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and yet lord Burton wished that time would not fly so fast. · Their conversation had hitherto been on subjects of taste or of literature; but it gradually turned to feelings and thoughts, to the hearts and actions of men. Lord Burton was often a dreamer, and he began to indulge a thousand imaginations in regard to his companion, while he heard many of the warmest sentiments of his own heart come softened and refined from the lips of such perfect loveliness; and he thought, with pain, that the time must soon come, when they were to part, perhaps never to meet again." I am a fool,” thought he, at tength; “ how can I tell that all these bright ideas, though expressed so gently and so elegantly, may not be assumed for the time, or may perhaps be the habitual disguise of a heart destitute of good? I, who have been so often deceived, why do I lend myself so often to deception?” But he looked up from his reverie, and his eyes suddenly met the soft melancholy

glance,

glance, which seemed to inquire why he had so abruptly ceased to speak, and at the same time a slight blush came into her cheek, as their looks met, at having been detected in gazing on him so earnestly... “ There is no hypocrisy there,” thought lord Burton, “ that came from a pure heart," and he began dreaming again.

Conversation can seldom be carried on where there is much deep feeling; thought, and silent thought, will obtrude itself, and leave large breaks in that garland, which, to be perfect, should be varied, but uninterrupted. Lord Burton felt much, for there was something in the manners, the person, and the language of his fellow-passenger, that, without his wish, turned his mind to many past and sad events, that at the same time interested, but made him melancholy, pleased, but shaded him; and on her part there seemed also a train of remembrance, perhaps of regret, awakened, that stole her insensibly away, at every

other

other moment, from the immediate subject on which they were speaking.

Thus they proceeded, at one moment animated by some interesting subject, till each spoke warmly and frankly, totally forgetting that this was the first time they had ever met, but, with all the ardour of congenial feelings, discussing an infinity of topics, as if they had known each other for years, and the next instant, as perfect coincidence of opinion precluded further observation, or, as the peculiar subject led to more personal and exclusive ideas, they 'would sink into deep lapses of thought, which would continue, till some external circumstance placed before them a new object for conversation. . ....

Thus passed the hours, till darkness settled over one half the world; and shortly after they arrived at the termination of their journey, to be recalled to the unpleasing realities of life, by the noise of waiters and porters, landlords and coachmen, while trunks, packages, and band

boxes, strewed the ground, descending in a lumbering shower from the leathern top of their conveyance.

The moment for parting was now necessarily come, and lord Burton felt it painful to be obliged to give up the society of his fair companion, to quit her, perhaps never to meet her again.

Who is there amongst us that have not met many in the world, whose conversation and company have been like half-anhour's sunshine in a wintry day, whose names perhaps we never knew-whose persons we never more beheld? They, as well as the particular moments of happiness which at times intervene between the cares, and nothingnesses of general lifethey seem like the vivid meteors that sometimes flit about at night, and dart a gay and momentary glory upon the darkness of the sky, though the daylight sun shines more brightly, and the moon has a calmer and more continued beam; yet there is something in their sudden splen

dour,

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dour, their quick and brilliant effort, all evanescent as it is, that charms doubly while it lasts, and leaves regret behind for its shortness of duration.

Perhaps there may be feelings that one half of the world cannot enter into, and that one half of those who can will not own: but lord Burton felt them, and perhaps a slight degree of hope, that he might hear more of her, mingled with his politeness, when, in handing the object of his interest from the coach, he asked if he could in any way serve her?

“ Not in the least, my lord,” replied she; "I feel infinitely obliged by your attention.” She then turned to the coachman, and directed that her trunks should be left at the office till they were sent for. .

" Which are they, madam ?" demanded the man.

“ They are marked Stanhope,” replied she, turning away.

“ Stanhope !" said lord Burton to himself, becoming at the same time as pale as

death,

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