STRIKING LIKENESSES; OR, THE VOTARIES OF FASHION. A NOVEL. IN FOUR VOLUMES. BY LOUISA SIDNEY STANHOPE, Author of Montbrasil Abbey,' and The PRINTED FOR J. F. HUGHES, 15, PATERNOSTER-ROW, and 5, WIGMORE-STREET, CAVENDSIH-SQUARE. 1808. SEE you yon 'spire, Antonia ?" said the marquis, as he led her forward. "Tis to the house of death I am conducting you. Nay, do not tremble; for you are innocent, sweet girl; and naught can harm you. It is a walk solitary and forlorn-a walk I have taken in the dead of night, when my plaints were unheard, and my lamentations disregarded a walk which harrows up the soul of guilt, and whispers the horrors of retribution. Oh, Antonia, Antonia !”. He struck his clenched hand against groan. "Let us return, my Lord,' implored his terrified companion: "the evening is gloomy, the sky is louring: the recollection of past events are often painful; and why should we seek to fan the embers of melancholy?"’ "It is a duty I have vowed to perform," said the marquis, pausing" a duty, unconscious girl, my bleeding heart pants after. The world thinks me happy, because I am rich, great, and powerful-because 1 bear the semblance of gaiety in the dissipation of my family but oh, Miss Forrester ! could the soul be read-could its secret lineaments speak in the countenance, what a world of care, what a world of remorse, what a world of anguish would here be deciphered! The oppressed would turn away with pity: the slave would say that man is not to be envied. But we lose time; let us proceed;" and again they hurried I forward. "It grows dark," he continued the spot will be no longer discernible. Come, come, Antonia," at the same time plunging into a small grove of cypress and bay, Funereal, pensive birch its languid arms And shivering aspins." A pleasing sadness stole over the spirits of Antonia: every impression of fear vanished; and the tear of sensibility, of unnamed emotion, trembled in her eye. Gloomy and dark was the scene around. The marquis, clad in mystery, was the only living object she beheld all else seemed wrapt in the grave's awful stillness. What to think she knew not: for what purpose, or whither he was conducting her, sher had yet to learn. Suffering and dejected, she saw him labouring under some |