versation, for he had seen how woman can suffer and endure; how she will hold a promise sacred, even when a lover is pleading by her side.

Certainly for an heir's portion, the cup of Cunnington's happiness seemed much drugged with bitterness; but so must it ever be with men who, without any calculation whatever, are dazzled by each beauteous one they see. And our hero was magnanimous enough to be more angry with himself than with any one else.

The baron returned in the evening, and rather pompously announced his approaching marriage, and his intention of visiting England in a few months, as he could not he said, like Cunnington, pack up a few portmanteaus and depart.

Cunnington was not insincere enough to offer hollow congratulations, and the subject was quickly changed.

A few gentlemen joined the evening group, and the conversation became general. But, though apparently listening, Cunnington's whole attention was given to Anna, who gave him many messages to her ci-devant governess, and ended by placing a note in his hands as soon as he was alone. He opened it, and read as follows:

"MR. CUNNINGTON,

"The sudden death of my poor brother has, indeed, given me another to add to the many instances I have known of the uncertainty of earthly existence. But certain as we are of the Almighty's power to recall the life he has given, we nevertheless form plans for the future-that future which may never be ours.

"Then, if my life be spared, I shall shortly find myself in your native land, and there,

in all probability, we shall once more meet. May every trace of the feelings we now have be obliterated! I have strength to do my duty, but am too weak to see you suffer.

"Be happy, then, Mr. Cunnington; believe me, as I before said, men often make themselves unhappy about phantom imaginings, and stumble against the block which can overturn all their future bliss. In placing your affections upon me, you have found the intricate path which would allure you from the road of happiness; and as to conquer your love is no merit, but an imperious necessity, so, to do it with cheerfulness will prove your good sense and principles of

honour.

"Mr. Cunnington, if my woman's heart whispers not a false tale, you were born for better, or rather, for higher things than to be the slave of passion; and yet without a strict watchfulness over your heart it will

be frittered

away

in useless amours, for

you

follow too blindly its impulses. It is because I am the daughter of impulse that I understand your heart; heart; I know it is in every one's power to quell those impulsive movements, and I fondly hope you will take my advice.

"If I dare compare any one to you, it shall be one whose memory we have both pitied, whose virtues we have acknowledged, whose sins we have deplored,-I mean Lord Byron. Impulse at length became with him a besetting sin; the self-spoiling of his own heart rendered him alive only to its too ardent desires, and he who devoted himself on one side to a career of unheard-of voluntary exertions for an oppressed nation, frittered away his happiness in unavailing weaknesses of a heart at one moment majestically grand, at another shockingly weak and erring.

Byron was the slave of passions—the minion of beauty's thraldom-a hero in generosity-the very embodiment of tardy, consequently useless, regrets. But, with all his faults, Byron is a character I love; because that heart, so prone to go astray, was, nevertheless, worth the trouble of woman to tame it into gentle submission; like the Arab courser, fiery by nature, which can so gently yield to the master he loves.

"From the moment I saw you, and from what I have subsequently judged for myself of your character, I can imagine young Byron at your age with such an impulsive heart and quickly captivated imagination, but very sorry should I be to liken you at thirty-five to the Byron of that age,-young in years, he was then old in grief; and alas! it is weak to pity him.

"Be above the pity of woman, but still more above the pity of her you have loved;