy about herself just now, to make it reasonable for me to expect her to feel much concern for me. This revolution in the politics of the elder branch of my family, has made a revolution in their economy. Mary is going to London with Lady Sophia. She expects to come down with a lover of immense fortune, if not with a title. In such cases, a brother more or less makes no difference. As to my poor little Theodora, who is not yet allowed to come out of the nursery, she is as sorry as if she had lost any other of her play-fellows, but she thinks no farther. However, I have prevailed on my mother, I hope, to consider Theodora no longer as a child; Heaven knows, my dear Chevalier, whether I shall ever have an opportunity of making her another request." Ellesmere seemed affected for a moment by the thought of having taken, perhaps, a last leave of his whole family; though

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 their partiality for a brother who had nothing to recommend him, but the circumstance of having been born a few years sooner, had left him, in quitting the paternal seat of his ancestors, much less to regret than he would have had under other circumstances. But immediately regaining his usual gaiety, he turned the discourse to other subjects.

     In this conversation, all that D'Alonville had heard since his departure from Eddisbury, in regard to the family at Besthorpe, was of course mentioned. Ellesmere learned with wonder, that his old acquaintance, Melton, was the man whose offers had been refused; not that he thought the refusal wonderful, but he had not imagined Melton to be a man who would think of marrying a young woman that was without fortune, and whose family was in some measure in obscurity, for a sort of minor ambition. A desire to be thought of consequence in his county, and to have his name forward on all occasions, had been one of the most leading features, that, in their short acquaintance, he had remarked. Melton had a high opinion of his own country; of the particular province of the country which he himself inhabited; and his own set of friends; and last, not least, of himself, whom he loved with the tenderest solicitude.—An affection which so much engrossed him, that he seldom thought it worth while to consult the pleasure or opinion of others. That nothing could have induced him to do a generous action Ellesmere was so well convinced, that his disinterested impartiality for the unportioned, unknown Angelina, amazed him, till he recollected that he sought her only to gratify himself. Still it appeared a matter of some wonder that he should prefer beauty, to fortune and interest; or that he did not unite

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 these objects, by choosing some one whose alliance could add brilliancy to his family, and whose rank might give her precedence, which his denied.

     After some conversation on this matter, Ellesmere asked D'Alonville, if his attachment to Angelina was such as he himself believed would be permanent. "Tell me, my friend," said he, "if you really believe, that this passion for my fair countrywoman, is of a nature to resist absence, and what may be much more fatal, the vivacity, and the various attractions of the women of France?"

     D'Alonville protested that he believed, nay he was persuaded, it was so firmly established, that nothing could remove it. "And if you were restored," said Ellesmere, "to your country, to your prospects,—Is it an Englishwoman, a woman of another religion, without fortune, and though of a gentleman's family, educated in a remote village; is it such a woman you would prefer?" "Upon my honour," answered D'Alonville, very solemnly, "I should prefer Angelina Denzil to every other woman; to every advantage that alliance or fortune could bring me." "If those," said Ellesmere, "are your sentiments, what hinders your availing yourself of the partiality she has certainly shown in your favour; and though it may not be prudent, on her account, to marry immediately, why should you not endeavour to brighten your future days by securing the person whom your heart has elected?" This kind of conversation and much more to the same purpose, was too flattering to D'Alonville not to be eagerly listened to—we are easily induced to believe what we wish—and Ellesmere succeeded without much difficulty in persuading D'Alonville, that he had less reason to fear a repulse, than he had himself

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 imagined, considering all the disadvantages he was under.

     From circumstances which are not immediately necessary to the story, this was really found to be the case. Whether romantic or reasonable (for it might be thought either, according to the different disposition of those who sit in judgement on this part of her conduct), Mrs. Denzil was certainly singular enough, not to oppose her daughter's giving herself to a native of another country; to a man professing another religion; and to one of those who, as emigrants, have been spoken of by some persons in England with contempt, for adhering to their king, and by others blamed for having quitted him; (though it is evident by what has happened since, that their remaining would only have hastened the catastrophe they deplore, without its holding out any hope of future redress, as far as redress in such case is possible). The few days that D'Alonville and Ellesmere remained in the neighbourhood, were passed almost entirely at the house of Mrs. Denzil. The evening before the day fixed for their departure, they were surprized there by the entrance of a lady in the neighbourhood, a distant relation of Melton's, who very seldom condescended to visit the Denzil family, but who had now taken the pains to avail herself of the moon to come five miles, to pay her compliments at an house, where, if one might have judged from the countenances of those she favoured with her company, the honour would have been most willingly dispensed with. The good old gentlewoman, whose name was Risby, was one of those very sensible persons, who assume a right to dictate to all their acquaintance, and to satirise most unmercifully, as well those who listened to their decisive opinions as those who dared to have

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 opinions of their own. Though the younger part of her life had not been celebrated for peculiar discretion, she had so much profited since, either from experience or observation, that she seemed to believe herself qualified for the dictatorship of the universe. She stalked very majestically into the parlour of Mrs. Denzil—looked around her; and, paying a cold compliment to Ellesmere, with whom she was slightly acquainted, she cast her eyes towards D'Alonville, with a look which said, "Humph, it is true then what I have heard!" The conversation was cold and languid, for Mrs. Denzil seemed very little inclined to support her share of it. Mrs. Risby blamed four or five of their mutual acquaintance for some faults they had committed, of which Mrs. Denzil had never heard before—ridiculed half a dozen others for some personal or acquired defects; and, having nearly exhausted her provision of malignity for the evening, she begged to speak with Mrs. Denzil alone, and they went together into another room. It was there, that snorking and drawing herself up, she made a slight apology to Mrs. Denzil for what she was going to say, and then asked if what she heard was really possible; that one of the young ladies, for all of whom she professed herself much interested, could have refused a man of Mr. Melton's fortune, with a design to give herself to a foreigner, an emigrant. She was going on to distinguish D'Alonville by very appellation that she thought contemptuous and despicable; when Mrs. Denzil stopped her, by saying "I really do not know, Madam, how I and my family have deserved that you should interfere in our affairs. However, if it be any satisfaction to you to gratify your curiosity in a matter so little worth your enquirey, I have the honor of assuring you that my daughter

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 has refused Mr. Melton; with my approbation refused him. What may happen as to any other person I do not consider myself at liberty to explain, as any event of that sort must be remote and uncertain—I believe it is unnecessary to detain you longer." Mrs. Denzil then led the way back to the apartment they had left, which Mrs. Risby entered with a greater elevation of head than she had when she quitted it. She rang almost immediately for her carriage, and hardly noticing the persons for whom she pretended to be so interested, and passing Ellesmere and D'Alonville with a contemptuous toss of her head, she retired. In a moment it was forgotten that her visit had been made, for very different contemplations occupied the party she had left.

     One great objection to novels is the frequent recurrences of love scenes; which readers of so many descriptions turn from as unnatural, or pass over as fulsome; while, to those who alone perhaps read them with avidity, they are said to be of dangerous tendency. The conversations then which decided that D'Alonville was an accepted lover, by the woman he adored, and the parting of persons thus mutually attached, when one was going to a country from whence there were so many chances that he might never return, shall be passed over, as well as less material occurrences, till Ellesmere and his emigrant friend arrived in London, where the former entered immediately on the business of preparations for his departure; and the latter, though he could not divert his thoughts a moment from the object he had left, was glad to engage in giving such assistance as he could to his friend, to call off his mind as much as possible from its sad reflections. He had also commissions to execute for the ladies De Touranges; and persons of his own country to visit,

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 to whom they had given him letters; and he had letters of his own to write to France. By incessant occupation he endeavoured to appease the regret and anguish that preyed upon his mind, and to conquer in the sever struggle which while he remained on English ground, he knew must continue between his inclination and his duty.

     Ellesmere alone was witness to what it cost him to determine on following the dictates of that duty; and with the most generous attention he endeavoured to soothe the pain of his friend's mind, though his own was far from being at ease.

     Every thing was settled for their setting out the next day on their journey to Ostend, where they were to part. Ellesmere had made all his purchases, and D'Alonville obtained such information as could be had in London, as to the measures he should take in the perilous adventure he was about to encounter.

     D'Alonville, during his former short stay in London, had refused to go into any public place; but now, at the earnest entreaty of Ellesmere, he agreed to go to a play with him to see a celebrated actress; and, as he believed himself by this time able to understand the declamation of the English stage, he felt as much curiosity about this performer as any object could now excite. Partial as he was to the very different style of French acting, he could not but attend with pleasure to the great dramatic powers of the actress in question! and his attention insensibly attracted, was rivetted to the scene, when a person entered the same box whom D'Alonville at first did not observe. Ellesmere was gone to another part of the house, and in his seat the stranger put himself.

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     At the end of the act, D'Alonville turned to see who had taken the place which he expected his friend every moment to return to; and, after a moment's recollection as to where he had before seen the face that now presented itself, he recognised that of Mr. Melton.

     D'Alonville saw by the air with which he was surveyed, that Mr. Melton recollected him, for arrogantly and contemptuously he eyed him—looks which D'Alonville, whose pride was now roused, returned with interest. The man who had aspired to the hand of Angelina could not but be an unwelcome object to D'Alonville. Melton, though he had quitted the pursuit very indignantly, had heard that a preference to this foreigner had been the cause of the mortifying refusal he had experienced; and, as he could not, in the insolence of prosperity, bear the idea of a rival, whom he considered as every way his inferior, he felt an unconquerable inclination to show his displeasure by insulting D'Alonville. While he meditated how to do this, which he thought the situation of D'Alonville authorised him to do with impunity, the last act of the play began, and D'Alonville though no more about him, but again applied himself wholly to the stage. In a few minutes Ellesmere entered, and seeing a gentleman in his place was about to speak to him, when he recognised his travelling acquaintance—to whom he addressed himself with civility; and, as a seat behind D'Alonville became vacant by a gentleman's going out, Ellesmere, without asking for his own, placed himself in it. The play ended, and Ellesmere was preparing to quit the theatre, having an appointment for the rest of the evening, when Melton entered into conversation with him, by looking with a contemptuous smile at his hat: "So," said he, "I see you are become one of

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 our brave defenders; pray how is that reconcileable with your principles, and your connections?"

     "Principles and connections!" cried Ellesmere, in much surprise—"Pray what do you allude to—principles and connections!"

     "They are common words enough," replied Melton, "and require, I think, no comment."

     "As you use them," said Ellesmere, rising into warmth, "they, in my opinion, require a very explicit one, which you will be so good as to give me."

     "By principles," answered Melton, "I mean the flaming red hot notions of liberty, and such stuff that I have heard you talk of in a way that I though more likely to place you in the chair of some of your reforming societies than to put a cockade in your hat; and by connections I mean—your acquaintance with—foreigners—Frenchmen—Jacobins—Sans Culottes—whatever they are pleased to call themselves." As he said this he fixed his eyes on D'Alonville, who could not fail to hear and to understand what it was evident was said that he might hear and understand.

     "And who, Sir," said Ellesmere in great anger, "shall dare to say to me that I have any such connections?" "The affront," cried D'Alonville in French, "is so pointed at me, that you much allow me, my friend, to take it. This gentleman will be pleased to inform me where I shall find him at his own hour tomorrow."

     "I have nothing to say to you, Sir," cried Melton, "I never engage either in friendship or enmity with persons of whom I am not sure that they are gentlemen." This was a little too

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 much,—though D'Alonville was of a temper remarkably mild, he was violent when thoroughly provoked, and he now thought himself cruelly insulted; insomuch, that from the expression of his countenance, Ellesmere was afraid he might on being farther irritated, strike Melton. Well aware of the disagreeable consequences which might arise to his friend from such a quarrel in such a place, he caught his hands—"My dear chevalier," cried he eagerly, "I insist upon your leaving this matter to me: be assured no man living shall insult my friend with impunity. You will understand, Sir," added he, turning to Melton, "that I expect to hear, at an early hour tomorrow, where this matter may be more conveniently talked of."

     Melton, who seemed by his countenance to have no particular relish for this discussion, and not thoroughly to have considered the consequence of his brutality before he ventured upon it, now answered sullenly, "Here is my card, I will meet you where you please." Ellesmere hastily made an appointment to which Melton agreed, and then walked away with the affectation of composure which he was far enough from feeling; and the two friends went together to Ellesmere's lodgings, where D'Alonville insisted, in the warmest terms, that he only ought to meet this man, who had evidently intended to insult him; and he declared he could not bear the safety of Ellesmere should be hazarded, while to himself life was so little desirable that possibly the most fortunate thing that could happen to him would be to lose it. Ellesmere answered by representing to him the noise such an affair would make, the various ways in which it would be represented, and the great injury it might do to the French who had

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 taken refuge in England; and he ended with declaring that as Melton addressed his conversation to him, it was he who was pointedly insulted, and to him alone it belonged to chastise the aggressor. They parted without having decided the generous contest; but early the next morning, as Ellesmere was preparing to attend his appointment, and to call on D'Alonville in his way, he was stopped by a Mr. Southgate, with whom he was slightly acquainted, and whom he knew to be friend of Melton's. This gentleman came to say, that having heard of the foolish affair that had happened at the playhouse the night before, he desired, as the friend of both parties, to be allowed to interfere, in the hopes of getting it settled without their coming to the extremities that were threatened. He said that Melton seemed sorry for the turn the matter had taken, for that he had no intention of affronting Ellesmere, for whose family he had a respect; "And upon the whole," said Southgate, "I find Melton wishes it may go no farther; for after all, my dear Sir, it is but a silly business. Melton was, to my knowledge, more than half drunk when he left the house where he dined; and he is a man that has got, I don't know how, a habit of saying rude blunt things; but he means nothing by it, and nobody minds him."

     Ellesmere did not think this apology sufficient—"If Mr. Melton," said he, "uses himself to say rude, blunt things, it is time he was cured of so insufferable a custom; and I intend to give him a lesson that shall help towards this cure—not for his own sake for I hold him not worth the trouble that it should take to give him the liberal sentiments of a gentleman), but for the honor of my country; for a nation is disgraced by the

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 savage manners of an individual towards foreigners." Mr. Southgate continued to remonstrate, and Ellesmere to insist. The fact was, that Melton heartily repented of the experiment he had made, since it had brought his person into danger, and Southgate was employed to settle the business as well as he could without bloodshed. At length he wrote a sort of apology, which he undertook that Melton should sign; and this Ellesmere, rather to avoid the noise the might be made by the quarrel to the prejudice of his friend, than for any other reason, consented to accept. Melton, who found that Ellesmere and D'Alonville were about to quit England immediately, hoped the affair would not transpire, and well pleased to find himself in no personal danger, he signed the paper, which Southgate immediately carried to Ellesmere. This unpleasant business being settled, nothing remained to detain him and his friend in England; and their baggage being all ready, they set off the same evening for Dover, where they arrived just as a packet was going out, which landed them at four o'clock the next morning on the continent.