a feeling or a thought in common, with only a cold and comfortless knowledge of superiority to console them for being utterly unappreciated - who have felt words rise to the lip, and then checked them from a conviction that they would not be comprehended-they, and they alone, can enter into the pleasure of speaking and being understood, and making conversation a medium not only to express wants, but ideas.

Beatrice had lived too much in solitude not to be simple in her confidence. To those who have never been deceived, it seems so natural to confide in those we love. Besides, a happy attachment has such an enjoyment in its expression; and she was too young not to have a girl's pleasure in talking of her lover. No heart in early life was ever yet a sealed fountain. It is the unhappy love-the betrayed, or the unrequited—that shrouds itself in silence. But in the girl, young and affectionate, out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh. The timidity of pronouncing the beloved name once overcome, it is a fond indulgence to dwell on expanding hopes, or to express gentle fears, for the very sake of having them combated. When Beatrice repressed her

feelings, it was from pride, not from suspicion; and what pride could be roused by one so very sweet and gentle as Emily Arundel? — for though called Sister Agatha in the convent, we shall preserve her old name.

The first week or two passed in the mere exchange of general thoughts, small but endearing courtesies, and in correcting Beatrice's English pronunciation. But their intercourse grew rapidly more confidential. It is a common thing to jest at the rapid growth and exaggeration of girlish friendships. Strange, how soon we forget our youth! True, they do not last. What very simple, serene, and sincere sentiment in this world ever did? We have soon scarcely affection enough for even our nearest and dearest. Instead of laughing at such early attachment, we might rather grieve over the loss of the unsuspicious kindliness that gushed forth in feelings now gone from us for

ever.

A purple twilight threw its soft shadows around as they sat together by the casement, a dim outline of each other's figure only visible, when Beatrice began her history. It was too dark for either to distinguish the other's face; and when the young Spaniard sprung up

in dismay at seeing her companion's head drop heavily upon her arm, she had not the least idea that her insensibility was occasioned by any part of her narrative. Remedies and relics were equally resorted to before she recovered, when every cause but the right one was assigned for her fainting.

Emily had thought she was accustomed to consider Lorraine attached to another; but that vague hope which lingers so unconsciously in the human heart, or not so much hope as uncertainty, that had as yet given no tangible shape to her rival, had ill prepared her to find that rival in her own familiar companion. Vain regrets, sorrow as passionate as it was bitter, ended in a feeling that could live only in the heart of a woman, young, affectionate, and unworldly. Lorraine, then, loved the young Spaniard, and "I,” thought Emily, may love her too." A patriot might take his best lesson of disinterestedness from feminine affection.

CHAPTER XIII.

"Often from our weaknesses our strongest principles of conduct are born; and from the acorn which a breeze has wafted springs the oak which defies the storm."

DEVEREUX.

"We understand the whole city was in a state of revolution." Daily Paper.

THERE was a singular degree of similarity and difference in the characters of Emily and Beatrice. Both had strong feelings, poetical imaginations and both had lived much in solitude; but Emily's feelings had been left to her imagination, and her solitude had been that of reverie and idleness. Beatrice's feelings, on the contrary, had been early taught the necessity of restraint; her imagination, curbed by action, had only been allowed to colour, not create circumstance; and her solitude had been one of constant and useful employment. Both had much mental cultivation; but Emily's was accomplishment-Beatrice's was information.

The one dreamed-the other thought. The one, only accustomed to feel, acted from impulse-the other, forced to reflect, soon formed for herself a standard of principle. Emily was governed by others- Beatrice relied on herself. Emily loved Lorraine as the first idol which her feelings had set up, an almost ideal objectBeatrice loved him from a high sense of appreciation. The English girl would have died beneath the first danger that threatened her lover-the Spaniard would have stood the very worst by his side. Both were sweet in temper, gentle in step and voice, and refined in taste.

Emily's history was soon told, with the exception of a name; and their intercourse continued to be equally unrestrained and affectionate, with a single mental reservation. Emily marvelled how one beloved by Lorraine could ever have endured to separate from him; and Beatrice secretly wondered at the weakness which had renounced faith, friends, and home, for a passion which seemed wholly founded on imagination. True it is, that we judge of others' actions by our own - but then we do not make the same allowances.

Time passed away quickly, as time does when unbroken by any particular event. The restraint