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wish—all I wish to be. O, you know not what power you have over me !” “‘I cannot trust that power! All who have trusted it, have repented of it. In the past you have submitted to one temptation after another, and what security is there for the future ? And, could that security be given, it would not be sufficient for me. No-forgive me in saying it, duty imposes it on me—I could never give my hand to a person, allowing him to be reformed, who has, in former life, been familiarized with vice. This will convince you, that I never can be yours. No-And in withdrawing my hand from you, I do it with a resolution of never giving it to any other! Yes—my vain dream of bliss is followed by real sorrows! and I only blame my own indiscretion for it!” “The tears flowed freely as she ceased. Lefevre stood motionless. The struggle was deep in his soul. Hope expired—despair triumphed—the conflict of the passions produced a calm more dreadful than their violence. At length, raising his eyes, and forgetful for the moment of those about him, he exclaimed, with a tone as deep as his feeling, “O God! it is thine hand—and I deserve it!” Then catching her hand he pressed and repressed it to his burning lips, and dropping it, said. “There! now it's all over ! now I'm a lost man! The outcast of Providence!—I have no friend!—no—neither in heaven nor on earth!—O, weep not for me—I deserve it not! Best of women! I ought not to be yours—I am not worthy of you! Forget me— Tell me I have not power to make you unhappy—that alone can give me some comfort!’ “He paused—but was answered only by sobs and tears.
He was passing to the door, but checking himself, he turned back, and said—"At least Miss D , do me the justice to believe, that, in my conduct before you, I was not acting a part. No-whatever I have been—whatever I may be—I was not a hypocrite. I acted uprightly—and really meant to be what I professed—Farewell—for ever
She hastened to a window that commanded a corner of the
ness, however, like happiness, is not the inhabitant of
cool and refreshing, and seemed inviting him to its very bosom. He listened—not a sound was to be heard. He looked round—not a living creature was to be seen. His purpose strengthened—he started on his feet. His spirit shuddered with horror—not at the leap to the waters—but at the idea of rushing into the presence of the great God he had offended ! He walked about in agitation—sat down again. He postponed a purpose which he had not power either to break or ful&l—he would do it when the tide came to a certain height. His aching eye hung over the bank, watching the awful progress of the rippling waters. Now they ran over the stone, which was to fill up the measure of his time—but they sank again! The blood fell back to his heart, and the sweat drops sprang on his forehead! Now again the little waves ripple over the mark—and— subside no more . He rises from his seat for the last time! He starts to see a person in the path which ran along the bottom of the bank. He paused to get the stranger out of sight. This was not so readily done. He waited—and waited; and, at last concluding the intruder meant to watch him, he descended to the pathway, and left the place, full of indignation.” Vol. II. page 102. Thus happily discovered, he is restored to his distracted mother, but the solicitude of his friends moves him only to the determination of hiding his disgraced head. He finds an opportunity to abscond again, and enlists in a regiment ordered to Canada. The last glimpse of his native land effected what every other effort had failed to do— it is thus beautifully described. “The ship now stood out to sea, and every object was
distanced to his sight. He painfully felt each inch of the way the vessel made. Soon the light of day became fainter, and the distance more considerable; till England only appeared as a promontory on which nothing could be distinguished, except the deep fogs that surrounded its foot, and the dim, heavy glory that pressed its summit. Imagination still ran over its favourite spots, and his affections, so long inactive, obstinately clung to his friends, now the hand of time threatened to separate him from them for ever. His distressed thoughts flew from thing to thing, and from one beloved person to another, busy but restless; as though the opportunity of dwelling on them would be lost to him, immediately the receding point of land should sink in the dark horizon. The vessel heaved—and his eye was thrown from the dear spot on which it hung! He shifted his position—and strained every nerve of sight to recover it. Now he saw it! no, it was a mist! Now!— no, it was a wave Still his eye pierced to the line that bounded the sky and water; but, no—nothing could be found !—Indescribable anguish swelled within him. A thousand tender ties seemed snapped at once. All the smothered sentiments of friendship, of filial affection, of local endearment, invigorated by the love of country, a passion so often found to survive other attachments, rose in his soul. The depths of sorrow were broken up—tears gushed from his eyes—he sank down on the deck, and long and bitterly did he weep!" Vol. II. page 156. Salutary were the tears of Lefevre—They relieved the gloomy torpor of his soul. “The light of heaven seemed beaming through the