is destined to remain alone in turn; one has lived in a solitude on this side the cradle, the other will pass through a solitude beyond a tomb; the past has been a desert to the former, the future will prove a desert to the latter. It is difficult to love with all the conditions of happiness, youth, beauty, suitable time, and harmony of heart, taste, character, graces, and years.

Miss

Having had a fall from my horse, I remained for some time at Mr. -'s house. It was winter; the dreams of my life began to fade away before reality. became more reserved; she ceased to bring me flowers; she was not disposed to sing.

Had any one told me, that I should pass the remainder of my life, unknown, in the bosom of this retired family, I should have died with pleasure: nothing is wanting to love but continuance, to be at once Eden before the fall, and Hosanna without end. Grant, that beauty remains, that youth does not decay, and that the heart never wearies, and you reproduce Heaven. Love is so completely the sovereign happiness, that it is haunted by the desire of being eternal; it pronounces no oaths but those which are irrevocable. If joys fail, it seeks to eternise its sorrows; a fallen angel, love still continues to use the language which it employed in its incorruptible sojourn; its hope is, never to cease; in its double nature, and double illusions here below, it aims at perpetuation by immortal thoughts and endless generations.

With dread I saw the moment approaching, when I should be obliged to withdraw. On the evening of the day announced for my departure, the dinner was gloomy. To my great astonishment, Mr. withdrew with his daughter at the dessert, and I was left alone with his wife. She became extremely embarrassed: I thought she was going to reproach me for an attachment which she had discovered, but of which I had never spoken. She looked at me-cast down her eyesand blushed; she was extremely attractive in her embarrassment, and there is no sentiment of tenderness which she might not have inspired herself. At length, making a great effort to overcome the feeling which deprived her of speech: "Sir,” said she, in English, " you have seen my embarrassment: I do not know whether Charlotte is agreeable to you; but it is impossible to deceive a mother: and my daughter certainly has

become attached to you. Mr. and myself have considered the matter; you are in all respects agreeable to us; we believe you would make our daughter happy. You have no country; you have just lost your relations: your property is sold, what then can recal you to France? Till you inherit our property, you shall live with us.”

Of all the distress I ever experienced, that was the most sensible and the greatest. I threw myself at Mrs. ——ʼs knees-I covered her hands with my kisses and tears. She thought these were tears of joy, and she began to sob from pleasure. She put out her hand to ring the bell,—called for her husband and her daughter. "Stop,” I cried, "I am married!" She fainted.

I went out, and without going to my room again, left the house on foot. I reached Beccles, and after having written a letter to Mrs. of which I regret not having kept a

Poor,

copy, I posted off to London. I have ever retained the most agreeable, most tender, and most grateful recollection of this event. Before my renown, Mr. -'s was the only family which took an interest in my well-being, and received me with true kindness. unknown, proscribed, without attraction or beauty, there was presented to me the prospect of a happy future, a country, a delightful wife to rescue me from my forlorn condition, a mother almost as beautiful, to take the place of my aged mother, and a father, well informed, amiable, and attached to learning, to replace him of whom Heaven had deprived me ; what had I as compensation for all that? There could be no illusion in their choice of me; I had a right to believe myself beloved. Since that time I have only met with one attachment sufficiently exalted to inspire me with the same confidence. As to the interest, which I may have appeared afterwards to excite, I have never been able to discover whether external causes, the voice of fame, the splendour of condition, the éclat of high literary or political positions, were not the attractions which drew towards me admiration and zeal.

Moreover, by marrying Charlotte, my whole character in life would have been changed; buried in an English county, I should have become a country gentleman: not a single line would have ever fallen from my pen; I should even have forgotten my language, for I was accustomed to write in English, and I

I

began to think also in English. Would my country have lost much by my disappearance? If I could lay aside what has consoled me, I would say that I might have reckoned already many days of calm, instead of those of trouble, which have fallen to my lot. What would the Empire, the Restoration, the divisions and quarrels of France have been to me? should not have been obliged every morning to palliate faults and to combat errors. Is it certain that I have any real talents, and that these talents have been worth the sacrifice of my life? my memory survive my tomb? And should it do so, will there be, after the transformations effected, in a world changed and occupied with other things, will there be a public to listen to me? Shall I not be like a man of former times unintelligible to the new generations? Will not my ideas, my feelings, and even my style, be things wearisome and obsolete to a scornful posterity? Will my shade be able to say as that of Virgil to Dante-Poeta fui et cantai-"I was a poet, and have sung."

Will

RETURN TO LONDON.

WHEN returned to London, I was unable to find any repose; I had fled before my destiny as a malefactor before his crime. How painful must it have been for a family so worthy of my homage, respect, and gratitude, to have experienced a kind of refusal from a man unknown, whom they had hospitably received, and to whom they had offered a new home with a simplicity and an absence of suspicion and precaution characteristic of the manners of the patriarchal times! I continually dwelt on the vexation of Charlotte, and the just reproaches to which I might be, and ought to be, subjected; for in fact, I had gratified myself by indulging an inclination which I knew to be unlawful. Was this, then, really a deceitful attempt vaguely made to gain a lady's affections, without reflecting on my blameable conduct? But either by stopping, as I did, in order to remain an honourable man, or by passing over the obstacle, in order to give myself up to a desire condemned beforehand by my conduct, I must have plunged the object of my deceit into regret or sorrow.

From these painful reflections I allowed myself to indulge in others not less full of bitterness; I cursed my marriage, which, according to the false suggestions of a mind at that time highly morbid, had obstructed my true way in life, and deprived me of happiness. I did not consider, that on account of the lowness of spirits to which I was subject, and the romantic notions of liberty which I cherished, a marriage with Miss ——— would have been as painful to me as a union more independent.

One thing remained pure and delightful within me, although profoundly sad: the image of Charlotte; that image eventually overruled my rebellious feelings against my lot. I was a hundred times tempted to go back to Bungay-not with a view to present myself to the afflicted family, but to conceal myself by the road-side, to see Charlotte pass; to follow her to the temple where we had the same God, if not the same altar, and to offer to that woman, through the medium of Heaven, the inexpressible ardour of my wishes, in order to pronounce, at least in thought, the prayer of nuptial benediction, which I might have heard from the mouth of a minister in His temple.

Wandering from resolution to resolution, I wrote long letters to Charlotte, which I immediately afterwards tore to pieces. A few insignificant notes, which I had received from her, were regarded by me like a talisman; ever present to me in thought, Charlotte, beautiful and tender, followed, purifying my steps, by the paths of the Sylphide. She absorbed all my faculties; she was the centre through which the whole of my intellectual nature passed, as the blood passes through the heart; every thing became distasteful to me, for I was constantly drawing comparisons to her advantage. A genuine and unfortunate passion is a poisonous leaven, which remains in the depths of the soul, and would spoil the bread of angels.

The places where I had walked, the hours which I had passed, and the words which I had exchanged with Charlotte, were all engraven on my memory: I saw the smile of the wife who had been destined for me; I touched her dark hair with a feeling of respect; I pressed her beautiful arms to my breast, like a chain of lilies which I might have worn round my neck. I was no sooner in a retired place, than Charlotte, with her fair hands, placed herself at my side. I felt her presence, as one breathes by night the perfume of unseen flowers.

Deprived of the society of Hingant, my walks became more lonely than ever, and gave me full liberty to conjure up the image of Charlotte. There is not a heath, a road, a church, within thirty miles of London, which I have not visited. The most retired places, a bank of nettles, or a ditch full of thistles, every place which seemed neglected by man, became to me preferred, and in these places Byron already breathed. With my head resting on my hand, I contemplated these despised localities: when the painful impression which they produced affected me too much, the remembrance of Charlotte intervened to turn every thing to rapture. I was then like the pilgrim, who, when arrived at a solitary place within sight of the rocks of Sinai, heard the nightingale's song.

In London people were surprised at my ways. I looked at no one I never made any answer. I knew not what was said; my old companions suspected I was touched with madness.

EXTRAORDINARY MEETING.

WHAT happened at Bungay after my departure? What became of the family into which I had carried joy and mourning? Always bear carefully in mind, that I am now an Ambassador at the court of George IV., and that I am writing in London in 1822 what took place in London in 1795.

Some matters of business have prevented me for eight days from continuing the narrative, which I now resume. During this interval my valet de chambre came one morning, between twelve and one o'clock, to inform me that a carriage had stopped at my door, and that an English lady asked to speak with me. As I made it a rule in my public situation to refuse an interview to none, I desired the lady to be shown up. I was in my library; Lady was announced, and I saw a person in deep mourning enter the room. She was accompanied by two beautiful boys, of about the respective ages of sixteen and fourteen-also in mourning. I advanced to meet the stranger; she was so affected that she was scarcely able to walk. She said, in an almost inarticulate voice, "My Lord, do you remember me?" Yes, I recognised Miss -! The