"that he as much wrote the one as he wrote the other.” "What do you mean, Darcy? There can be no doubt of the fact; and I own that I cannot be insensible to such talent; for poetry and poets are my passion, you know; and in his authorship I forget his plainness. Do you not think that a woman would be justified in loving a man who writes so morally, so piously, and so delightfully?” "Certainly," replied Darcy, eagerly grasping her hand, "provided his conduct be in unison with his writings; and I advise you to give the writer in question your whole heart."

66

After the reading was over, the delighted audience crowded round the reader, whose manner of receiving their thanks was such, as to make every one but Darcy believe the work was his own; and never was the PASSIVE LIE OF VANITY more completely exhibited; while Darcy, intoxicated, as it were, by the feelings of gratified authorship, and the hopes excited by Julia's words, thanked him again and again for the admirable manner in which he had read the book; declaring, with great earnestness, that he could not have done it such justice himself; adding, that this evening was the happiest of his life.

"Mr Darcy Pennington, what ails you?" cried his aunt; "you really are not like yourself!" "Hold your tongue, Darcy," said his uncle, drawing him on one side; "do not be such a forward puppy; who ever questioned, or cared, whether you could have done it justice or not? But here is the carriage; and I am glad you have no longer an opportunity of thus exposing yourself by your literary and critical raptures, which sit as ill upon you as the caressings of the ass in the fable did on him, when he pretended to compete with the lapdog in fondling his

master."

During the drive home, Darcy did not speak a word; not only because he was afraid of his severe uncle and aunt, but, because he was meditating how he should make that discovery, on the success of which hung his dearest hopes. He was also communing with his own heart, in order to bring it back to that safe humility out of which

it had been led by the flattering and unexpected events of the evening. "Well," said he, while they drew round the fire," as it is not late, suppose I read my work to you now. I assure you that it is quite as good as that which you have heard." "Mr Darcy Pennington, you really quite alarm me," cried his aunt. "Why so?" "Because Í fear that you are a little delirious!" On which Darcy nearly laughed himself into convulsions. "Let me feel your pulse, Darcy," said his uncle very gravely," too quick. I shall send for advice, if you are not better tomorrow; you look so flushed, and your eyes are so bright!" "My dear uncle," replied Darcy, "I shall be quite well if you will but hear my manuscript before you go to bed." They now all looked at each other with increased alarm; and Julia, in order to please him, (for she really loved him) said, "Well, Darcy, if you insist upon it;" but interrupting her, he suddenly started up, and exclaimed, "No; on second thoughts, I will not read it till Captain Eustace and Sir Hugh and his family can be present; and they will be here the day after tomorrow." "What! read your nonsense to them!" cried his uncle, "Poor fellow! poor fellow!" But Darcy was gone! he had caught Julia's hand to his lips, and quitted the room, leaving his relations to wonder, to fear, and to pity. But as Darcy was quite composed the next day, they all agreed that he must have drunk more wine than he or they had been aware of the preceding evening. But though Darcy was willing to wait the ensuing evening, before he discovered his secret to the rest of the family, he could not be easy till he had disclosed it to Julia; for be was mortified to find that the pious, judicious Julia Vane had, for one moment, believed that a mere man of the world, like Captain Eustace, could have written such verses as he had anonymously addressed to her; verses breathing the very quintessence of pure love; and full of anxious interest not only for her temporal, but her eternal welfare. "No, no," said he; "she shall not remain in such a degrading error one moment longer;" and having requested a private interview with her, he disclosed the

truth. "What are you-can you be-did you write all!" she exclaimed in broken accents; while Darcy gently reproached her for having believed that a mere worldly admirer could so have written; however, she justified herself by declaring how impossible it was to suspect that a man of honor, as Eustace seemed, could be so base as to assume a merit which was not his own. Here she paused, turning away from Darcy's penetrating look, covered with conscious blushes, ashamed that he should see how pleased she was. But she readily acknowledged her sorrow at having been betrayed, by the unworthy artifice of Eustace, into encouraging his attentions, and was eager to concert with Darcy the best plan for revealing the surprising secret.

The evening, so eagerly anticipated by Darcy and Julia, now arrived; and great was the consternation of all the rest of the family, when Darcy took a manuscript out of his pocket, and began to open it. "The fellow is certainly possessed," thought his uncle. "Mr Darcy Pennington," whispered his aunt, "I shall faint if you persist in exposing yourself!"-" Darcy, I will shut you up if you proceed," whispered his uncle; "for you must positively be mad." "Let him go on, dear uncle," said Julia; "I am sure you will be delighted, or ought to be so ;" and, spite of his uncle's threats and whispers, he addressed Captain Eustace thus ;

"Allow me, sir, to thank you again for the more than justice which you did my humble performance the other evening. Till I heard you read it, I was unconscious that it had so much merit; and I again thank you for the highest gratification which, as an author, I ever received." New terror seized every one of his family who heard him, except Julia; while wonder filled Sir Hugh and the rest of his party-Eustace excepted; he knew that he was not the author of the work; therefore he could not dispute the fact that the real author now stood before him ; and blushes of detected falsehood covered his cheek; but, ere he could falter out a reply, Darcy's uncle and sons seized him by the arm, and insisted on speaking with him

in another room. Darcy, laughing violently, endeavored to shake them off, but in vain. "Let him alone," said Julia, smiling, and coming forward. "Darcy's 'eye may be in a fine frenzy rolling,' as you have all of you owned him to be a poet; but other frenzy than that of a poet he has not, I assure you-so pray set him at liberty; I will be answerable for his sanity." "What does all this mean?" said his uncle, as he and his sons unwillingly obeyed. "It means," said Darcy, "that I hope not to quit this room till I have had the delight of hearing these yet unpublished poems of mine read by Captain Eustace. Look, sir," continued he, "here is a signature well known, no doubt, to you; that of Alfred." "Are you indeed Alfred the celebrated Alfred?" faltered out Eustace. "I believe so," he replied with a smile; though on some occasions, you know, it is difficult to prove one's personal identity." "True," answered Eustace, turning over the manuscript, to hide his confusion. "And I, Captain Eustace," said Julia, have had the great satisfaction of discovering that my unknown poetical correspondent is my long-cherished friend and cousin, Darcy Pennington. Think how satisfactory this discovery has been to me!"-" Certainly, Madam," he replied, turning pale with emotion; for he not only saw his Passive Lies of Vanity detected, though Darcy had too much christian forbearance even to insinuate that he intended to appropriate to himself the fame of another, but he also saw, in spite of the kindness with which she addressed him, that he had lost Julia, and that Darcy had probably gained her. "What is all this?" cried Sir Hugh at last, who with the uncle and aunt had listened in silent wonder. "Why, Eustace, I thought you owned that?""That I deny; I owned nothing" he eagerly replied. "You insisted on it, nay, every body insisted, that I was the author of the beautiful work which I read, and of other things; and if Mr Pennington asserts that he is the author, I give him joy of his genius and his fame." "What do I hear!" cried the aunt; "Mr Darcy Pennington a genius, and famous, and I not suspect it!"

"Impossible!" cried his uncle, pettishly; " that dull fellow turn out a wit! It cannot be. What? are you Alfred, boy? I cannot credit it; for if so, I have been dull indeed;" while his sons seemed to feel as much mortification as surprise. "My dear uncle," said Darcy, "I am now a professed author. I wrote the work which you heard last night. Here it is in the manuscript, as returned by the printer; and here is the last proof of the second edition, which I received at the post office just directed to A. B.; which is, I think, proof positive that I may be Alfred also, who by your certainly impartial praises, is for this evening, at least, in his own eyes elevated into ALFRED THE GREAT."

now,

CHAPTER III.

ON THE LIES OF FLATTERY.

THE Lies of flattery are next on my list.

These lies are, generally speaking, not only unprincipled, but offensive; and though they are usually told to conciliate good will, the flatterer often fails in his attempt; for his intended dupe frequently sees through his art, and he excites indignation where he meant to obtain regard. Those who know aught of human nature as it really is, and do not throw the radiance of their own Christian benevolence over it, must be well aware that few persons hear with complacency the praises of others, even where there is no competition between the parties praised and themselves. Therefore, the objects of excessive flattery are painfully conscious that the praises bestowed on them, in the hearing of their acquaintances, will not only provoke those auditors to undervalue their pretensions, but to accuse them of believing in and enjoying the gross flattery offered to them. There are no persons, in my opinion, with whom it is so difficult to keep up" the reations of peace and amity," as flatterers by system and