ful, but not seeing you; I would be a servanta slave-a dog, as long as I could be with you; hear one tone of your voice, catch one glance of your eye. I scarcely see the paper before me, my thoughts are so straggling and confused. Write to me one word, Falkland; one word, and I will lay it to my heart, and be happy.

FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND TO

LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE.

Hotel, London.

I HASTEN to you, Emily-my own and only

love. Your letter has restored me to life. Tomorrow we shall meet.

E. F.

It was with mingled feelings, alloyed and embittered, in spite of the burning hope which predominated over all, that Falkland returned to E. He knew that he was near the completion of his most ardent wishes; that he was within the grasp of a prize which included all the thousand objects of ambition, into which, among other men, the desires are divided: the only dreams he had ventured to form for years, were about to kindle into life. He had every reason to be happy ;-such is the inconsistency of human nature, that he was almost wretched. The morbid melancholy, habitual to him, threw its colourings over every emotion and idea. He knew the character of the woman whose affections he had seduced; and he trembled to think of the doom to which he was about to condemn her. With this, there came over his mind a long train of dark and remorseful

recollections. Emily was not the only one whose destruction he had prepared. All who had loved him, he had repaid with ruin; and one-the first-the fairest-and the most loved, with death.

That last remembrance, more bitterly than all, possessed him. It will be recollected that Falkland, in the letters which begin this work, speaking of the ties he had formed after the loss of his first love, says, that it was the senses, not the affections, that were engaged. Never, indeed, since her death, till he met Emily, had his heart been unfaithful to her memory. Alas! none but those who have cherished in their souls an image of the dead; who have watched over it for long and bitter years in secresy and gloom; who have felt that it was to them as a holy and fairy spot which no eye but theirs could profane; who have filled all things with recol

lections as with a spell, and made the universe one wide mausoleum of the lost;-none but those can understand the mysteries of that regret which is shed over every after passion, though it be more burning and intense ;-that sense of sacrilege with which we fill up the haunted recesses of the spirit with a new and a living idol, and perpetrate the last act of infidelity to that buried love, which the heavens that now receive her, the earth where we beheld her, tell us, with the unnumbered voices of Nature, to worship with the incense of our faith.

His carriage stopped at the lodge. The woman who opened the gates gave him the following note:

"Mr. Mandeville is returned; I almost fear that he suspects our attachment. Julia says,

that if you come again to E, she will inform him. I dare not, dearest Falkland, see you here. What is to be done? I am very ill and feverish my brain burns so, that I can think, feel, remember nothing, but the one thought, feeling, and remembrance;-that through shame, and despite of guilt, in life, and till death, I am yours.

"E. M."

As Falkland read this note, his extreme and engrossing love for Emily doubled with each word: an instant before, and the certainty of seeing her had suffered his mind to be divided into a thousand objects; now, doubt united them once more into one.

He altered his route to L, and despatched from thence a short note to Emily, imploring