CHAPTER VIII.

This gentleman in no way equalled the parent of Oswald, but he was with him at his death; and having been born in the same year, he seemed to linger behind but to carry Lord Nevil some tidings of his son. Oswald offered him his arm as they went up stairs; and felt a pleasure in paying attention to age, however little resembling that of his father. Mr. Dickson remembered Oswald's birth, and hesitated not to speak his mind on all that concerned his young friend, strongly reprimanding his connection with Corinne; but his weak arguments would have gained less ascendency over Oswald's mind than those of Lady Edgarmond, had he not handed him the letter to which she alluded. With considerable tremor he read as follows:--

"Will you forgive me, my dear friend, if I propose a change of plan in the union of our families? My son is more than a year younger than your eldest daughter; will it not be better, therefore, that he should wait for the little Lucy? I might confine myself to the subject of age; but, as I knew Miss Edgarmond's when first I named my wishes, I should deem myself wanting in confidence, if I did not tell you my true reasons for desiring that this marriage may not take place. We have known each other for twenty years, and may speak frankly of our children, especially while they are young enough to be improved by our opinions. Your daughter is a charming girl, but I seem to be gazing on one of those Grecian beauties, who, of old, enchanted and subdued the world. Do not be offended by this comparison. She can have received from you none but the purest principles; yet she certainly loves to produce an effect, and create a sensation: she has more genius than self-love; such talents as hers necessarily engender a taste for display; and I know no theatre that could suffice the activity of a spirit, whose impetuous fancy, and ardent feelings, break through each word she utters. She would inevitably wean my son from England; for such a woman could not be happy here: only Italy can content her. She must have that free life which is guided but by fantasy: our domestic country habits must thwart her every taste. A man born in this happy land ought to be in all things English, and fulfil the duties to which he is so fortunately called. In countries whose political institutions give men such honorable opportunities for public action, the women should bloom in the shade: can you expect so distinguished a person as your daughter to be satisfied with such a lot? Take my advice. Marry her in Italy; her religion and manners suit that country. If my son should wed her, I am sure it would be from love, for no one can be more engaging: to please her, he would endeavor to introduce foreign customs into his establishment, and would soon lose his national character, those prejudices, if you please to call them so, which unite us with each other, and render us a body free but indissoluble, or which can only be broken up by the death of its last associate. My son could not be comfortable where his wife was unhappy: he is sensitive, even to weakness; and his expatriation, if I lived to see it, would render me most miserable; not merely as deprived of my son, but as knowing him lost to the glory of serving his native land. Is it worthy a mountaineer to drag on a useless life amid the pleasures of Italy? A Scot become the _cicisbeo_ of his own wife, if not of some other man's? Neither the guide nor the prop of his family! I even rejoice that Oswald is now in France, and still unknown to a lady whose empire over him would be too great. I dare conjure you, my dear friend, should I die before his marriage, do not let him meet your eldest daughter until Lucy be of an age to fix his affections. Let him learn my wishes, if requisite. I know he will respect them--the more if I should then be removed from this life. Give all your attention, I entreat you, to his union with Lucy. Child as she is, her features, look, and voice, all express the most endearing modesty. She will be a true Englishwoman, and may constitute the happiness of my boy. If I do not live to witness their felicity, I shall exult over it in heaven; and when we reunite there, my dear friend, our prayers and benedictions will protect our children still.

"Ever yours,

"NEVIL."

After reading this, Oswald remained silent, and left Mr. Dickson time to continue his long discourse without interruption. He admired the judgment of his friend, who, nevertheless, he said, was far from anticipating the reprehensible life Miss Edgarmond had since led: a marriage between Oswald and herself now, he added, would be an eternal insult to Lord Nevil's memory; who, it appeared, during his son's fatal residence in France, had passed a whole summer at Lady Edgarmond's, solacing himself by superintending the education of his favorite Lucy. In fact without either artifice or forbearance, Mr. Dickson attacked the heart of Oswald through all the avenues of sensibility. Thus everything conspired against the absent Corinne, who had no means, save letters, for reviving from time to time, the tenderness of Oswald. She had to contend with his love of country, his filial remorse, the exhortation of his friends in favor of resolutions so easy to adopt, as they led him towards a budding, beauty, whose every charm seemed to harmonize with the calm, chaste hopes of a domestic lot.