that you were frank and upright with Mr. Roberts, when he came to take leave of you. There can be no true dignity in falsehood of any kind, and there is always ground for suspicion that what we hide we are ashamed of; surely you cannot be ashamed of returning the love of such a man as William Roberts.

If I could think you in earnest when you say you wanted to tease Mr. Roberts, I could not forgive you; but I believe no such thing. You are only playing off a little bravado, venting some of your superfluity of naughtiness upon me, in revenge for being obliged, in. self-defence, to be good to him.

I like your comparison of the old Scotch song. The deepest fountains of our nature are all unsealed when two hearts pledge themselves to each other in mutual love. Pleasure, pain, hope, fear, strange tumult, unutterable peace, alternately sweep over our new strung souls, awakening there a latent music that is like a reminiscence from a higher state of being; like the Lord's song in a strange land ; a mingled sound of heavenly joy, and earthly sadness.

And no wonder, dear Fanny, that we are so deeply moved. To have made ourselves,

as far as our influence goes, responsible for the happiness and virtue of a fellow-being, is a startling thought; but when it is the happiness of one whom we love better than all the world beside, the soul almost shrinks with fear from the venture. Yet, is not this the only right view of this connexion? How shall we make ourselves equal to these things? From whence shall we derive help and strength for the faithful performance of these great duties whence but from the Eternal Source of our being?

Love must have the religious principle in it, or it is not true love. It must be selfforgetting, self-sacrificing, infinite in its desires, infinite in its purposes, infinite in its joys, or it is not true love.

I did not intend to preach a sermon, when I began; but I could not refrain from the expression of my feelings to you who have been my playfellow and companion from my childhood to the present time. Now especially that our hearts are throbbing with kindred emotions, I could not help pouring out my feelings and thoughts to you, just as I always have done, as if you were my sister.

We will not allow this new attachment to supplant the affection that we have always

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SKETCHES OF MARRIED LIFE.

felt for each other. We will prove the truth of what I have always believed, that the more we love, the more we may love, if it is not a narrow and selfish attachment.

I have been so much in earnest that I have forgotten to banter you, as I intended, upon your abuse yesterday of matrimony; but never mind, Fanny, you know my creed is, Better change your mind every day, than continue one day in a wrong opinion. I will be generous, and forget what you have said, as you have repented so truly and so soon. Yours ever,

AMY WESTON.

CHAPTER V.

"Words! words! words!"
HAMLET.

ALL the world knows that there is no calculating about affairs of the heart; yet all have an opinion, and decide upon them as though they were subject to fixed laws; and although men and women will marry to please themselves, yet the public will judge of such things as though it was their particular business, and they were the party concerned. Every one said, when they heard of the engagement of the two cousins, What a pity it is, that they could not change lovers! Mr. Roberts is so calm and reasonable - he is so prudent, and has such an excellent judgment

he is reserved and silent; so is Amy Weston; they seem made for each other; - while Mr. Selmar is so excitable-rather hasty something of an enthusiast-very frank and talkative, I should have thought that he and Fanny Herbert would have been sure to fancy each other.

Now, as is generally the case, the world (that many-eyed but short-sighted personage) was partly right and mainly wrong. It was true, that Amy and Roberts both possessed a remarkable quietness of manner. With Mr. Roberts, it was the effect of a deep-rooted pride, that would have considered it a departure from his dignity to be agitated; not because self-control was a virtue, but because it was graceful, and was a proof of power and superiority, not to be moved as other people are. He was a man of strong passions and generous emotions; but he kept them all in subjection to an artificial standard of excellence of his own raising. There was a reserve a want of freedom in him, which had its origin in a want of faith in himself and in others.

Amy had the same calm and self-collected manner; but it arose from a different principle. She never thought of the effect of it upon others; she was unconscious of the power it gave her; she "wist not that her face shone." Edward Selmar, to whom she was engaged, it is true, differed from herself in all externals. He was frank and talkative; she was as frank when she did speak, but apt to be silent. He had an excitable, ardent temperament;