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It was not long before he met them in society. The mother was a Mrs.Vernon, a widow, with a large family and small means. Of that familyJulia was the fairest flower. As Sir Henry made her acquaintance, andher character unfolded itself, he acknowledged that few could study itwithout deriving advantage; few without loving her to adoration. Thatcharacter it would be hard to describe without our descriptionappearing high-flown and exaggerated. It bore an impress of loftiness,totally removed from pride; a moral superiority, which impressed all.With this was united an innate purity, that seemed her birthright; apurity that could not for an instant be doubted. If the libertine gazedon her features, it awoke in him recollections that had long slumbered;of the time when his heart beat but for one. If, in her immediatesphere, any littleness of feeling was brought to her notice, it was metwith an intuitive doubt, followed by painful surprise, that suchfeeling, foreign as she felt it to be to her own nature, could reallyhave existence in that of another.
Major Clifford merits more especial notice. He was a man hardlyappreciated in his own profession; out of it, he was misrepresented, andvoted a bore. He had spent all the years of his life, since the downmantled his upper lip, in the service of his country; and for itsgood, as he conceived it, he had sacrificed all his little fortune. Itis true his liberality had not had a very comprehensive range: he hadsunk his money in the improvement of the personal appearance of hiscompany--in purchasing pompons--or new feathers--or whistles, when hewas a voltigeur--in establishing his serjeants' mess on a morerespectable footing--in giving his poor comrade a better coffin, or aricher pall:--these had been his foibles; and in indulging them, he hadexpended the wealth, that might have purchased him on to rank andhonours. His eagle glance, his aquiline nose, and noble person, showedwhat he must have been in youth. His hair was now silvered, but his coatwas as glossy as formerly--his zeal was unabated--his pride in hisprofession the same--and what he could spare, still went, to adorn thepersons of the soldiers he still loved. He remained a captain, althoughhis long standing in the army had brought him in for the last brevet. Itis true every one had a word for poor Clifford. "Such a fine fellow!what a shame!" But this did not help him on. At the Horse Guards, too,his services were freely acknowledged. The Military Secretary had alwaysa smile for him at his levee, and an assurance that "he had his eye onhim" The Commander in Chief, too, the last time he had inspected theregiment, attracted by his Waterloo badge, and Portuguese cross, hadstopped as he passed in front of the ranks, and conversed with him mostaffably, for nearly two minutes and a half; as his colour serjeant withsome degree of pride used to tell the story. But yet, somehow or other,although Major Clifford was an universal favourite, they always forgotto reward him. A man of the world, would have deemed the Major's ideasto be rather contracted; and to confess the truth, there were twohalcyon periods of his life, to which he was fond of recurring. The onewas, when he commanded a light company, attached to General Crauford'slight brigade;--the other, when he had the temporary command of theregimental depot, and at his own expense, had dressed out its littleband, as it had never been dressed out before.
As the ------ regiment particularly prided itself on its aquatic costume,we shall describe it. Small chased pearl buttons on the blue jacket andwhite shirt; a black band round the neck, to match the one on thenarrow-brimmed thick straw hat; white trousers; couleur de rose silkcollar, fastened to the throat by a golden clasp; and stockings of thesame colour. How joyously did the gig hold her course! What a thrillingsensation expanded the soul, as the steersman, a handsome little fellowwith large black whiskers, gave the encouraging word, "Stroke! my goodones!" Then were exerted all the energies of the body--then wasdeveloped each straining muscle--then were the arms thrown back insympathy, to give a long pull, and a strong pull--till the bark reeledbeneath them, and shot through the wave.
Art thou a moralist, a thinking Christian? Thou mayest there trace--andthe pursuit shall profit thee--the steps of the sainted apostle; he whowas so signally called forth, to hear witness to the truth of ONE, whomhe had erst reviled. Yon cordelier will show you the bay, where hisvessel took refuge in its distress; and will tell you, that yon jaggedrock first gave its dangerous welcome, to the bark of his patron saint.
Poor George Delmé showed little interest in anything connected withthis journey. Sir Henry embarked on the lake above, in order to see thecascade of Terni in every point of view; and afterwards took hisstation with George, on various ledges of rock below the fall--whencethe eye looks upward, on that mystic scene of havoc, turbulence, andmighty rush of water.
Farther advanced, the mountains presented a landscape more varied:--herechequered with hamlets, whose church hells re-echoed in mellow harmony:there--the only break to their majesty, being the rush of the river, as itformed rolling cascades in its rapid route; or beat in sparkling foam,against the large jagged rocks, which opposed its progress.
The arms were not crossed--the hands were not clasped; but were joined asin prayer. Sir Reginald had not died in battle. Above the head of thesleeping warrior, hung his gorget, and his helmet, with its beaver, andvizor open; and the banner he himself had won, on the field of Shrewsbury,heavily shook its thick folds in the air. The fading colours on thesurcoat of the recumbent knight, still faintly showed the lilies andleopards of England;--and Sir Henry himself was willing to believe, thatthe jagged marks made in that banner by the tooth of Time, were but cuts,left by the sword of the Herald, as at the royal Henry's command, hecurtailed the pennon of the knight; and again restored it to Sir ReginaldDelmé--a banner.
With the knowledge of his disease, sprung up the hope of an antidote; andit may be, that the little episode of the May Queen in our last chapter,came but as a running comment, to reflections that had long been cherishedand indulged. 2b1af7f3a8