CONFESSIONS OF A NOVEL READER. raised to him, but would personally exert himself to procure his forgiveness from his family, or at least impress on them the necessity and justice of rendering him such assistance as should enable him to raise himself from his present abject state. Frederick kept his word. We now had many interviews, and each tended more fully to increase my love for him, while they still thought me true to Henry; he, poor fellow, went onagain yielded to temptation-lost money, his own and his employer's. A woman of no character, but large property, who was anxious to regain at least the title of respectability, threw herself in his way-he married her-she paid his debts, but never allowed him to forget he had sold himself her slave. He dragged on a lengthened chain, tied to a woman he despised. Before this news reached me, I was a confirmed invalid, my nervous system completely shaken by anxiety, and the alternations of the many passions I had fostered instead of repressing. The loss of my dear mother was a severe shock; she was my only intimate. I had no near relations; and, wrapped up in my own feelings and their consequences, I had isolated myself from many of my friends; I was alone. Under these trials Frederick was my sole consoler, my guide-do you wonder if my attachment increased? At last he came to announce his approaching marriage; I was his confidant, I who had again dared to hope, and whose love was now worthy of him. He never suspected the agony he caused. In a short time I was compelled to welcome his bride. I almost hated her—but pride taught me again to dissimulate, to receive her calmly, to occupy the position which fell to me as her husband's sole female relative. I was her constant companion, her counsellor among strangers. At last her gentle manners forced me to love her. Against my prejudices, against my will, I became her friend. She talked confidentially to me as to a sister; and once, interrupting herself in a glowing panegyric on Frederick, she suddenly asked how I had escaped loving him. "I know all, dear Mary; my husband has no secrets with me; he told me I was not his first love; he loved you not when he first knew you in your bread-andbutter age-you were so strange, he said; but when he discovered your constant nature, how he regretted your unhappy engagement, and that strong attachment to Mr. Morton which precluded all hope for another. I can only rejoice that it was so; but I must still wonder." Annie, there was mingled bitterness and oothing in this information. To feel that Fred 185 erick had loved me was indeed consolatory; it was gratifying to hear that I was not again misled by vanity when I fancied myself dear to him; but imagine my grief and self-reproach when I found that I had wantonly thrown away that inestimable jewel-a good man's love; that I had sacrificed youth, happiness, health, in the pursuit of a shadow. The world pities me as a nerveless invalid. I blame and despise myself as a selfimmolated victim at the shrine of romance. Had my career been earlier checked, my eyes sooner opened, I might now be an active and useful member of society, doing my duty in the sphere God has chosen for me. What am I now? I have no object in life-I have no longer energy to form one. I linger on from day to day, literally cumbering the earth. I could not remain at home after Mrs. Stuart's disclosure. It was conveniently discovered that I required change of air and scene; I travelled for some years-time and occupation have scarred my wounds; but who can give me back the freshness of my youth, the hours wasted in vain wishes and repinings! Who will restore my prostrate spirit? With more blessings than fall to the lot of many, 1 have tasted more sorrow; it is unavailing that I now see the folly of my past--that I feel I prepared the cup that has poisoned my existence; that knowledge but embitters my lot. I gave way to morbid sentimentality and an absorbing passion; they have disappeared from my heart -what remains? A barren track-a desolate ruin. Had I really loved Henry I might have obtained an influence over him I never possessed; I might have reclaimed him; I should have given him more than money. Real love has a sanctifying influence; it hallows and purifies all it touches. The counterfeit passion will make great sacrifices, inspire sudden actions, but it exhausts itself, it is not true, it can effectuate no change. Had I loved Henry I should have continued to watch over him even in a foreign land; I might have saved him. He was my sacrifice; I left him, again to secure Frederick. Annie, be warned; we have our duties in every stage of existence: fulfil them cheerfully. If love steal over you, receive him as a welcome guest; but let him not become your master. Our God "is a jealous God, and will have no other gods but Him;" let us once admit an exclusive passion, and it brings its own punishment, and what punishment can be sorer, than the torments of an illregulated and over-excited imagination? Can you wonder at my dread of novel-reading? UNA is the heroine of the first and best known of the beautiful allegories of Spenser, which togeth er make up the incomparable Poem of the Fairie Queene. The legend which forms the first book is entitled the Red Cross Knight, or St. George and the Dragon. The poem opens with a scene of extraordinary beauty. A gentle knight was pricking on the plain, A lovely lady rode him fair beside, Upon a lowly ass more white than snow; Yet she much whiter; but the same did hide Under a veil that wimpled was full low And over all a black stole she did throw; As one that inly mourned, so was she sad, And heavy sat upon her palfrey slow; Seemed in heart some hidden care she had. The lady is named Una. She is sorrowful, and not without cause. Her father's kingdom lies ravaged by a horrible monster. She has come a long distance to the Court of Gloriana, Queen of Fairy Land, to ask aid. Gloriana has assigned the task of aiding her and destroying the monster to this noble Knight. The Knight (named St. George) has set out on this expedition, and he and the lady, with their strange attend. ant, are on their way towards her father's dominions, when we first see them "pricking on the plain." Long before the knight reaches that monster, whose destruction is to be his principal achievement, he may meet with minor adventures, or mishaps-possibly may fall a victim on the way, and never accomplish the object of his mission. In fact, we have hardly time to examine attentively this interesting and curious group, before an adventure occurs, which completely engrosses our attention, and puts an end to further speculation. The heavens are overcast, and a sudden shower of rain obliges the riders to seek shelter in a neighboring grove. So dense is the forest, so thick the foliage overhead in the tops of the PLATE. trees, (although free from underwood and easy to ride through,) that the rain scarcely penetrated it, and the birds, gay and musical, "seemed in their song to scorn the cruel sky." This dense wood proved to be the den of Error An ugly monster plain, Half like a serpent horribly displayed, But th' other half did woman's shape retain, The Champion of Truth, nothing daunted by this formidable shape, boldly commences the assault, and deals her a blow that seems sufficient to put at once an end to her existence. But mere force and courage are not the only qualities necessary to combat Error. Such is St. George's first adventure. Error is slain, and her miserable brood are destroyed. But the Champion of Truth has had a desperate struggle, nor did he finally succeed till faith was added to his force,and courage was tempered with discretion. Happy is he if he does not forget the warning it should give him. Having overcome this loathsome beast and found their way out of the wood, the party resume their journey. Towards night they fall in with an old man of venerable aspect, a HERMIT to all appearance. They accept the old man's hospitable invitation, and spend the night in his humble cell. This pretended Hermit proves to be a wicked and potent magician, named ARCHIMAGO. His foul machinations commence as soon as the travellers are asleep. He sends one of his Spirits as a messenger to the cave of Morpheus, somewhere in the interior of the earth, to procure a Dream. While the first Spirit is gone to bring a Dream, Archimago by his magic art fashions the other into the shape and appearance of the Lady Una, so like that no one by the eye alone could know the difference. And framed of liquid air her tender parts, THE STORY OF UNA. 187 Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight. Her all in white he clad, and over it Cast a black stole, most like to seem for Una fit. Having thus transformed one Spirit, and received by the hands of the other a false Dream, he proceeds with his machinations against his victims. By means of the false Dream, loose imaginations are conveyed to the mind of the sleeping Knight. When the latter awakes, the influence of the foul Dream upon his mind is secanded by the light conduct of what he supposes to be the Lady Una, but which we know to be a false and foul Spirit. St. George, though he penetrates not the devices of the adversary, is yet proof against his assaults. It only grieves him that he is to peril his life for so light a dame. The night is now nearly spent, and these two wicked Spirits, having failed to taint the pure mind of the Knight, report their ill success to their master, Archimago. Thereupon he tries another scheme, the object of which you will learn from the result. The pretended Una retains her false appearance, and the Dream-Spirit is transformed into the shape and appearance of a gay young Squire. Archimago, having everything in readiness, rushes to the apartment of St. George, and wakens him in haste. The Knight, under the guidance of this "bold bad man," is conducted to another apartment, where he sees, as he supposes, the guilt of the Lady Una-a guilt, which he is the more ready to believe because of her light behavior towards himself that same night. He draws his sword upon the guilty couple, but is restrained by Archimago. Disgusted, indignant, the Knight in an evil hour determines to desert the Lady, for whose sake he had undertaken this dangerous enterprize. At earliest dawn, therefore, he calls the Dwarf, and departs with the utmost secrecy and speed. On leaving Una the Knight first encounters a faithless Saracen, Sansfoy. St. George conquers Sansfoy, the Saracen, and then addresses himself to the richly-dressed lady, his companion. She declares her name to be Fidessa (faithful.) She pretends al o to be the daughter of an emperor, and betrothed to a young prince, who had died in the flower of his age, leaving her broken-hearted and disconsolate. She was by mishap carried off by this cruel, faithless Sansfoy. Such was her pitiful story. Pity melts to love." Alas! alas! for our Knight. The fresh flush of victory, the melting of compassion, the supposed faithlessness and levity of the woman who of all the world has been trusted as pure and true-these are not the circumstances which are apt to lead to a well-considered action of the understanding. 66 St. George and his new acquaintance, Fidessa, journey forth until high noon, when they seek the friendly shelter of two wide-spreading trees. While reposing beneath the shade of these trees, the Knight thinks to please his companion by making a fresh garland for her dainty forehead. For this purpose he plucks a bough. Imagine his horror, when the wounded tree drops blood, and utters a piercing shriek! The apparent tree is an unfotunate knight, Fradubio, and the fellowtree is his lady-love, both thus changed through the machinations of a wicked sorceress, named DUESSA. The miserable Fradubio had been subjected to the power of the hag, and changed into the appearance of a tree, (though retaining the sensations of humanity,) as a penalty for having allowed himself to entertain unworthy sentiments of his lady. For this offence he had been imposed upon by the foul hag Duessa, who had made herself appear in his eyes as an "angel of light;" but chancing upon a time to see her when the charm was off, he found out her real character and appearance. "A filthy, foul old woman I did view, That ever to have touched her, I did rue." Duessa, at last discovered, and finding she could no longer hope to impose upon Fradubio, exerted her magic power to change him and his true lady into these two trees. The male tree, whose bleeding limbs had been torn, ends his tale by exhorting Saint George to caution in regard to appearances, and to beware of falling by the machinations of this false Duessa, who is still abroad in the world. Saint George listens with horror to the words of the bleeding tree, and resolves to take its advice and flee from this dangerous place. On turning to his companion, the pretended Fidessa, he finds her in a swoon. Still unsuspecting, he raises her from the ground, and having reassured her spirits from her feigned fright, he again sets forward on his journey. It is now near the close of the day succeeding that eventful night at the Hermitage. Leaving Saint George and his companion, whom the reader understands to be none other than the false Duessa herself, to travel for a while together, let us return to the Hermitage and see what became of Una. One day, nigh weary of the irksome way, |