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“O, that woman's love ! how strong is it in its weakness! how beautiful in its guilt.”
Can such dishonest thoughts
up in man? Wouldst thou seduce my youth
Honour's a fine imaginary notion
Cato : Act II.-ADDISON.
One afternoon at Madrid, in the month of July, 1547, a young man, apparently about seven and twenty years of age, sat in an elegant apartment of one of the handsomest palaces which adorned the capital of the great Emperor, Charles the Fifth. He was elegantly
attired. His countenance was aristocratic, and his “tout ensemble" bespoke him as belonging to the higher class of society. Although buried up to his elbows in soft damask cushions, his body, subservient to a restless mind, was ill at ease, and constantly changed its position, betraying the emotions that warred within his breast. Ever and anon a deep sigh escaped, but gave no relief, as he frequently pressed his overheated brow. At last he started to his feet, drew up the Venetian blinds, and anxiously gazed out of the window.
“Ah!" exclaimed he, resuming his seat, " that Amos Lodrona is the most unpunctual fellow I ever saw. Ten to one if he will come, and he promised most solemnly to be here this afternoon. Amos is the type of human nature
-he is all self. Egotism is uppermost in his mind-he only cares to gratify his pleasure, and leaves me to suffer torture worse than the rack !
I suppose he is indulging in his * siesta. And he calls himself my friend. Friend, indeed! Was ever term more misapplied ? Is there a designation more vilified