A PIC NIC. 115 



ding night, had only appeared to elope. She had, indeed, left 

 the house with Lord D. and the widow, but had returned alone, 

 before the storm, and had taken refuge in her father's study, 

 where she remained, alone with her father, till the canonical 

 hours of the morning enabled him to give away, to his young 

 friend and neighbour, a hand almost as dear to the giver as to 

 the receiver. 



Poor Mrs Allington ! On the same morning, but a few hours 

 later, another marriage was performed in the same church — Sir 

 James Burton with Miss Carleton. Still later, in that eventful 

 day, news of Mrs. Eglantine reached her dear friend at Allington 

 Park. She and young Lord D. were far on their road to Scot- 

 land. Poor Mrs. Allington! — her fits returned. "Well, who 

 would have thought it ! Oh ! never, never was I so deceived in 

 woman ! And yet, somehow, I always saw that in her which 

 made me think it prudent not to repose too much confidence in 

 her — the artful, unprincipled, poor, despicable, creature ! " And 

 then, so sincerely did Mrs. Allington pity the poor, despicable, 

 creature, that she stamped and burst into a passion of tears. 



But Mrs. Allington was not wholly unfortunate. She had 

 a little feeling of gratified vengeance to enjoy. After the first 

 transports of her mortification were passed, she had the merit of 

 sufficiently subduing her anger to write some good news, and 

 she was the first to communicate it, to her dear, sensitive, friend. 

 Very late on the evening of that same day a most unexpected 

 visitor arrived at Eglantine Bower, the report of whose arrival 

 spreard like wildfire through the neighbourhood — Mr. Eglantine 

 of that Ilk; — the supposed defunct, happily restored, lord of 

 that bower; — never having been murdered at all, only detained, 

 and a little the worse for a few wounds and other slight severities, 

 from which, with a few month's assiduous nursing, there was 

 every prospect of an entire recovery, and a long life. There, in 

 the midst of his own bower, he sat him down, awaiting, with 

 commendable patience, and, as the civilians have it, in animo 

 maritally the return of his lady from her premature and now 

 unprofitable journey to the connubial border of North Britain. 

 And Mrs. Allington has not given a pic nic since. 



