Part 24 (1/2)

For instance, they were at Tivoli, and in the Syren's grotto, looking up to the foaming fall, which dashes down a rude cleft, formed of fantastically shaped rocks.

Immediately below this, the waters make a semicircular bend.

On their surface, a mimic rainbow was depicted in vivid colours.

”Not for me!” burst forth the mourner, ”not for me! does the arc of promise wear those radiant hues. Prismatic rays once gilded my existence.

With Acme they are for ever fled. But look! how the stream dashes on! Thus have the waters of bitterness pa.s.sed over my soul!”

In the gallery of the Vatican, too, the very statues seemed to speak to him of his loss.

”I like not,” would he exclaim, ”that disdainful Apollo. Thus cold, callous, and triumphing in the work of destruction, must be the angel of death, who winged the shaft at my bright Acme.

”May the launching of his arrow, have been but the signal, for her translation to a sphere, more pure than this.

”Let us believe her the habitant of some bright planet, such as she pointed out to us in the Bay of Naples--a seraph with a golden lyre--and shrouded in a white cymar! No, no!” would he continue, turning his footsteps towards the adjacent room, where the suffering pangs of Apollo's high priest are painfully told in marble, ”let let me rather contemplate the Laoc.o.o.n! His agony seems to sympathise with mine--but was his fate as hard? _He_ saw his sons dying before him; could a son, or sons, be as the wife of one's bosom? The serpent twines around him, too, awaking exquisite corporeal pangs, but would it not have been luxury to have died with my Acme?

”Can the body suffer as the mind?”

At night, reposing from the fatigues of the day, might the brothers frequently be seen at the fountain of Trevi; George listlessly swinging on the chains near it, and steadfastly watching the water, as it gurgled over the fantastic devices beneath--while his mind wandered back to Malta, and to Acme.

Sir Henry's conduct during this trying period was most exemplary. Like the mother, who lavishes her tenderest endearments on her sickliest child, did he now endeavour to support his brother in his afflictions.

As the bleak night wind came on, he would arouse George from his reverie--would make him lean his tall form on his--would wrap closely the folds of his cloak around him--would speak _so_ softly--and soothe _so_ tenderly.

And gratefully did George's heart respond to his kindness. He knew that the sorrow which bowed _him_ to the earth, was also blanching the cheek of his brother, and he loved him doubly for his solicitude.

Ah! few brothers have thus made sweet the fraternal tie!

Chapter V.

The East Indian.

”Would I not stem A tide of suffering, rather than forego Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm Of those whose thoughts are only turn'd below, Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts that dare not glow?”

From Rome and our care-worn travellers, let us turn to Mrs. Vernon's drawing-room at Leamington.

An unforeseen event suddenly made a considerable change in the hopes and prospects of our fair friend Julia.

One warm summer's morning--it was on the very day, that the brothers, with Acme, were sailing close to the Calabrian mountains, and the latter was telling her ghost story, within view of the sweet village of Capo del Marte--one balmy summer's morning, the Miss Vernons were seated in a room, furnished like most English drawing-rooms; that is to say, it had tables for trinkets--a superb mirror--a Broadwood piano--an Erard harp--a reclining sofa--and a woolly rug, on which slept, dreamt, and snored, a small Blenheim spaniel.

Julia had a mahogany frame before her, and was thoughtfully working a beaded purse.

The hue of health had left her cheek. Its complexion was akin to that of translucent alabaster. The features wore a more fixed and regular aspect, and their play was less buoyant and quick changing than heretofore.

Deep thought! thus has been thy warfare for ever. First, thou stealest from the rotund face its joyous dimples; then, dost thou gradually imprint remorseless furrows on the anxious brow.

A servant entered the room, and bore on a salver a letter addressed to Miss Vernon.