] 829-3 



Domestic and Foreign. 



99 



following morning, accompanied by strange 

 circumstances. 



Comes now irpon the scene a young lady, 

 the daughter of one of the twelve, who gets 

 alarmed for her father's safety. She be- 

 comes a prime agent. By the strong per- 

 suasions, the irresistible blandishments of 

 Fitzniaurice, she visits a potent witch, and 

 by a curious but comparatively clumsy con- 

 trivance, is put in possession of the si(/- 

 net. After encountering the most revolting 

 spectacles at the house of the old witch, she 

 is finally prevailed upon to go herself to the 

 Abbey, on the night which is understood to 

 be the disclosing one. She follows impli- 

 citly the instructions of Fitzniaurice ; and 

 at tlie altar, in the midst of a scene of con- 

 fusion quite unparalleled, we believe, in de- 

 description, is driven to the utterance of 

 words, which plunges her father into the 

 grave, that instantly closes over him, and 

 then loses her senses. The whole of the 

 party had now successively perished except 

 Peverell, the first and the last. Fitzmaurice 

 is on the point of deliverance — nothing 

 is wanting but possession of the crucifix, 

 and that lies on the altar full in sight. 

 Peverell is impelled by Fitzmaurice to push 

 on to the seizure, and in spite of now and 

 most appalling obstacles, he finally clutches 

 it, and delivers it into the Knight's hands. 

 Tlie tumult suddenly subsides, and Peve- 

 rell wakes to his senses, surrounded by 

 all his friends, alive and kicking, except 

 poor Kit — and Fitzmaittice, conclusively, 

 ej;plains. 



At the bottom — we may as well speak 

 out — the writer's purpose was to sliew to 

 wliat desperate undertakings men may be 

 committed, when their peculiar temjiera- 

 ments, and even their common motives of 

 action, are worked upon by a skilful hand. 

 The attempt, in this view, is rather a failure — 

 nothing can be so easy as to shew, on the 

 most probable grounds, that three fourths 

 of the twelve would not, and could not have 

 encountered a second visit to the Abbey. 

 Still the effort is a pov/erful one. 



Romances of Ileal Life. .3 vols. \2mo. 



182K The Hungarian Talcs happened 



not to fall in our v^ay ; but tlicy are every- 

 where spoken of in tenns of admiration. 

 Tlicsc liomances are by the same writer, 

 and their unquestionable merit — their very 

 superior execution, is a further guarantee 

 for the justice of t'.e opinion r/e have herrd 

 of the other. The title will prepare the 

 reader for surprises, or attempts at sur- 

 prising. The incidents of the talcs, there- 

 fore, are not common ones — they arc not, 

 however, so much startling, as tliey are ex- 

 traordinary. Tliey are out of tlie otdinavy 

 routine, i.'ily because they are the re:iults, 

 and yet the natural results, of disturbing 

 Jiowers. 



The Maid of Honour is a story of 

 Charles the Sec(md's days, and not very 

 creditable to tlic monarch himself, or his 



chief agent in intrigues, Buckingham. We 

 know nothing of the authority for tlie cir- 

 cumstances, but tliere exists, it must be pre- 

 sumed, some grounds, or the case will not 

 come, v/itli any propriety, under the class 

 and title of Romances of Real Life — Lord 

 Greville marries a second wife — Helen 

 Percy, and being disgusted with the court 

 retires to his estates, where he grows gloomy, 

 and harasses his wife, who is a very Grisel- 

 da, by the coldness and churlishness of liis 

 manners. Suddenly he announces his in- 

 tention of visiting a distant castle of his — 

 his wife begs to accompany him — he re- 

 fuses, but finally concedes to an importunity 

 very unusual with her. At this castle, in 

 the evening, while they were sitting toge- 

 ther—she embroidering, or knitting, or 

 something of the kind, and he buried in 

 his darker thoughts, or perhaps asleep, ap- 

 pears the vision of his former wife. This 

 very unexpected appearance brings about 

 the eclairclssement, which, in yielding 

 to his wife's desire to accompany him, 

 Greville seems to have contemplated. It was 

 no vision, he tells her — it v/as in reality his 

 wife — she was still alive, and he was, of 

 course, not Lady Helen's lavi'ful husband. 

 The real wife, who had thus presented herself, 

 had been maid of honour to the queen, and 

 subjected, like many others, to Charles's 

 importunities. Greville fell in love with 

 her — Charles detected his admiration, and 

 urged the prosecution of his suit, and laid 

 his commands upon Bliss Blarchmont to 

 accept GreviUe for her husband. King's 

 commands in these matters were more ef- 

 fective in those days than in ours — though 

 reluctantly, she finally consented to the 

 royal arrangem.ent. She v/as devotedly 

 attached to a Lord something Percy, then 

 at sea, in command of a ship of war. After 

 the marriage Charles renewed his impor- 

 tunities, and the lady had no other means 

 of escape than withdrav/ing from the court 

 — luckily, she succeeded in persuading her 

 husband of the necessity of doing so, without, 

 disclosing her motives. In a few months, 

 however, came a letter to Greville from 

 Buckingham, lightly mentioning a battle 

 at sea, and the deatli of Percy, and en- 

 closing a note, with a black seal, addressed 

 to Rliss Marchmont. In receiving this 

 note, and t^.e news which accompanied it, 

 her feelings overcame he', and she betrayed 

 her secret, by inquiring if her ov/n, own 

 Percy was killed ? Her senses fled, and she 

 became permanently insane. 



Some years after this event, GrcviUc was 

 struck by the charms of Lady Helen Percy 

 —the one only obstacle seemed removable 

 — nnn'dcr was not to his taste — but he 

 could and did spread the report of liis wife's 

 death, and married Lady Helen. JJcjient- 

 ance came too late ; the dis)ionoura1)le act 

 preyed upon liis peace, and the l)irlli of a 

 son added to his misery — made him mo- 

 rose, unjust, unkind. 'NV'liile tliey were at 

 the castle, the poor Ciuzy laily was sufl'ercd 



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