Worde to modernize - What say you to the penance ?-or to render an old German score intelligible? or"

"Or in any way, 'to pluck bright honour from the pale faced moon' Come, Miss Hastings, my charity is for this once your friend - Finish the sketch you were upon yesterday, and I will read aloud to you with Mrs. Auber

tin's permission."

The arrangement was made, to my infinite satisfaction. A similar one had been our occupation on the preceding morning, and nothing could afford to me keener delight than the manner in which Camilla listened. My eye was more frequently on her than on the book, and the degree of interest excited by any sentiment, was as legibly expressed on her countenance as by words. Her mind was thus open to uncontrolled inspection. She had no opinions to conceal, and the idea of being on her guard, as that term

is usually understood, seemed never to occur to her. She unreservedly surrendered herself to the magic of the author. The eye turned from the sketch on which she was ostensibly occupied, and upraised to me, sparkled with an intenseness that was communicated by intellect, and had no correspondence with the passionate fire that indicates a stormy soul, and a wild undisciplined imagination. Surely an eye like hers is sufficient to redeem any face from a charge of plainness. Insensate Hartley Aubertin ! He has lost a treasure, and he has de served to lose what he was so incapable of appreciating. Is it possible, that I have known Camilla but four days? Can so short a time have developed her character so completely? The history related by her faithless lover, has been worth more than whole years of common intercourse. Ever whilst you live, Hartley Aubertin, for this confidence vouch

safed, "there is a heart within this wall of flesh, counts thee her creditor."

There were numerous fair leaves of paper bound in the front of the volume, for the convenience of album-scribes. Some of these were closely written, in elaborately elegant manuscript, subscribed with the initials H. A. - The book was Camilla's, and there "needed no ghost rise from the grave" to tell me that these were effusions of Hartley's. The book is before me now, and such declarations as the following are invaluable in my view, because they prove that he had persuaded himself into the belief of a passion for her, which might authorize her to return his tenderness with such full measure, as may be rendered by a loving woman to the lover in whose honour she believes she can securely trust. It is not to the credit of the female character to suffer calculation to regulate the measure of affection. Piety should prevent woman from indulging in exor

bitant passion, not worldliness. I am not disposed to be critical on Hartley's poetry; the sentiments are to me invaluable, and I transcribe those verses which, in this point of view, conferred on me the most exquisite pleasure.

Girl of the soft eye, and the pallid cheek,
And glance of beauty! - Gentle lady mine,
Forgive thy minstrel that no fire divine
Hath touched his lips! -O, that he could bespeak
The flute-like sweetness of the daintiest Fay
That sporteth in the mild moon's whitest ray!

For smiles and laughter, Nature did not form
That serene brow. High contemplation there
Dwelleth, and thought celestial and rare :—
The flush of gaiety shall never warm
The marble of thy cheek into a stain;
Roses befit not thee

their bloom is for the vain.

I would not have thee be a thing of mirth,
Wasting the treasure of thy spring-like smiles
Lightly on all; - oh, when my love beguiles
That glance of brightness from thee, its dear worth
Awakes to music all my glowing soul,

And bends its pride - its powers to thy control!

I love thee as thou art :- I would not have
One tint the brighter, or one hue more fair.
Of blue eyes-rosy lips.—and golden hair ·

And swan-like necks, let those who love them, rave;
I bow before an eye, whose living light

Shines as the stars upon the diadem of night.

It is not love to doat upon a face,

Though beauteous as that one of heavenly mould,
On which the air of Eden breathed of old
Angelic bloom, and more than mortal grace:
That first young bride, as others, passed away;
She had no spells to bribe the vile worm from its prey.

It is not love to dream of summer bowers,
Where roses fling their sweets upon the gale,
And nightingales repeat their amorous tale,
And mirth and song beguile the honied hours.
Love finds a cradle in the swelling wave,

Lives out the storm and broodeth o'er the grave.

In the soul's secret depth is love enshrined ;-
It dwelleth in a home eternal; - love
Seeketh its consummation far above
A mortal hope; -it liveth in the mind;-
It is a part of the deep mystery

-

Of spiritual being;-and-it cannot cease to be.

When the soul of Camilla is touched, it is impossible to accuse her countenance of too great calmness. Her sensibility to the happiest efforts of genius communicates a perpetual mobility to her expression. The more I look at her, the less accountable appears my original error