It was at Allanwater, a small villa amidst the mountains, in the county of Leitrim, that Lord and Lady Avondale passed the first months of their marriage. This estate had been settled upon Sir Richard Mowbray, during his lifetime, by his brother, the late Earl of Avondale. It was cheerful, though retired; and to Calantha’s enchanted eyes, appeared all that was most romantic and beautiful upon earth. What indeed had not appeared beautiful to her in the company of the man she loved! Every one fancies that there exists in the object of their peculiar admiration a superiority over others. Calantha perhaps was fully justified in this opinion. Lord Avondale displayed even in his countenance the sensibility of a warm, ardent and generous character. He had a distinguished and prepossessing manner, entirely free from all affectation. It is seldom that this can be said of any man, and more seldom of one possessed of such singular beauty of person. He appeared indeed wholly to forget himself; and was ever more eager in the interests of others than his own. Many there are, who, though endowed with the best understandings, have yet an inertness, an insensibility to all that is brilliant and accomplished; and who, though correct in their observations, yet fatigue in the long intercourse of life by the sameness of their thoughts. Lord Avondale’s understanding, however, fraught as it was with knowledge, was illumined by the splendid light of genius, yet not overthrown by its force. Of his mind, it might be truly said, that it did not cherish one base, one doubtful or worldly feeling. He was so sincere that, even in conversation, he never mis-stated, or exaggerated a fact. He saw at a glance the faults of others; but his extreme good nature and benevolence prevented his taking umbrage at them. He was, it is true, of a hot and passionate temper, and if once justly offended, firm in his resolve, and not very readily appeased; but he was too generous to injure or to hate even those who might deserve it. When he loved, and he never really loved but one, it was with so violent, so blind a passion, that he might be said to doat upon the very errors of the girl to whom he was thus attached. To the society of women he had been early accustomed; but had suffered too much from their arts, and felt too often the effects of their caprices, to be easily made again their dupe and instrument. Of beauty he had ofttimes been the willing slave. Strong passion, opportunity, and entire liberty of conduct, had, at an early period, thrown him into its power. His profession, and the general laxity of morals, prevented his viewing his former conduct in the light in which it appeared to his astonished bride; but when she sighed, because she feared that she was not the first who had subdued his affections, he smilingly assured her, that she should be the last—that no other should ever be dear to him again.