"'Oh, yes, yes, with my whole heart! Dear, good sir, protect me!'

"I opened the chariot door. Sir Hargrave made a pa.s.s at me.

"'Take _that_ for your insolence, scoundrel!' said he.

"I was aware of his thrust, and put it by; but his sword a little raked my shoulder. My sword was in my hand, but undrawn.

"The chariot door remaining open. I seized him by the collar before he could recover himself from the pa.s.s he had made at me, and with a jerk and a kind of twist, laid him under the hind wheel of his chariot. I wrenched his sword from him, and snapped it, and flung the two pieces over my head.

"His coachman cried out for his master. Mine threatened _his_ if he stirred. The postilion was a boy. My servant had made him dismount before he joined the other two. The wretches, knowing the badness of their cause, were becoming terrified.

"One of Sir Hargraves's legs, in his sprawling, had got between the spokes of his chariot-wheel. I thought this was fortunate for preventing farther mischief. I believe he was bruised with the fall; the jerk was violent.

"I had not drawn my sword. I hope I never shall be provoked to do it in a private quarrel. I should not, however, have scrupled to draw it on such an occasion as this had there been an absolute necessity for it.

"The lady, though greatly terrified, had disengaged herself from the man's cloak. I offered my hand, and your lovely cousin threw herself into my arms, as a frighted bird pursued by a hawk has flown into the bosom of a man pa.s.sing by. She was ready to faint. She could not, I believe, have stood. I carried the lovely creature round, and seated her in my chariot.

"'Be a.s.sured, madam,' said I, 'that you are in honourable hands. I will convey you to my sister, who is a young lady of honour and virtue.'

"I shut the chariot door. Sir Hargrave was now on his legs, supported by his coachman; his other servants had fled.

"I bid one of my servants tell him who I was. He cursed me, and threatened vengeance.

"I then stepped back to my chariot, and rea.s.sured Miss Byron, who had sunk down at the bottom of it. What followed, I suppose, Charlotte"-- bowing to his sister--"you told Mr. Reeves?"

"I can only say, my brother," said Miss Grandison, "that you have rescued an angel of a woman, and you have made me as happy by it as yourself."

_VIII.--Mr. Deane to Sir Charles Grandison_

_Selby House, October_ 3. An alliance more acceptable, were it with a prince, could not be proposed, than that which Sir Charles Grandison, in a manner so worthy of himself, has proposed with a family who have thought themselves under obligation to him ever since he delivered the darling of it from the lawless attempts of a savage libertine. I know to whom I write; and will own that it has been _my_ wish in a most particular manner. As to the young lady, I say nothing of her, yet how shall I forbear? Oh, sir, believe me, she will dignify your choice. Her duty and her inclination through every relation of life were never divided.

Excuse me, sir. No parent was ever more fond of his child than I have been from her infancy of this my daughter by adoption.

_IX.--Miss Byron to Lady G. (Formerly Charlotte Grandison)_

_October_ 14. Sir Charles came a little after eleven. He addressed us severally with his usual politeness, and my grandmother particularly, with such an air of reverence as did himself credit, because of her years and wisdom.

Presently my aunt led me away to another chamber, and then went away, but soon returned, and with her the man of men.

She but turned round, and saw him take my hand, which he did with a compliment that made me proud, and left us together.

Oh, my dear, your brother looked the humble, modest lover, yet the man of sense, of dignity, in love. I could not but be a.s.sured of his affection.

On one knee he dropped, and taking my pa.s.sive hand between his, and kissing it, he said:

"My dear Miss Byron, you are goodness itself. I approached you with diffidence and with apprehension. May blessings attend my future life, as my grateful heart shall acknowledge this goodness!"

Again he kissed my hand, rising with dignity. I could have received his vows on my knees, but I was motionless; yet how was I delighted to be the cause of joy to him! Joy to your brother--to Sir Charles Grandison!

He saw me greatly affected, and considerately said:

"I will leave you, my dear Miss Byron, to ent.i.tle myself to the congratulations of all our friends below. From this moment I date my happiness!"

JEAN PAUL FRIEDRICH RICHTER

Hesperus

Jean Paul Friedrich Richter, who was born at Wunsiedel, in Bavaria, on March 21, 1763, and died on November 14, 1825, was the son of a poor but highly accomplished schoolmaster, who early in his career became a Lutheran pastor at Schwarzenbach, on the Saale. Young Richter entered Leipzig University in 1780, specially to study theology, but became one of the most eccentric and erratic of students, a veritable literary gypsy, roaming over vast fields of literature, collating and noting immense stores of scientific, artistic, historic, and philosophic facts. Driven to writing for subsistence, he only won a reputation by slow degrees, but so great at last was the esteem in which his countrymen held him that he is typically styled "Der Einzige" ("The Unique"). The turning point proved to be the issue of "The Invisible Lodge" ("Die Unsichtbare Loge") in 1793, a romance founded on some of his academic experiences. Then followed a brilliant series of works which have made Richter's name famous. Among these was "Hesperus,"

published in 1794, which made him one of the most famous of German writers. Fanciful and extravagant as the work is, and written without any regard to the laws of composition, it is nevertheless stamped with genius. In all Richter's stories the plot goes for nothing; it is on the thoughts that he strikes out by the way that his fame depends.

_I.--Friendship_

"Victor," said Flamin, to the young Englishman, "give me this night thy friendship for ever, and swear to me that thou wilt never disturb me in my love to thee. Swear thou wilt never plunge me in misfortune and despair!"

The two friends were standing at midnight in the mild, sweet air of May, alone on the watch-tower of the little watering place of St. Luna. It was their first meeting for eight years. Flamin was the son of Chaplain Eymann, who had retired from the court of the Prince of Flachsenfingen; Victor was the heir of Lord Horion, a n.o.ble Englishman who lived at Flachsenfingen and directed all the affairs of the prince. The two boys had been sent in their infancy to London and brought up together there for twelve years; then for six years they had lived with Chaplain Eymann at St. Luna, and Victor had naturally conceived a great affection for the old clergyman and a deep love for his son. When, however, Victor was eighteen years of age, Lord Horion had sent him to Gottingen to study medicine, and he had remained at that university for eight years.

Everybody wondered why a great English n.o.bleman should want to bring his son up as a physician; but Horion was a politician and his ways were dark and secret. Neither Chaplain Eymann nor the wife of that worthy pastor ever understood why his lordship should have been so anxious that Flamin and Victor should be brought up together and united by the closest ties of friendship; but being good, simple souls, they accepted the favours showered upon their son without seeking to discover if there were any reason for them. Eight years' absence had not diminished Victor's affection for them, but the young English n.o.bleman was alarmed by the strange, wild pa.s.sion which Flamin displayed as soon as they were alone together.

"You know I love you, Flamin, more than I love myself," he said, clasping his friend in his arms, and leading him to a seat on the watch-tower. "Of course, I swear never to overwhelm you in misfortune, or desert you or hate you. What is it that brings such gloomy thoughts into your mind?"

"I will tell thee everything now, Victor!" exclaimed his friend. "I will open all my heart to thee."

At first he was too much overcome by his feelings to speak. For a long time the two young men remained silent, gazing into the dark blue depths of the night The Milky Way ran, like the ring of eternity, around the immensity of s.p.a.ce; below it glided the sharp sickle of the moon, cutting across the brief days and the brief joys of men. But clear among the stars shone the Twins, those ever-burning, intertwined symbols of friendship; westward they rose, and on the right of them blazed the heart of the Lion. The two friends had studied astronomy together, and when Victor pointed out the happy sign in the midnight sky, Flamin began to tell him his troubles. He, a poor clergyman's son, had fallen wildly in love with Clotilda, the beautiful daughter of Prince January, of Flachsenfingen. She was living at the country seat of the Lord Chamberlain Le Baut, at St. Luna; so poor Flamin was able to see her every day. Knowing that he could neither forget her nor win her, he was tortured by a strange, hopeless jealousy, and he now confessed that, instead of looking forward with joy to Victor's return to his home, he had been consumed with fear lest his brilliant, n.o.ble, handsome friend should utterly eclipse him in the sight of his beloved lady.

"Cannot I do anything to help you?" said Victor, tenderly.

"Your father has immense influence over Prince January," said Flamin, "could you beg him to get me some court position at Flachsenfingen? If only I could make my way in the world, perhaps I might be able to hope to win at last the hand of my lady."

Victor at once promised to do all in his power; and the two friends, newly reattached to each other, came down from the watch-tower, and, with their arms lovingly entwined, they returned to the parsonage.

_II.--Love_