et! "Why, Darcy," said his uncle," this is really a word and a blow; but you cannot read it to-night; we are engaged."-"Certainly, Mr. Darcy Pennington," said his aunt, "if you wish to read your astonishing productions, we are bound in civility to hear them; but we are all going to Sir Hugh Belson's, and shall venture to take you with us, though it is a great favour and privilege to be permitted to go on such an occasion; for a gentleman is staying there who has written such a sweet book! It is only just out, yet it cannot be had; because the first edition is sold, and the second not finished. So Sir Hugh, for whom your uncle is exerting himself against the next election, has been so kind as to invite us to hear the author read his own work. This gentleman does not, indeed, own that he wrote it; still he does not deny it; and it is clear, by his manner, that he did write it, and that he would be very sorry not to be considered as the writer."-" Very well, then; the pleasure of hearing another author read his own work shall be delayed," replied Darcy, smiling. haps, when you have heard this gentleman's, you will not be so eager to read yours, Darcy," said Julia Vane; " for you used to be a modest man." Darcy sighed, looked significantly, but remained silent.

"Per

In the evening they went to Sir Hugh Belson's, where, in the Captain Eustace, who was to delight the company, Darcy recognised the gentleman who had been pointed out to him as the author of several meagre performances handed about in manuscript in certain circles; which owed their celebrity to the birth and fashion of the writer, and to the bribery which is always administered to the self-love of those who are the select few chosen to see and judge on such occasions.

Captain Eustace now prepared to read; but when he named the title of the book which he held in his hand, Darcy started from his seat with surprise; for it was the title of his own work! But there might be two works with the same title; and he sat down again; but when the reader continued, and he could doubt no longer, he again started up, and, with stuttering eagerness, said, "Wh-wh-who, sir. did you say, wrote this book ?""I have named no names, sir," replied Eustace conceitedly; "the author is

unknown, and wishes to remain so."-" Mr. Darcy Pennington," cried his aunt," sit down and be quiet;" and he obeyed." Mr. Pennington," said Sir Hugh, affectedly," the violet must be sought, and is discovered with difficulty, you know; for it shrinks from observation, and loves the shade." Darcy bowed assent; but fixed his eyes on the discovered violet before him with such an equivocal expression, that Eustace was disconcerted; and the more so, when Darcy, who could not but feel the ludicrous situation in which he was placed, hid his face in his handkerchief, and was evidently shaking with laughter. "Mr. Darcy Pennington, I am really ashamed of you," whispered his aunt; and Darcy recovered his composure. He had now two hours of great enjoyment. He heard that book admi.. rably read which he had intended to read the next day, and knew that he should read ill. He heard that work applauded to the skies as the work of another, which would, he feared, have been faintly commended, if known to be his; and he saw the fine eyes of the woman he loved drowned in tears, by the power of his own simple pathos. The poetry in the book was highly admired also; and when Eustace paused to take breath, Julia whispered in 66 ear, Captain Eustace is the gentleman who, I have every reason to believe, wrote some anonymous poetry sent me by the post; for Captain Eustace pays me, as you see, marked attention; and as he denies that he wrote the verses, exactly as he denies that he wrote the book which he is now reading, it is very evident that he wrote both.""I dare say," replied Darcy, colouring with resentment, "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."

his

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.

your

"Mr. Darcy Pennington, what ails you?" cried his aunt; you really are not like yourself!"-" Hold 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 fiterary and critical raptures, which sits 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 mas

ter.

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 I fear that you are a little delirious !"—On which Darcy nearly laughed himself into convulsions. feel your pulse, Darcy," said his uncle very gravely,-"too quick. I shall send for advice, if you are not better to-morrow; you look so flushed, and your eyes are so bright!"-"My dear uncle," repiled Darcy, "I shall be quite well if you will but hear my manuscript before we go to bed." They all looked at each other with increased

"Let me

farm; 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 to-morrow." "What! read your nonsense to them!" cried his uncle, " Poor felHow! 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 sccret to the rest of the family, he could not be easy till he had disclosed it to Julia; for he 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 herselt by declaring how impossible it was to suspect that a man of honour, 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 cager 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 certain ly possessed," thought his uncle. "Mr. Darcy Pennington," whispered his aunt, "I shall faint 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; “Į 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 high est 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, endeavoured 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, yɔ 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