1832.] [ 681 ] 



A STOKY OF THE HEART. 



[We warn the reader, before he commences the following paper, that it is a Love Tale. 

 For ourselves, we must confess that we love love-tales of all descriptions, particularly 

 where there is a broken-heart or two in the case ; but as these are not the current com- 

 modity in our Magazine, we feel bound to explain why we insert this story. We do so 

 then for this reason, that there are hundreds of fair faces bent monthly over our pages, 

 and it is fitting that they should find now and then some sign, like the present, that we 

 are conscious of the fact. The grave, but " courteous" reader will not begrudge a few 

 pages, even though political and philosophical discussion should halt for it which it 

 will not. Let the impeachments of Lords give place for once to softer impeachments, and 

 let our consistency give way before a chapter on constancy. ED.] 



IT is not our place to account for the perversity of the human heart, or 

 our intention to excuse the inconstancy of human nature. As for the 

 fickleness of love, it is the old woman's axiom, time out of mind ; as if 

 love, to prove that it is so, ought necessarily to evince itself incapable of the 

 changes to which all the material and immaterial world around us is alike 

 liable. We say no such thing. We have seen, we have known, we can 

 imagine j and without further argument on the passion or no passion the 

 affection or no affection which produced this or that consequence, we are 

 content to draw our own conclusions. Therefore, without any sweeping 

 denunciation against the race of man without any libel against the law 

 of love without raising one man to the elevation of greater or better 

 spirits without degrading the species to the level of this one we shall 

 sketch a simple picture, in a simple way, and let the moral, if there be 

 any, rest with the reader. 



The precepts scattered to the young are as seeds sown on the bosom of 

 the earth j time shall roll on, but the season shall come, round to shew 

 that the husbandman has been there ; and so it was with Delacour. 

 Wealth, emolument, and self-interest, had been the lessons of his youth, 

 and he had profited by them. On the death of his father, a respectable 

 tradesman, he found himself in fair circumstances ; and by aid of his pro- 

 fession for he was a lawyer on the high road to reputation, and, it might 

 be, to riches. Possessed of a fine person, a graceful demeanour, a 

 majestic figure, pleasing voice, lively conversation, and easy vivacity, it is 

 no wonder he got into good society, and, from thence, into some notice as 

 a professional man. He was now turned thirty, and in the full career of 

 fortune ; still unmarried, still sought by anxious mothers, and wooed by 

 forward daughters ; but he was not in love, or scarcely dared believe it 

 himself. The father of Emily Sidney was a merchant, who had been 

 mainly instrumental in the good fortune to which Delacour had attained ; 

 she was the heiress of a supposed large property, and the beauty of her 

 circle. This was enough to depress a less ardent admirer or a more cal- 

 culating man ; but Delacour had owed much to chance, and perceiving, 

 as he thought, something not altogether unpropitious to him, he com- 

 menced his secret suit. 



Ah ! I remember her as yesterday. She was then eighteen, youth 

 scarce mellowed into early womanhood. The face, as it peeped from the 

 chastening chestnut ringlets around it, was worthy the band of the painter, 

 though the smile that played on the lip might have defied his skill ; the 

 small and well-rounded figure vied with sculpture, but marble had vainly 



2 Z 



