heart was deeply, irrevocably given to William. His constancy, his ardour, and devotion, had far more won upon me than any personal perfection he possessed. His accomplishments and his manners certainly first caught my attention; but it was his deep-rooted and unvarying attachment that gained my affection. Few men, I believe, of the present day, are capable of that deep feeling which is alone worthy of the name of love. Malcolm has proved to me that he is so. When I first saw him, he was light, unthinking, and gay; and appeared merely a butterfly of more varied hues, and brighter colours, than those which fluttered in the same sphere with himself. But as I became better acquainted with him, his manners towards me assumed a more serious tone, and I gradually discovered new treasures in his mind, and new perfections in his heart. He told me that he loved me; but I had heard that so often before from others, that though willing enough to believe it real, I doubted

I doubted long, lest I should be mistaken on a point where my whole happiness was to rest for ever. But when I found, Mary, that all he said was true-when I had the most undeniable proofs of his affectionwhen I became convinced that he was one of those few ardent minds, those warm, enthusiastic spirits, so seldom to be met with in this frozen age, could I refuse him the only return in my power-could I help loving him, whose heart was so deeply given to me? He combated the coldness of my family; he did not yield to the repulses he met with from my father; and was it for me to calculate fortune, to weigh and poise my heart against pounds, shillings, and pence—to barter my happiness against a settlement, or to sell my person for a house in Grosvenorsquare? No, Mary; loving him most sincerely, I resolved to wait till time or cir cumstances might remove my father's objections. It was a hard and bitter struggle I had seldom the opportunity of

for me.

seeing

seeing Malcolm, and still less frequently could I enjoy his conversation; for, prohibited as he was from visiting at our house, it was only by accident that we ever met. But when I found, Mary, that his health was sinking under a passion which he considered almost hopeless, you may easily conceive how painful were my feelings then. We met by chance; I spoke of altered looks-but he would not allow that he was ill, saying, that he reposed full confidence in the continuance of my regard. We were alone, and I know not how it happened, but our conversation turning upon fortune, I told him that mine entirely depended upon my father. No sooner had I said so, than his eyes seemed to be instantly lighted up with new hopes. Now, now, dearest Jane,' he exclaimed, I have no longer a scruple; I had been told that you had an independent fortune; and while I thought so, nothing should have made me ask you to give me your hand, without the approbation

*bation of your family. The world would certainly have accused me of mercenary motives, and even you might have suspected me. But now that has no longer an effect; and let me conjure you, by the long affection I have borne you, if you have any regard for my peace, or even for my life, which is sinking under this suspense, to fly with me to Scotland, where we can be married in private. My fortune is but small, but it is enough for happiness. For my sake you will drop that fatal title, which has already stood as a barrier between us, and which, in our altered fortune, would but lead us into expence we could not keep up, and casting off the society of the cold-hearted crowd, we will live for love and for each other.'

"He said much more that I do not remember; I hesitated-I doubted; but the pain I saw that doubt inflicted, overcame my resolution, and I promised. Mary, what could I do? I had to choose between two painful lines of conduct; I had either

to

to offend my father, whose pardon I did not despair of obtaining, or else to render miserable one I so dearly loved, by means of his very affection for me; perhaps not only to deprive him of peace, but even of life; for the alteration in his appearance is too striking not to aların me. Could I see him suffer? For the prejudices of others was I to make him wretched? How would you have acted, Mary, if your Charles had been in the same situation? if he had pleaded his long attachmentif he had pleaded the misery of suspense; if he had been willing to sacrifice every thing for you, and claimed some return on your part; but if, above all, your own heart entered into all his feelings, shared in his pain, and warmly seconded every claim he urged?-Mary, you could not have refused him; and yet I tremble for to-morrow-I shrink at the idea of fulfilling my engagement, and a kind of chilling anxiety comes over my heart, whenever the subject recurs to my mind.

Oh,