procure, within two days at furthest, a couple of fumic'aed rooms? The house must be respectable, and in a re spectable situation."

The fellow grinned in a very peculiar manner. "Yes sir; there can be no difficulty in getting what you want there are plenty such places in this street, I dare say, ti suit you ;—but, as for respectability, why—hum !—"

"Stop, sir!— You'll observe me, Mr. Posadero ;when I say respectable, I mean it in the right sense of thi word. Now, as I do not propose a task without the inten tion of remunerating you for your trouble, we will maki this bargain. If you obtain me such a place as I desire I'll pay you fifteen dollars on the spot, and, at the end o. a week, if you will call on me at the house, and I havf found reason to be satisfied with your conduct, I will add tc that another fifteen dollars.—Mark me, sir,—You eithei gain much, or lose much by this speculation. If you aci honestly, you have thirty dollars of clear profit; if yoi play the rogue, you lose the half of-that sum, besides in. curring the risk of a severe punishment for your impudence. Will you serve me 1"

The inn-keeper changed his deportment directly. "l can accommodate you this very night, sir," he answered. bowing with grave politeness. "At a very short distance from here, there lives the widow of a very respectable tradesman. She has been wishing, for some time, tc rent one half of her house. It is already furnished, though plainly, and is situated in a respectable neighbourhood, and the woman herself is a very decent woman. You might go there this very minute, sir; for, I dare say, i"e English gentleman can give the widow the references she'll require?" *

"Certainly. But, your information is correct, sir?"

"It is, upon my honour, senor."

"Then order some kind of carriage to the door. You shall go with us this very moment;—you can leave your business, I suppose'!"

3tAny time, for a better, sir. Fifteen dollars, clear ,,r. .it, is not to be made every night." The fellow left the room.

"Now, Agata," I said, as I put my arm around the delicate waist of my Andalusian girl, and drew her to my breast, "now, we are one. Henceforth, we will never more be parted, dearest."

"Never more ?—never?" And the bright being.turned her face to mine, with an expression glowing in her eloquent eyes, such as wherewith the first woman' might have rewarded her partner, when she had seduced his easy soul to a pleasure, his better reason and the voice of his maker had bade him shrink from. Only, Agata was innocent. "Mother of God ! when you look thus on me, my weak heart seems to grow sick with pleasure.— And yet,—I know not why, sefior,— Agata was still more happy, when she watched for you in the cold and rain, and said to herself, when the trees rustled in the wind, and she thought it was the feet of her beloved, and her little heart beat loud, 'He is coming now.'"

What is the extreme of enjoyment which it is permitted man to know in this state of existence ?— Not the aggregate of those little pleasures which Prosperity and Health strew around us, (and liberally we should find, would we but count their number,)—no, not this wreath made up of many and various little flowers,—nor yet the succession of those more solid comforts which, moderate, when enjoyed in moderation, make life flow on, a smooth protected stream, never ruffled, except by some occasional impediment that the next instant is carried down the current, or while the rough winds for an hour brush its placid surface,—no, not these; but the one keen rapture that Sorrow, by mistake, has mingled with the pack she heaps upon us,—the single rose plucked from a thousand thorns, at the cost of laceration,—the prize we snatch, at peril of our lives, from the very brink of the cataract. This, this is the bliss (known only to the few,)—this the ecstacy, whose excitement, could it act unceasing on the nerves, would work the brain to madness. A lenitive of pain, especially when that pain is of its own creating, sorrow but adds to its relish, and the sense of guilt urges

us with greater eagerness to drain its opiate draught. Yes! when the raven Conscience croaks in our ears, and flaps her dusky wings before our very eyes,—when Reason and Prudence cling, despairing, to our arms, striving still to stop us, though we drag them in the dust,—when Religion, shrieking for mercy, lies stretched at our feet, and our first step must be upon her vitals,—we break through all—^earless, eyeless, in our delirium—nought present to the mind but the one bright prize, which we vow to feel within our grasp, though the next minute the heavens should open, and launch their thunders to blast' us in the very act of our impiety. Yes! (I speak it but strongly, and justly;—not profanely, nor in exaggeration —) Yes! could the fires of hell itself be made to blaze in our path, and the object tempted beyond them, we would plunge into their midst without a moment's hesitation,— our cry "Perish soul and body; but let—oh, let me reach

it!" Such ecstacy is known to the extreme of love.*

All.seeing God! when thy awful prohibition was written, in characters of fire, on my temples, and every earthly principle, that can further thy beneficent laws, was press. ing at my heart, I rode but the fiercer in my mad career of pission, making the sin a spur to my desire!

Hitherto, in my intercourse with Agata, I had had fe w compunctions to trouble me, and even those few were generally stifled in their birth, as I have intimated in the last chapter; but now, that I was actually living with her, in unlawful union, I felt that I had been, that I was, a villain. Then came the consequences, to double dye the sm:— In a very few weeks, it became evident, to Agata as well as to myself, that the poor girl was in a situation little to be desired, as stood the nature of our connexion. She herself, the innocent being, regarded it with

"Such, likewise, to tkeextreme of hate.

love you, that she never more could feel happy when you were away, and her little heart would beat so hard, as if it would break in two, when the rustling of the bushes told her you were coming,—then, you left her to watch night and day, and be miserable. O, it was cruel in you, very cruel! it was, indeed!"

"But how did you find your way to me, Agata?" "When the Sunday passed, and you came not—and then another, and still you came not, I said to myself, "He is angry with me—he has left me—I shall never see him more!" But I thought that I had never done any thing to make you angry, apd I repeated all the kind words you had ever spoken to me, and thought of your gentle looks, and said " No! no one could speak and look so beautiful, that meant to do me harm!" And then 1 said " Perhaps he has another love." O, that made me so wicked, sefior! for I thought, if it was so, I should laugh to see you dead at my feet, and—and the hateful woman—

I But I rose, and washed my eyes and forehead in

the little brook, till I was cool; for when I felt so wicked, it seemed as if my heart was growing too large for my breast, and as if the blood would gush from my throat. Then I was sick for a whole week. But, yet, when the next Sunday came, I felt well again, and I went, and watched for you, till it was so dark I could see no longer; for, though it rained, I knew you would come if you loved but half so well as I do. I thought I should die, that night.—But when another Sunday came, and still I did not see you, then I said "He is sick!"; and I thought, it I could be by you, to hold you in my arms, and sooth you, and kiss away the tears from your beautiful eyes, as you did for me, when I used to weep at I knew not what,—

O, I thought I should be happy! I had made up

my mind to go alone to the great city, and ask everybody I met about you till I should find you out, when I heard my parents mention they were going to Cadiz on Tuesday. I begged them to take me with them; but the woman 1