and a beggar, he was much anxious to see Dr. R There was something singular in the aspect and in the demeanour of the stranger, which excited the attention and the alarm of the servant. There was a wildness in his eyes and an odd smile upon his face when he spoke, a mingled look of cunning and simplicity, which made the woman doubt whether the man she was conversing with were a knave or a fool, and this puzzled her she was half afraid and half inclined to laugh, but she resolutely denied her master, and would have shut the door upon the applicant, had he not, perceiving her intentions, suddenly pushed it wide open, and running through the hall with a loud burst of laughter, rushed into one of the parlours, where he threw himself full-length upon a sofa, and cried aloud with the air of a monarch, "Send the Doctor to me !" The frightened damsel obeyed this imperious mandate, and in a few minutes Dr. R- entered the apartment of which his strange visitor had taken forcible possession. "Good God!—Mr. White-" he exclaimed. It was actually the poor sheep-dog-and there he lay in the presence of the shepherd, rabid, a hopeless maniacthe thread of his reason utterly broken-a thing to be pointed at and mocked. And all his noble aspirations, all his long-abiding hopes, his patience, his struggles, his travail, had ended in this at last. He laughed when he saw Dr. R- called for wine, and declared positively that he had run all the way from Exeter-a distance of nearly a hundred miles-without once stopping to take breath. He pointed to his trowsers, which were rent at the knees, and exhibited his hands, which were sadly lacerated, and as he did this he laughed exultingly, repeating, "I tricked them, yes I tricked them," and he seemed to chuckle as he thought of some cunning act that he had himself recently committed. Then he talked about the boys, repeated the names of several who had formerly been under his care, and quoted some passages of Greek from the "Bacchanalians" of Euripides. "Don't you think, Doctor," he added, his voice subsiding from loud declamation into a subdued yet earnest tone of enquiry, "that Agave, when she got drunk, as you know, Doctor, she did, for there's no mincing the matter, she got beastly drunk-now don't you think-tell me candidly, for I wish your opinion-don't you think that she was very kind to her son Pentheus, in only tearing him to pieces ?" Dr. Rwho had sent for a medical man, and who thought it best to humour the maniac, that he might commit no act of violence before the arrival of the physician, replied in a bland voice, "Oh! yes, Mr. White, very." "I thought, Doctor, that you would say so; it was very kind in the mother, when she was beastly drunk, to kill her son outright, it was-a leg there and an arm there, a headless, and a limbless trunk, and all was over-but I, I live on still, Doctor! But won't you give me some winesome water then, for I am thirsty as Tantalus." There, existing upon his slender professional savings, he laboured on with unwearying perseverance. Exercising the most rigid economy, both of time and money, "His faith, abiding the appointed time,” he sustained his soul in the midst of privation. He had laid aside all selfishness; pleasure was to him a thing denied, and the only light which illumined his pathway was that of a quiet conscience, and the hope of ultimate rest. This light ought to have struck sunshine into his soul; but I question whether it did, for indeed it is a hard thing to journey onward day after day, night after night, treading under foot the fairest flowers of life and gathering no corn into the granary, companionless and without sympathy in the world, enjoying neither health nor riches, "Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure—” Indeed it is very hard- My pen seems to linger in this place, and I begin to generalize where I ought to proceed with my narrative. I set down a common-place instead of a fact; but the facts which I have to tell reflect no honour upon humanity.-Evil things I am now about to speak of things very hideous and debasing. I blush for mankind as I write them. Poor White had a mother and a sister; they were his only relatives, and he supported them. I know not how he managed, for his receipts were very small, but he did support them-both the mother and the daughter. It was a noble thing for them he laboured, for them he studied night and day, for them he denied himself no: merely the comforts, but indeed the necessaries of existence, for them he braved the contumely of the world, pining in solitude and despised. Many a night did he retire hungry to a bed but poorly supplied with coverlids-many a cold winter evening did be sit, with his only blanket pinned around his neck, for he had not wherewithal to buy fuel; and when he looked at his fireless grate he sighed not, but smiled pleasantly, and drawing his blanket closely around him, exclaimed— "Well! I thank my God, that they are now sitting by a fire." And with these thoughts did he sustain himself, crucifying all his desires, for a year. If any one had watched him closely throughout this time, it would have been said that sypmtoms of insanity, which first developed themselves at Dr. R's, every day were becoming more apparent. Too much study, if not too much learning, had made this poor disciple mad. His sensitive mind, fearfully acted upon it as it was, by "Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty," had given way beneath these repeated inflictions; for though he still looked forward and was strong in hope, his present was very cheerless-cold, hunger, and watching, combined with incessant intellectual exertion, had proved too strong for his reason to bear up against, and it tottered, it did not fall, for its hope sustained it; he thought of his mother and his sister, and these thoughts were for a time his salvation. For a time-alas! that he should not have abided in this cheering faith to the end of his days; but it happened one day he was siezed with a desire of visiting his longdeserted home, and of embracing his mother and his sister. It was Christmas-time, and he thought that he might afford himself a holiday; so he started-upon foot be it remembered for Exeter, which was the home of his fathers. As he went along he pictured to himself his own delight and that of his grateful relatives, upon finding themselves once M 2 again in the presense of each other, after so painful and so protracted a separation. He anticipated, with pleasant feelings of self-congratulation, their joy and their thanksgivings, their praises and their pride. He had not forewarned them of his coming, for it was his desire "to give them a surprise; and as he trudged, with brisk steps, along the hard, dry roads, the keen frosty air bracing his relaxed frame, his mind, full of hope, seemed to sympathize with his body and was braced also, the anticipation of delight acting upon it with an invigorating freshness; and ere he reached the confines of his native county he was a new man-a 'giant refreshed;' but it would have been better for him if he had died by the way-side ere he passed the borders of that county. It was evening when the weary pedestrian traversed the narrow street which led to his little homestead. With a beating heart and a noiseless step he crossed the threshold and opened the door of the apartment, wherein he knew that his mother always sat. "Mother!" he said; but this was the only word he uttered, for he saw that which suddenly deprived him of speech, and where he stood there did he remain. He never passed the threshold of the room. He leant against the door-post, and his straining eyes beheld too plainly the fearful exhibition which was prepared to greet his return, after a long absence, to his home and to his kindred. There lay his mother and sister, stretched out on a carpetless floor, the little chamber which he had left so comfortable, denuded of almost all its furniture, and no spark of fire in the grate. "And the mother and the sister, were they dead?" No; reader, much worse-they were drunk Filthily drunk-the old woman and her daughter, wallowing like swine, and ever and anon belching out an inarticulate blasphemy, an empty gin-bottle on the table, a broken glass on the floor, and liquor spilt over both. The old woman's cap had fallen off, and her loose grey hair, as she lay supine on the floor, was dabbling in a pool of liquor. White uttered no word, but turned from the door and quitted the house, a hopeless maniac. The blow was too heavy for him to bear-so sudden and so horrible! He beheld !-and the thread of his reason snapt, never again to be united. He had toiled, struggled, endured, and it had all come to this at last! He had suffered cold, hunger, fatigue; he had laboured night and day in solitude and penury; he had walked in tattered garments amongst men who pointed at him, and all for this; all that his mother and his sister might wallow in the filthiness of intoxication, and become like the beasts that perish ! They found him next morning in the High Street, and he was conveyed to a mad-house in the outskirts of the town. Thence he escaped, I know not how, and he found his way up to S- . I have spoken of what happened there. Through the agency of Dr. R. he was removed subsequently to a lunatic asylum at F. The boys made a subscription for their quondum usher, and as though they were anxious to atone for their past contumely, they were uniformly liberal in their donations. I think that we raised upwards of fifty pounds to supply his wants in the asylum, but neither skill nor care could restore him; no glimpse of light was ever destined again to enter the dark places of his brain. They pronounced him an incurable maniac. When last I travelled through S— I enquired after him, and he was still alive, if that can be called life, which --but I cannot repeat what they told me-it is too horrible, too disgusting to be written. There are many who can bear witness to the truth of this story.-Alas! poor White! THE COQUETTE. The prettiest villa in the vicinity of London belonged to Isabella Hervey. She was brilliantly beautiful, the possessor of an ample independent fortune, and the idol of a bachelor brother, who, many years her senior, had long supplied to her orphaned youth parental care and protection. The crimson glow of a summer sunset burnished all the windows of her boudoir, gleamed through their light and graceful draperies, and made the sumptuous carpet, couches, and ottomans dimly visible; from this apartment, over which the spirit of enchantment seemed to preside, the eye passed through a beautiful vista formed by two consecutive drawing-rooms, in which the lights were being kindled for a throng of expected guests. Just at this interval-this pause which was not peace, but seemed like it-Isabella glided slowly into the scene of which she was the sovereign. As she passed, the splendid mirrors reflected her form-a form fair as woman ever wore; a thousand odours greeted her with a voice of silent fragrance; and her harp, half hid in the recess of a window, through the gauzy veil of which gleamed clustering roses, whispered of melody as she went by. But Isabella had now been many years a fashionable coquette: though still young, still, to the common and cursory eye, beautiful, still rich, still flattered and followed, she was not happy. All the freshness or rather all the sweetness of feeling was gone; little susceptibility was left her but to the impressions of pain. This is one of the penalties that humanity pays for the abuse of the human powers; sensibility to pleasure it must surrender, sensibility to pain it cannot. Isabella entered her boudoir with a letter in her handthat letter had disappointed her. Her satiated mental appetite now required the hyperbole of praise; she could not do without it, it was a condiment essential to the savour of all that was said to her; yet it did not give her pleasure, though its absence gave her pain. Conscience, never utterly destroyed, and judgment, in her naturally acute, would each continually add something to rankle the wounds from which she suffered. Deficient flattery suggested fears about default, and then conscience would ask, 'Do you deserve faith, fealty, or firmness? Excessive flattery suggested suspicions of sincerity, and then judgment would exclaim, 'Is this daubing meet for a classic eye like your's?' But conscience, judgment, every high and noble thought, were flung aside as she hurried to the accustomed crowd, as if she had set her 'life upon a cast, and must stand the hazard of the die.' Perhaps beauty is of all human power the most perfect ; effortless, instantaneous in its action, it may say, with Cæsar, 'I came, I saw, I conquered.' Yet perhaps it is also the least fortunate kind of power, since it is most subject to corrupting influences during its rise and meridian, and suffers most intensely from moral reverses during its decline. But nature had not dowered Isabella merely with beautythe mental jewel was worthy of the material casket; energy and fine spirits also formed a part of her gifted nature, and these, in co-operation with a high, free, diligent cultivation of her powers, might have carried her to some point of greatness where she might have lived blessed and blessing as well as brilliant-whence she might have been exhaled to other heights in that region to which, rapt and reverent, imagination rises. The principal characteristic of Isabella's mind was concentration; born in circumstances which strictly confined her to the woman-sphere,-vanity and wedlock,—she chose the field which the first offered her. With feelings free from every sordid taint, when she first entered the paltry arena in which art forms the means and marriage the meed, she was like a young Arab barb put upon a mill-wheel, who would circle it again and again like wildfire, till he destroyed himself and the dull instrument of his torture. Virtually, not actually, her plan of action was prescribed to her, but the poisonous policy inculcated could not shape her course to mercenary conquest-her quarry was the heart. But, with the conqueror's ignorant and insatiable thirst for dominion, to win and waste was her bent:-like him, reckless and destructive, she remorselessly left to desolation, the region she had invaded and subjugated. War is called a noble science-the soldier an ennobled being: the ambuscade, the surprise, the assault, the carnage, which is the consummation of the whole, are all arrayed in the pages of history-in the columns of the 'Gazette;' and people, perverted by false impressions, see nothing but glory and greatness: now be the same compliment paid to the coquette; let her have, at least, one leaf from the soldier's chaplet. 6 It is constantly observed that we cannot say to the passions, Thus far shalt thou go and no farther;' but we say this to the intellect, and, strange to say, we are obeyed; how many minds do we see arrested in mid career, and coming to a stand at some point at which it is more difficult to pause than to pass onward. As Isabella sunk upon a couch in her boudoir, she felt the wooing of the evening breeze, and she leaned her uneasy head towards the window to catch that gentle caress of kindly nature. A sweet inartificial song was warbled at the moment; Isabella looked out and saw a young peasant girl passing home from a neighbouring hay-field with an apron full of the new-mown grass. Isabella was touched with admiration. Taste, one of the diamond-sparks of spirit, is indestructible; it may be burned with us in the crucible of passion; it may be shattered with us by the mallet of misfortune; but let the calm hour come back, and there is taste bright as ever; let the day of prosperity return, gather up the fragments, and taste is still essentially the same. The wide scene, the sweet scent, the happy songstress, the contrast presented to all within by all without, was gaining some influence on the mind of Isabella, when the prolonged summons of the pealing knocker induced her to draw in her head, and sink again upon the couch. To a lady with spirits as much below par as were Isabella's, the kind of visitor who first arrives is of infinite consequence. Some come, like an essence-box, with a reviving influence, with a pleasing smile and a playful sally; others appear as if they had a portable fog in the waistcoat-pocket, and there is no telling at what moment it may not burst forth. Some, possessed by a ceaseless volubility, discharge a cataract of words with the rapidity that Mr. Perkins's machine does bullets-only fortunately they are not all hits; while others again speak so slow that they seem to wait for a Habeas Corpus to bring up every syllable they say. Isabella's first visitor was unfortunately one of the latter description you might put in a parenthesis of any length during a pause of his; he had lately returned from the continent, whence he had brought a foreign title, the better to enable him to catch a rich native wife; but he had left none of his tediousness in exchange, so that he had still plenty at the service of society. Isabella, when in conversation with this worthy Count, was like a rapid chess player engaged with a slow one; the former anticipates every move, and thus becomes a sort of sentinel at the board, rather than an antagonist at the game. But Isabella was a disciplinarian, and besides she had not passed seven seasons in London without having learned how to manage bores and lions. By-the-bye, a strange sort of metamorphosis occurs in our metropolitan exhibitionrooms for the display of rare animals, for the lion of one season often becomes the bore of the next. New arrivals soon rapidly succeeded each other, and, as the business of the evening called upon her, Isabella rose above the vapid tone which had possessed her. Still her restless spirit, craving for exercise it could not find, looked forth like an eagle for prey worthy of her power. Many of such guests as 'come like shadows, so depart :' who are pledged to produce themselves at so many places the same night, and say nothing at any of them—for the sake, I suppose, of saying something of all of them,-had floated away, when a pale spectral person passed Isabella: rapidly he passed; but he left the spell of his dark deepseated eyes upon her. She lost him immediately in the crowd; but though others surrounded her, and continual claims were made on her attention, she could not banish the stranger's image. The evening passed as such evenings usually do-the rooms got warm, if the people did not; some ices were carried about to other ices which sat still. There was music, and singing, and talking in the midst of both, excruciating the nerves and feelings of the musician, and mortifying the vanity of the musical exhibitor. One exception to that rule occurred on that evening, towards the conclusion of the entertainment. A rapid prelude, which appeared a voluntary, was followed by a voice of so deep, sweet, and thrilling a tone, that the crowd became instinctively hushed, the spirit of passionate melody appeared present, and even the babbler dare not break the spell. Forgotten quite-forgotten quite The pang I cannot bear! Oh, feel my brow; the death-drops now Are there' The musician fell from the instrument. Full of power as that burst of song had been, it seemed his last, for he lay across the arms of those who had raised him, as if life were extinct. 'This way, this way,' exclaimed Mr. Hervey, Isabella's brother, 'bear him into the ante-room.' The crowd passed; Isabella was alone, and, as if petrified, in the attitude in which she stood when those heartsearching tones had reached her ear, even unto her heart, callous as it was become, they had pierced, and seemed to congeal her into marble. She had been some time in her dressing-room when her brother came to her there. She had never before seen him look so sternly. With all her faults, she had redeeming points; proud, tyrannical, cruel as she was, she loved that brother, honoured him, cherished him, would have sheltered him from suffering as the mother-bird does her callow young, and been regardless of injury to herself, so she but spared it to him. She looked up; and her beautiful face, so usually expressive of imperial power, had all the meekness of the unweaned lamb; her form, generally so full of haughty grace, approached him, all ease and sweetness, ready to fall upon his bosom, or hang about his neck. The purpose of reproach with which he came melted away before the power of her presence-before the moral power of the beautiful feeling with which she was animated. 'What moves you, Robert?' she asked, placing one hand on his shoulder, as with the other she caught the breast of his coat. He did not immediately reply; but at length he said solemnly, as he gently disengaged himself from her hold, 'You know who was carried from your boudoir just now.' 'Yes-yes,' she stammered, 'I recollected him afterwards,'-and her eye sunk under the reproachful gaze of her brother,—‘poor Hubert Walton.' 'Isabella, Isabella!' exclaimed Mr. Hervey, sinking into a seat, 'well may the poet describe your sex as "Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, And best distinguished as black, brown, or fair." Love traces impressions on your hearts with some such pencil as paints the butterfly's wing: upon ours he works with a graver, and breaks the mould before the image that he has marked there can be marred.' Isabella burst into a laugh at this estimate of the relative impressibility of the sexes. All her brother's sternness returned, and anger flashed in his eyes as he exclaimed, Forbear, unfeeling girl, forbear! Walton is dying-the victim of your caprice. Do not let your laugh be his death knell.' 'I cannot believe you,' she rejoined, subduing her levity, yet still affecting more than she felt, for 66 Killing eyes and wounded hearts, And all the artillery of darts Are long ago exploded fancies, And laughed at even in romances." 'Then let me tell Miss Hervey,' said her brother, 'that you are likely to have, not a romance, but a tragedy, in this very house. Dr. Bassett has just left the unfortunate Mr. Walton, and gives little hope of him; he says he never beheld a being so reduced, except by famine.' 'But why attribute all this to me?' said Isabella. 'Seek no shelter in subterfuge,' rapidly replied her brother; I know all, from his mother-from his sisterfrom himself. I have gained my information piecemeal, but it is perfect and conclusive. If Walton dies, you are a murderess. Yes,' he continued, eager to work on her awakened feelings, he saw you; that you could not help. You caught his fancy-captivated his heart; neither, perhaps, was that your fault. But, when aware of your power, to go and hold the intoxicating cup of hope to his lip; to soothe him with the voice of love; to gladden him with its smile; to let all this be with a predetermined resolution to dash and darken all with despair, was fiendish-devilish!' A silence followed this burst of indignation, which Mr. Hervey first broke. 'How,' he added, will you repair this wanton mischief? how atone for this vile cruelty ? for the sleepless nights of lacerated feelings-the revulsion of disappointed hopes?' What can I do?' she exclaimed. Indeed I had no idea of such results as these.' Tush!' ejaculated Mr. Hervey, 'do not tell me this: the incendiary who fires one house, and brings down a whole neighbourhood, has just a valid a plea. No, Isabella, what I ask of you is to receive this as a lesson;-to reflect and reform; and if Walton should recover, and you can do so without violence to your own feelings, reward his love. I know he is a poor man; but all the mines upon the globe could not purchase you such a heart.' The tears rushed into Mr. Hervey's eyes, in spite of his s'ruggle to master his feelings: some compunctious pangs, but yet more sympathy with her brother, called answering tears into the eyes of Isabella. From that hour she joined her brother in nursing Walton; she watched with him beside the bed of delirium; heard the wild outpourings of thoughts, visions, feelings which had been too long pent under the condescending force of silence, secrecy, and unparticipated anguish, till, bursting forth like electric fire, they shattered the brain and bosom they had already ravaged, almost to dissolution. Isabella closed her house, and had it given out that she was gone to a remote part of the country, thus to keep off the insects of idle curiosity. She invited Walton's mother and his sister to her house; and all that tenderness and care could suggest was essayed. The patient's youth, the doctor's skill, and last, not least, the co-operation with him of intelligent nurses, slowly effected a triumph. Health came like a timid vestal and kissed the fever from Walton's brow; but strength, shaken as he had been, was slow of returning. When conscious light again came forth from his languid lid, his mother was the first to meet it. Never had the endearing name been sweeter to her ear, when first lisped forth to her by her first-born, than now when it reassured her she had still a son. In low murmurs, at intervals, he talked with his mother, till, leaning forward, he fell asleep upon her bosom. Dr. Bassett appeared the moment after. "Tis well!' he exclaimed softly; 'if he can sleep in that position, 'tis a sign he is getting strength.' Isabella's ministry now ceased at the sick bed; but she still played the gentle and attentive friend to the afflicted relatives. This was the first lesson upon moral duties she had ever received, and a mind like hers needed but have a new region open to her to explore it-the walls of circumvallation, which she could not overleap, removed, to walk beyond them. Mrs. Walton was a high-minded woman, and soon impressed Isabella with respect and affection; who in return won upon the anxious mother's heart, making her half forgive the ruin she had caused. 'Mr. Hervey,' said Mrs. Walton one day, as leaning on his arm she walked round the garden, 'I have somewhere seen it said that it is a dangerous thing to employ a steamengine to turn a lathe at a toy-shop. Some such dangerous thing has been, and is being done, as regards female talent. Waste power will employ itself—if not for the purposes of good, for those of evil.' 'We see that every day,' said Mr. Hervey, in the misapplied energy and ingenuity of untaught, half-taught, and mistaught men.' 'Do not confine your views exclusively to men,' resumed Mrs. Walton. 'To women?' he asked with a smile. 'Neither so. Direct them to human nature, of which one sex is as important a part as the other. Human nature can only be understood by a perfect knowledge of both : human nature can only be served by an equal advancement of both. Much has to be put from our literature, institutions, laws, customs, and manners, to redeem man from the degrading marks of his own ignorant pride, as well as to raise woman from her miserable vassalage.' 'All this is new to me,' said Mr. Hervey, but I listen to you with pleasure.' 'To aspire is the privilege of humanity,' resumed Mrs. Walton, warming with her subject. The erect attitude, the perceptive powers, the reflective faculties, all attest how much man has the privilege of looking far beyond, far above himself; but the first aspiration of this sentiment (capable of illimitable expansion) was ignorant self-esteem -a vulgar desire of superiority, relatively, not really; finding it difficult to raise himself, he thought of the expedient of sinking woman, and so holding a comparative elevation at a safe and easy rate. Pitiful was the idea, and wretched have been the consequences! The same notion is present to the religious fanatic who fancies that he raises the Creator by the vilest abasement of himself. How little he knows of elevation who thinks that any crouching wretch can, even by contrast, increase another's altitude!-to know that there is a cowering, grovelling reptile is in itself lowering.' Mr. Hervey smiled; as people are wont to do at those who feel strongly, and express themselves so. He felt acutely the miseries which women bring on men, but never paused to look into the causes for these inflictions; if he thought of remedy or relief, it was some such reproof as he had given his sister, followed by profound reflections and pathetic lamentations over the weakness and vileness of that unhappy compound-woman. It was, in fact, the dameschool business done in the drawing-room; the lecture and the lollipop, and leave to do mischief again. 'I suppose,' said Mr. Hervey, taking the 'Paradise Lost' out of his pocket, 'in future editions of Milton we must strike out this line of the book, in which he speaks of the condition of the sexes: "He for God only, she for God in him. " We must expunge from the character of Eve the flattering humility which makes her say, "God is thy law, thou mine to know no more Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise." 'No, no;' said Mrs. Walton, 'touch not a line of John Milton's. I love him as a poet and a republican; but be there notes appended to the text, to enlighten the purblind as to the defects of his moral philosophy. Let every being go for himself, or herself, as much as possible to the fountain-head of knowledge-seek, and accept no mediums, if they can help it; the further from the fount the less likely is the stream to be pure; and, I assure you,' she added with a playfulness that reminded Mr. Hervey of her youth. 'I assure you, whatever you and Milton may think and say, I do not deem you the most transparent and speckless me dium through which we may look "through nature up to nature's God." The first day that Walton left his room, he was placed upon a sofa, and his mother had fondly contrived, in case he fell asleep, to fasten a curtain to a picture which hung over it. Gradually every prop to which he had been accustomed, or from which he could draw support, had been gathered round him; and he was become resigned, serene, and grateful. Emma, his sister, had taken her seat near the sofa to read to him: when she observed a reverie, into which he had fallen, melt into slumber, she gently drew the curtain and left him. One hour of deep refreshing sleep was on him. and he woke with that sense of strength which sometimes visits the convalescent. He opened his eyes widely and suddenly; a figure as suddenly glided behind the curtain; he felt that he was awake, yet the figure of his dream had just flitted by his couch; he tore aside the curtains-Isabella stood before him! The colours of the May-time morning sky are less beautiful than were those which emotion threw upon his face. His luminous and dilating eye, his extending and collapsing nostril, alarmed her; she advanced to him-she put her hand into his. 'Hubert! I come to ask your forgiveness: to thank you for the love I have lost-lost deservedly.' 'Lost!' he repeated. When I am lost to all, and all is lost to me, then-only then-' He could utter no more he would have sunk at her feet, but she forbade the effort, by folding him to her bosom. ; Walton's silence about Isabella had deceived even his mother. It was thought that he had conquered his passion, and assurances to this effect perhaps piqued Isabella; yet a sweet, a holy feeling had led her to his couch, and, before she quitted it, she pledged to him the tenderest vows. The probation she had suffered had not restored all her early acute sensibility, but it had opened her mind, and made it seize on true principles, and, what cannot be said of every coquette she did not carry that character into conjugal life. LIBERTY. The fiery mountains answer each other; From a single cloud the lightning flashes, A hundred are shuddering and tottering; the sound But keener thy gaze than the lightning's glare, From billow and mountain and exhalation |