life, and left me at their close the contented being that I now am, has proved a very curse to those connected with me—the source of misery to many, of uneasiness to alt. Yes, my poor Agata, she was fast sinking ;—and never have I seen decay so rapid in aught animate, never have I seen decay so beautiful. How often, O God, in the lone night, when she thought I slept beside her, have I knelt by the bed, and prayed to thee, in the anguish of ray spirit, to take pity on her youth and innocence, and spare her yet a little longer!—stained with crime, have dared to supplicate tfose, to show approval of that crime, by extending the innocent life which was the spring that fed it! a spring, clear in itself as crystal, but polluted by the vile hands that meddled with its waters,—holy in its natu. ral virtues, but threatening to become in time a well of all impurities, by admixture with the poisonous juices of the weeds, that flourished in rank luxuriance round its uncalled brink, growing thicker and thicker, and distilling, day by day, still more and more of their deadly essence into the beautiful, defenceless fountain. How often have I sat out the night, watching beside the bed where lay the treasure I so dearly prized, and which I was so soon to lose, and as I felt the fever of exhaustion burn in my hands and blood-shot eyes, and swell my hot lips, and imagined I could feel the gradual wasting of my cheeks, took delight in indulging the fond fancy that the hectic of consumption was fast drying up the channels of my own «istence, and that I should not long be left to mourn my victim. Singular passion! whose pleasures are thus enhanced, not only by that spice to every appetite, the dread of losing its object, but even by sin, and sorrow! Delicious madness! could the glass which holds the sands of my life be inverted, so that the years already run should once again commence their count, and could the free Choice be given me, whether to err once more thus pleasurably and abide the punishment, or to turn my back on the temptation and walk unsinning in the free exercise of my reason, here, standing as I do within a few

feet of the grave, my soul shudders as it feels that my arms would be outstretched to grasp the cup of delirium!

Once It was close upon day-break; and the pale

glimmer of the east stole through the curtains of the windows, to mingle with the redder light from a lamp

which burned in the apartment, making it dim, 1 was

reclining on my elbow, beside my Agata, contemplating her beauty with that mixture of pleasure and sorrowfulness, the first man may be supposed to have felt, when his eyes fixed their last, lingering look on Eden,—for was she not my Paradise ?—alas, my Heaven too! She lay, bright being, with one small hand spread out upon her perfect bosom, the delicate ends of its fingers just dimpling the soft pure flesh, and the other, the left, partly hiding the ear upon the right side, the arm to which it belonged being bent over her head. Her sleep was gentle as that which nourishes a happy child; and her imagination appeared to be inwrapped in visions of pleasantness,—for a smile was sporting with the roses of her

mouth her mouth! Love himself had fashioned it.

and his mother, as it came warm from his plastic hand, had stamped it with her own kiss, to be thenceforth the seat of every fascination! But, to me, though soft and pure the finely rounded bosom, and delicate the hand that shaded it, though singular in its perfection the little ear, and fascinating the smiling mouth, neither mouth nor ear, nor hand, nor bosom, was half so beautiful as the poor wan cheeks—for they appealed for interest to my heart:—and my foolish eyes grew dim, as they read the evidence of my own fickleness, and of the constancy ol her who was perishing its victim. Suddenly Agata awoke, with a gentle sigh, and folded her soft arms round nry neck.

"Still awake ?" breathed the voice that was ever music in my ears, "Do you never sleep? You are always watching, love," (—my Andalasian girl no longer addressed me by the cold title of senor, but had learned to imitate my terms of endearment.)

"I watch for thee, Agata; I wake to gaze upon thy beauty, dearest."

"Flatterer! But you know not what a beautiful dream I have had!"

"Tell it to me, dearest."

"You shall kiss me, then."

"There, then, sweet one; and there. Now tell me."

"Fix your eyes upon me —so— and I will tell you.— I dreamed that I was once more sitting in the beautiful place where I first saw my beloved, and that you were beside me, and the sky was shining all blue above us, and the water of my little spring sparkling clear at our feet— so clear I could count every pebble at its bottom; and I thought that your eyes were looking into mine, all bright and happy through their tears—just as they are now. And then I thought that you took my hand in yours, and whispered in my ear those kind and beautiful* words which first won the little heart of Agata, and I listened, and smiled, and sighed, and we were both so happy. O, my beloved! shall we never see that spot again, and sit once more upon the long smooth stone, by my pretty brook?"

"We dare not, Agata; you would run too great a risk flf being discovered."

"Why, did you not say, some time ago, tha^ny friends all think me dead?"

"Yes, that you drowned yourself, the very night you led from the inn—to seek your truant, dearest; and they think so still. But should they see you again, your appearance is so remarkable they would recognize you instantly, my Agata."

nary brilliancy of her eyes, which, in turn, gained additional lustre from the contrast of the skin. But there was another feature, besides the eyes, which retained all its beauty, or even shone with more,—the mouth,— whose fascination no man, with nerves like mine, could encounter unmoved.

"Agata," I said, taking the hand of the poor girl, while my womanish nature rushed to my eyes, as I witnessed the emaciation I had so unthinkingly caused,— you are not well, dearest; your face is pale and thin, and this little hand is hot with fever. Are you indeed unwell?"

"Yes; I have been;—but I am better now. I always am well, perfectly well, when you are kind to me, senor." A short, hollow, cough, which impeded her utterance for a moment, mocked too plainly this assertion. I shuddered as I heard it, and the shudder was renewed as the bitter exclamation sprang within me, ' God of goodness! is my levity then doomed to be the blight of all things good and beautiful that come wifliin its influence!' Agata continued,—" Yes, I have been very ill, senor. Do you remember the Sunday before the last—how it rained' On that day, I rose from a bed of sickness to meet you. My limbs were so feeble they trembled under me, but I reached the spot. There I waited till there was no more light;—I was wet to the skin, and cold, and cheerless,— but I did not mind it,—for, when the rain came in my face, and my teeth chattered, I drew my wet veil closer round me, and said, " He may yet come," and felt the rain and cold no more. How I got home I know not. Nor do I know any thing more that happened to me for four whole days; but my friends tell me, that I was lightheaded, and that I talked of many strange things which they could not understand. They believed I should die: but when I opened my eyes, and knew every body, anil could think again, then I thought of you, senor, and ot' the Sunday yet to come, and I hoped, till I was again strong.—Is it strange then that my face should be pale and thin, and my hands hot with fever ?—O, senor, your tears are falling on my hand, drop after drop, one, two, —three! You weep for Agata! Can you, then, drive her from you? Will you send her away to die ?—O, why will you not speak? See, I am at your feet! Here, on my knees, I beg—do not send me from you! Let me, at least, be nigh you—in the same street^—in the same city —I shall be content! I'll find some work to maintain me, and once, only once a-day, I will come to see you, and you shall press me to your bosom, and place your soft hand on my temples, and feel how they beat for joy. and I shall be happy, very happy !—Your tears fall hotter, and faster! yet you do not speak !—but only move your head, so sadly! O, say! if there is a reason why we may not live together, tell it to me, and then I will go back to my little brook, and lay me down beside it, and die in peace—only do speak!"

There was a reason ;—but I durst not tell it. I was silent.

Suddenly, she started to her feet,—her eyes blazing with a fury, which would have been sublime in a man, but in a woman, and a woman like Agata, was horrible. "Are you tired of me, senor 1"

"Tired of you ?" I exclaimed, mournfully. "Look at me, Agata." Her eyes met mine for an instant, and, reading there, a complete refutation of her suspicions, she ran to me, crying "No, no !—Forgive me!" and threw her arms about my neck, and, hiding her face in my bosom, sobbed long and heavily.

I suffered her emotion to exhaust itself, and, then, I gently put her from me, and. kissing once the rosebud of her lips, I said, "You have conquered, Agata. See,, now, what I will do for you."

I called the keeper of the inn. When the man was ix>me, " Landlord," I asked, "do you know where I can Vol. II. 18