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“It may be necessary to inform your ladyship, that, disgusted with the frivolity of what is called fashionable life, and unable to live without the higher pleasures of friendship, I have chosen for my asylum the humble, tranquil cottage of a female friend, whose tastes, whose principles have long been known to me: whose genius I admire! whose virtues I revere! Whose example I emulate!

“Though I do not condescend to use the fulsome language of a mean dependant, I am not forgetful of the kindness I have received from your ladyship. It has not been without a painful struggle that I have broken my bonds asunder–the bonds of what is falsely called duty: spontaneous gratitude ever will have full, indisputable, undisputed power over the heart and understanding of

“ANNE-ANGELINA WARWICK.

“P.S. It will be in vain to attempt to discover the place of my retreat. All I ask is to be left in peace, to enjoy, in my retirement, perfect felicity.”

CHAPTER II.

Full of her hopes of finding “perfect felicity” in her retreat at Angelina Bower, exulting in the idea of the courage and magnanimity with which she had escaped from her “aristocratic persecutors,” our heroine pursued her journey to South Wales.

She had the misfortune–and it is a great misfortune to a young lady of her way of thinking–to meet with no difficulties or adventures, nothing interesting upon her journey. She arrived, with inglorious safety, at Cardiffe. The inn at Cardiffe was kept by a landlady of the name of Hoel. “Not high-born Hoel. Alas!” said Angelina to herself, when the name was screamed in her hearing by a waiter, as she walked into the inn. “Vocal no more to high-born Hoel’s harp, or soft Llewellynn’s lay!” A harper was sitting in the passage, and he tuned his harp to catch her attention as she passed. “A harp!–O play for me some plaintive air!” The harper followed her into a small parlour.

“How delightful!” said Miss Warwick, who, in common with other heroines, had the habit of talking to herself; or, to use more dignified terms, who had the habit of indulging in soliloquy:–“how delightful to taste at last the air of Wales. But ’tis a pity ’tis not North instead of South Wales, and Conway instead of Cardiffe Castle.”

The harper, after he had finished playing a melancholy air, exclaimed, “That was but a melancholy ditty, miss–we’ll try a merrier.” And he began–

“Of a noble race was Shenkin.”

“No more,” cried Angelina, stopping her ears; “no more, barbarous man!–you break the illusion.”

“Break the what?” said the harper to himself; “I thought, miss, that tune would surely please you; for it is a favourite one in these parts.”

“A favourite with Welsh squires, perhaps,” said our heroine; “but, unfortunately, I am not a Welsh squire, and have no taste for your ‘Bumper Squire Jones.'”

The man tuned his harp sullenly. “I’m sorry for it, miss,” said he: “more’s the pity, I can’t please you better!”

Angelina cast upon him a look of contempt. “He no way fills my idea of a bard!–an ancient and immortal bard!–He has no soul–fingers without a soul!–No ‘master’s hand, ‘or ‘prophet’s fire!’–No ‘deep sorrows!’–No ‘sable garb of woe!’–No loose beard, or hoary hair, ‘streaming like a meteor to the troubled air!’–‘No haggard eyes!’–Heigho!”–“It is time for me to be going,” said the harper, who began to think, by the young lady’s looks and manners, that she was not in her right understanding. “It is time for me to be going; the gentlemen above in the Dolphin will be ready for me.”

“A mere modern harper! He is not even blind,” Angelina said to herself, as he examined the shilling which she gave him. “Begone, for Heaven’s sake!” added she, aloud, as he left the room;–and “leave me, leave me to repose.” She threw up the sash, to taste the evening air; but scarcely had she begun to repeat a sonnet to her Araminta–scarcely had she repeated the first two lines–