DELAFORD PARK,

SEAT OF C. CLOWES, ESQ.

THIS seat is an elegant quadrangu- | lar building, situated on rising ground, that overlooks the river Colne, in the parish of Iver. It was the residence of Sir Wm. Young, Bart. a man whose liberality and benevolence will long be remembered at Iver, from his attention to the poor, and from some useful works projected and executed at his sole expense, of which we need only mention the bridge over the Colne and a poor-house. After Sir William, Mr. Shergold became the proprietor, and he sold it to Lord Kilmorey, of whom it was purchased by the present owner. Since it has become this gentleman's property, he has with great taste made several additions. One of the principal em

bellishments is a circular Portico to the principal front, as represented in the annexed Engraving: it is powerful for the edifice, but, as seen beneath the trees that overhang the drive, it has a fine effect. The grounds are pleasing, and highly decorated with wood to the rear of the house, extending to the banks of the Colne. This river adds considerably to the beauty of the grounds, and, as seen from the principal apartments, its suavity has a pretty effect. Combined with the village church, that crowns the brow of the hill which rises to the right, it adds considerably to the beauty of that part of the country.

A LESSON FOR FATHERS.

MONSIEUR ARMAND was a widow- || mired Emily. He was willing to er with only one child, a daughter, for whose sake he often declared he never would marry again. His Emily, as she grew up, seemed disposed to make every return for this sacrifice; for she frequently declared, that it was her resolution never to marry, because she would not take upon her duties which must interfere with those she owed her dear papa.

The resolutions of fifteen are seldom so stable as those of fifty, at least it was so in this case: M. Armand remained single, but his daughter married; and her marriage furnished the strongest proof of the affection of her doting father. M. le Comte d'Orfeuille, a gentleman of noble birth, but small fortune, saw and ad

overlook her being the daughter of a negotiant, and raise her to the dignity of a comtesse, but he required what he called a little sacrifice on the part of M. Armand: this little sacrifice was to make over his whole fortune to his daughter. The doting father, who looked upon his Emily as being in herself a pearl above price, rejected the proposition with disdain. The comte protested he was in despair, but his love for Mademoiselle Armand would never permit him to lead her to the altar unless he could support her as his wife ought to be supported, and this could not be done unless M. Armand complied with his desire. M. Ar| mand declared that he never would:

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Emily then tried the effect of her eloquence.

She knew the direct road to the heart of her father, and she took it. It was not the loss of her own happiness, or the wreck of her own hopes, for which her tears flowed; no, she protested she could have borne that, but her grief arose from the afflicting thought that her dear father doubted her affection: it was that which caused her anguish, and she was sure in the end would break her heart.

the comte made his parting bow, and || of the father; but an event soon happened, which proved to him that he had calculated too much on her affection. In leaving himself wholly dependent on her, he had yielded to her earnest solicitations and his own wishes, and taken up his abode at her hotel. As his domestics had lived with him for many years, and were all as much attached to their young mistress as to himself, he had stipulated that they should be retained; and they were on their parts delighted to stay. But as his servants were for use, not show, and those of his son-in-law more for show than use, the household of the old man formed a comparatively small proportion to that of the young pair; and mutual dissensions and jealousies soon took place, which shewed themselves at first in bickerings, and then broke out into open quarrels, followed by appeals to the higher powers.

Armand fell into the snare: he did not doubt her affection, and to prove that he did not, he acceded to the demand of the comte. The lovers were united, and, during the first month, it seemed doubtful, whether the new married pair in the fulness of their bliss, or the father to whom they owed it, were the happiest. Armand had always thought himself blest as a parent, but he now fancied he was more blest than ever.

In a very few months, however, some doubts of his excessive felicity began to occur to him. He could not help observing, that his daughter was seldom at home but when she had a crowd of company, and upon those occasions every body was more noticed and attended to than her father. He thought too that her manner towards those old friends who still visited him was cold and constrained. “But she is so young," said he to himself; " and just now she is dazzled by her new rank: she has, however, a good heart, the best of hearts, and by and by she will return to her old father with more warmth than ever after this little estrangement."

The first affair of this kind was a violent dispute between Manon, the nurse of Emily, and Mademoiselle Louise, the waiting-maid whom she had hired on her marriage. Manon, accustomed in right of her office to treat her mistress with the most unceremonious familiarity, burst in upon her at the very moment that she was engaged in grand consultation with her hair-dresser, to demand justice against the saucy jade who had mimicked her provincial accent, ridiculed her bonnet montant, and, worse than all, insisted upon taking precedence of her at table.

Nurse's complaint might have had some chance if it had been delivered in a different style, but it tallied ill with the dignity of a matron of three months standing, as Emily then was, to be thee'd and thou'd and mon-enSuch were the thoughts and hopes fanted in that manner; and the artful

reply of Mademoiselle Louise, her appeals to the fine understanding of madame la comtesse, the justice of madame la comtesse, and, above all the rest, the knowledge of the world of madame la comtesse, decided the point in her favour. Nurse was told that her complaints were frivolous and unfounded, and that she must learn to conduct herself better.

adage, the staff out of his own hands.

The conviction thus unwillingly forced upon him became stronger every day, for from that hour his authority in the house was a mere cipher. His faithful servants were dismissed one by one; the hours of meals changed. When he complained of the innovation, he was told that his should be served at what time he pleased in his apartment; but that people of fashion could not possibly eat at such vulgar hours as were proper for bourgeois.

"Learn at my age!" cried Manon, bursting into tears; " and is it thou, Emily, my child, that canst ask such a thing? What, am I a baby to be taught behaviour? No, no, I am too old to learn new lessons, even that of resenting thy unkindness. I will leave thee." And away she hurried to Armand, to sob out her complaint, and her determination to be gone: a determination which, however, sheners; and if his mistress insisted uprelaxed, upon her old master's assurances that he would speedily send mademoiselle a-packing.

But he soon found that his power was much more limited than he thought it. Emily was very sorry; nay, she should be grieved to have dear papa vexed at such nonsense, but really nurse was in the wrong; she was a sad obstinate old woman, and of no use in life; and as to parting with Louise upon her account, the thing was impossible: she had so much talent, was so useful, nay even so necessary, that positively there was no doing without her. Nurse therefore must go, and indeed it was better that she should. The pill was gilded with caresses and fondling expressions, still it was bitter to swallow and hard of digestion; and when Armand saw the poor old woman quit the house, he began for the first time to think that he had done a foolish thing in giving, to use the homely but significant words of the

It seemed very hard to the poor old man to sit down to table alone, and he had scarcely time to reconcile himself to it, when the cook declared it was impossible to dress two din

on his doing it, he must absolutely tender his resignation. Madame d'Orfeuille could not think of parting with her cook; he was a man of such exquisite talent, that she really did not know how she should replace him: if her father therefore could not dine at the family hours, his man Antoine might dress his dinner; it would not give him much trouble, for there would be no occasion for more than one dish.

The poor spirit-broken old man, now fully awakened to all the misery he had brought upon himself, consented without remonstrance to this new arrangement. He thought even that his daughter was, upon reflection, ashamed of her parsimony, for his table was well supplied; but in a little time accident revealed to him that the viands were frequently purchased by Antoine out of his own money. This put the finishing stroke to Armand's patience: he bitterly reproached his unnatural daughter,

A LESSON FOR FATHERS.

who retorted in a strain of the most from his justice than from her afundutiful acrimony; and instead of fection." acceding to his demand of a certain sum yearly for his expenses, insisted upon his curtailing them still more by discharging his faithful Antoine, now the only one of all his old servants who remained.

Made up wholly of the milder elements, Armand would not curse, and he could not weep, till the tears, which nature refused to his agonizing struggles, were called forth by the attachment of Antoine, who had overheard what passed; and when Madame d'Orfeuille flounced indignantly out of her father's apartment, he entered, and eagerly grasping the hand which Armand stretched out to him, "Yes, my dear master," said he, "I will go, but I will not go alone. Thanks to heaven and your bounty, I have saved enough in your service to sit down at my ease for the rest of my life; and so has Manon too. Our united savings will provide for you a neat little apartment, a comfortable table, and need I say, good attendance, since we will wait upon you ourselves. Consent then, dear master, to our prayers, and you will soon see yourself in your own home."

What a mixture of sweet and bitter feelings agitated the poor old man at this moment! His heart must have burst had not a timely flood of tears relieved him. " I yield, Antoine," cried he at length, "I yield to your generous wishes, no longer my servants but my friends. I will owe to you and my faithful Manon the support which my ungrateful child refuses me; but it must be only in case I am driven to extremes. I will speak to the husband of that woman; I may perhaps gain more

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Poor Armand was mistaken; the comte listened with perfect sangfroid to his detail. He was quite distressed at the misunderstanding that appeared to have taken place between M. Armand and the comtesse, but unluckily he could do nothing: he made a point of never interfering in household affairs; but he sincerely hoped that the matter would be accommodated. Nothing could make him so happy as to see a good understanding prevail between two such amiable persons; and as he finished the last words, he fairly bowed himself out of the room.

"The die is cast, Antoine," said Armand," we must go."-" Heaven be praised!" replied Antoine in a joyful tone; and without further delay, he set out in search of an apartment. He soon returned to say, that he had found one which might suit, but he refused to take it before his master had seen and approved it. Armand accompanied him to look at it, and as they walked along, a gentleman, of whose features the old man thought he had some recollection, looked at him intently in passing, and then turned back. Armand did the same, and at the second look recognised in the stranger his old friend Franval, whom he had not seen for twenty years.

When their mutual greetings were over, he accompanied Franval to his lodgings, which were just by, and in answer to his inquiries, told him frankly all that had happened to him, and what he proposed doing. “I do not blame you, my good friend," cried Franval, "but you shall not be reduced to take this step: if we cannot succeed in bringing your daughter

to reason, you shall come to me. I am not rich, it is true, but I have enough for us both, if a plan which I have in my head fails."-" A plan, of what kind?”—“ Of a kind to make you easy for the rest of your days. Has your daughter ever heard my name?"-" Often."-" Very well, what does she know of me?"-" Only that you are an old friend of mine, who quitted France many years ago to engage in commerce in foreign countries."

"Bravo! We shall have no difficulty in making her believe that you have lent me a sum of money to place in my trade, that this money has prospered in my hands, and that I now return it to you with interest.' "But for what purpose?"-" For the purpose of procuring you such treatment as her father ought to have. Come, my good friend, drink success to my plot, and then hasten home to play your part in it."

It will be easily supposed that Armand took Antoine into his confidence. They went back together, and had not been long at home when a porter, with a chest upon his head, arrived at the Hotel D'Orfeuille, and asked for M. Armand. Instead of apprising the old gentleman, the lacquey told his mistress, and she ordered the porter to be shewn to her." It is Monsieur Armand I want, madam," said he; "I have brought this chest for him."-" It will be the same thing if you give it to me."-" Indeed it will not, for I am to deliver it only to himself; and besides, I must have his own receipt for it." Armand, who was then pass- || ing as by accident, hearing his name mentioned, entered. The porter gave him a letter and a key, saying, "From

M. Franval, sir. The bags of silver are all right, but it will be more satisfactory if you count them, and give me a receipt if you please, that I may go and fetch the others." Armand hastily opened the letter. "Can I count the money while you read it, father," asked Madame d'Orfeuille in her softest, sweetest tone.-"No," replied he sternly, and told the porter to carry it to his apartment. His daughter followed, saw the chest opened, and several bags well sealed taken out, the chink of which shewed very clearly that they were, as the porter said, full of five-franc pieces. Armand gave the porter the receipt he desired, telling him at the same time to inform his friend, that he must not send the other chests, because he was going to remove.

"To remove, my dearest father!" cried Madame d'Orfeuille the moment the man was gone; "good heaven, you cannot seriously have formed such an idea!"-" It is the only step I can take after the treatment I have received."-" Ah! dear father, you will not punish me so cruelly, and at the moment too in which I had resolved to do every thing to gratify you? I have already given warning to the servant of whom you had such just cause to complain. I was even coming to ask you whether you would wish to have all the old ones reinstated. I had spoken to M. d'Orfeuille, to whom you know it was owing that the dinner-hour was changed, and told him, that I had not been able to make a hearty meal since I ceased to eat with you; and he has agreed that the dinner shall be served at whatever hour you please. Would you then, dear father, make us miserable by leaving