concluded he, "tell me all-once more I conjure you, by those rights your falsehood or death alone can annul-tell me all; and in your care of the life which throbs within this agitated bosom, give me a motive for wishing it to linger there."

As I perused this touching transcript of his soul, mine melted within me. Nevertheless I resolved to act up to the idea I had formed, and snatching a pen, I thus replied to him:

"In giving you my heart, my lord, I own I gave you a right in every action of my life, which, though events may suspend, they cannot annihilate. Alas! the only right I reserved to myself, was that of concealing aught which might render you unhappy. Suffer me then to bury in this bosom the combination of fatal events which tore us from each other. Need I tell you that they have wrung it even to phrenzy; for nothing less could have justified the premeditated shock I cruelly gave you. The deep effect of my presence, perhaps (for why should I conceal it?)

that of your own, join with a sévere duty in telling me, that while thus circumstanced, we must meet no more. The world, a busy, partial judge, delights in beholding the execution of those painful sentences it imposes. Ah, chosen of my soul! remember its afflictions can only be completed, by your failing in the arduous trial I am otherwise resolved to sustain. me not of the melancholy pleasure fortune still allows me, in whatever solitude: I am henceforth buried, of thinking him I selected from all mankind was every thing but an angel.

Rob

"Above the slavery of opinion, I know no guide but rectitude; that tells mej Heaven itself will approve the efforts I yet make to charm you to life, to greatness, to glory.-Oh, awful Father of universal being! whose will alone could snatch from each the only object in creation, sanetify to the noblest purpose these dictates of my reason, and form both for the separate lots appointed us. Elevate the passions of my Essex above the little motives of revenge or malice, sublime his love into

philanthropy, his rage into heroism; and, oh, on the frail heart which now bleeds before thee, bestow patience and resignation, so to pass each long day as if the next were to unite me to him. I solicit not strength to expel him from that heartno, rather may he ever continue its sole object; but be his conduct so ennobled, that when both are called with the whole world before thy dread tribunal, I may look down on the misjudging part of it, and truly say-Father, it is not Essex I have loved, but virtue in his person."

This passionate apostrophe, however highly wrought, was entirely calculated for the romantic spirit to whom it was addressed. I earnestly besought the amiable Essex to suffer this to end the correspondence, which admitted not an indulgence beyond those conveyed in the letter; and gave it into the hands of my friend, with that sweet sense of self-applause, which ever attends the consciousness of having gone beyond a painful duty.

Yes, still this dear sensation remains to mẹ, it irradiates at intervals the deep

gloom which steeps my soul, and annihilates my senses.-I fear I begin again to wander, for my handwriting appears to my own eyes that of Essex.-Oh, how tight my head, my heart seems bound!will no one loosen the shrunk fibres? Hark! Is not that the queen ?-No, it was but the deep voice of the winter's wind.

Poor Essex!-and did my letter thus deeply affect him?-did he so fondly press it to his lips?-did he blister it with his tears? Those I have shed for thee, my love, would have drowned thee had they been treasured." Unequalled EllinorOh, most adored!-Yes, I will pursue the bright wanderings of the pure mind I have assisted to unsettle, and be all she wishes me from this moment.”—Who told him I wandered then, I wonder?-I am sure I always strove against it before him-Ah, dear and precious sentiments, how my soul imbibes the charm!-Have you not a penknife, lady Pembroke, to write these words in my heart-on my very heart? Oh, I

would have them sink deep-deep-would feel as well as see them. And thou too, Memory, treacherous Memory, for once do thou retain the pleasant tone of the voice that repeated them-not even lady Pembroke's own is so harmonious.

Married to lord Arlington did you say? Oh, such a marriage! What did he gain by villainy and fraud?—the insupportable society of a wild wretch, whose weary spirit threatened every moment to escape, and leave in his arms the vile dross he thus purchased. And yet they tell me it is so -he drags me about with him, and calls. me his-his, oh Heavens!-But I am nobody's else, mark that-mark that, or we shall perhaps have murder, and I not there to step between the fatal swords, and see which will befriend me.

Matilda, I have not told you about that, I think; but I am not very able just now, such a heavy sleepiness seals up every faculty; and yet if I don't now, I never may wake more, you know-but I have waked over and over again, now I recollect,