CHAP. XII.

"There be none of beauty's daughters
With a magic like to thee;
And like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me :
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lulled winds seemed dreaming.

And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep,

Whose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant's asleep;

So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee,
With a full but soft emotion,

Like the swell of summer's ocean."

LORD BYROM

LORD Montague arose early the next morning, disappointed, angry, gloomy, and melancholy. He opened a window, and passing through a viranda, inhaled at once the breezes of a glowing summer's morning, and the perfume of a luxuriant Provence rose, that bloomed beautifully in the vestibule of an arbour, gemmed by a thousand dew-drops which refracted the rays of the sun, and encircled each leaf, each bud, with a zone of the rainbow's dyes.

It is not in the heart of man to resist the influence of such a scene. Lord Montague stood to enjoy the perfume and the spectacle; to listen to the breathing melody of the groves, and to contemplate the smiling face of nature. Unmindful of the important crisis which agitated all Europe, each happy peasant cultivated the fertile earth, chanting some favourite national air; always gay and generally happy.

Not a bird parted the ether whose wing was freer, or whose note was livelier than his; not a sun-beam darted from the heavens, that did not penetrate into his heart, and increase his animation.

Lord Montague approached the vestibule of the arbour; he gathered a bough of Provence roses, and shaking away the balmy dew, approached the recess.---Issuing from it, with all the glow, all the heaven of a summer's morning beaming in her countenance, he encountered Isadora.

Never, never had she looked so lovely! The warm suns of the south had mellowed the rose on her cheek, into a hue, resembling the last radiance of a bright summer's sun. There was more glow, more bliss, breathing around her than ever-she had acquired the very complexion of enthusiasm, with that fulness, that splendour, that soul-beaming expression of countenance, which finds instant way into the heart, and is never to be forgotten!

Lord Montague contemplated the effulgence of her beauty with a sentiment little short of adoration. He forgot to regret the absence of that paleness of countenance which he had pictured to himself as so interesting, so dear ;-he saw, he thought of nothing, but the beautiful vision before him; one tint the less had destroyed the illusion, and weakened the effect.

The ardour of his gaze deepened the glow of Miss Argyle's cheek, and added to the dazzling brightness of her eyes. He still held the bough of the rose-tree; her heart beat violently;

it seemed to say, Behold a divinity, clad in the leaves

"Of the lote-tree, springing by ALLA's throne,
"Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf!"

His appearance had fascinated her to the spot; she wished to retreat, but had lost the power; he approached, he spoke; her breathing almost ceased, then in an instant became even audible; he paid her the salutations of the morning in the words of a courtier, but his manner, his look, were those of a lover. He presented the branch to her almost silently, for a powerful emotion rendered his address to her inaudible; it was the loveliest rose that had ever bloomed on earth; enriched with the touch of Lord Montague-embalmed with the sigh of the purest and most impassioned love that can affect mortality.

"I dare not apologise for my intrusion, Miss Argyle, lest you should remind me to depart," said he, recovering from his agitation, and drawing her arm through his. In a scene like this, your meditations are of such a nature, that I may seek to penetrate into them without offending you. In a foreign land, a fine sky and a balmy air always remind us of our country; even though standing on a barren rock dashed by the sea, and sprinkled by its spray, we yet find something-a gale, a cloud, a sunbeam, a sigh of the wind-to bring the scenes of native valleys and native hills before our eyes. With these, the idea of the friends from whom we are separated na

turally associates itself; and Miss Argyle has, must have, many friends. This regret is the most delicious of which the soul of man is susceptible: if it be a pain, it bears so near a resemblance to pleasure, that there are few sensations, even of rapture, for which one would exchange it."

"The feeling is delightful," said Miss Argyle; "but that which immediately succeeds it, is generally the most dreary that can possibly be imagined."

True," returned Lord Montague, smiling "it is like the gardens of Marbaa, in the midst of the barren soil of Mecca; the surrounding sterility renders them doubly delightful. How much an English scene differs from a continental one! In the well disposed grounds of England, one scene rises naturally from another; here, every thing is arranged fancifully. There exists, perhaps, the same difference as between the Arabic and the classic orators; the latter always observe method; the former collect a vast quantity of full periods, acute proverbs, and brilliant imagery, which they string together with wonderful facility, and without the most remote connection. The circumstances, under which we view any scene, always powerfully affect our impressions of it. The gardens of Mr. WalworthMiss Argyle-Isadora-have you ever forgotten them ?"

She looked at him for an instant. Her glance, so tender, so reproachful, so thrilling, seemed to demand, "if it were possible to

forget that spot, which circumstances had rendered so interesting?" Lord Montague clasped her trembling arm more fondly. His eyes wandered over her person: she wore that fated robe of autumnal green, to which was attached the recollection of circumstances so important, so affecting!

You are observing my dress," she said, blushing consciously on perceiving the direc tion of his gaze: "it reminds me always, that I am indebted to Lord Montague for a life-"

"Which it is Lord Montague's dearest wish may be blessed by every happiness under heaven! by all those dear affections that can alone alleviate the misfortunes incidental to humanity; by those intellectual enjoyments which can never be purchased by any thing but by a union with an object of kindred feelings, and equal capability for the refined pleasures of the soul !" he exclaimed, passionately interrupting her, and clasping the hand that reposed on his arm.

Surprised, agitated, almost overwhelmed, Isadora coldly, perhaps haughtily, withdrew it from his pressure. How often, when powerfully affected by an internal sentiment, do our actions appear to express the existence of a feeling directly opposite! Lord Montague, angry, disappointed, and unhappy, immediately withdrew his grasp, bowed, spoke something by way of apology, and slowly continu

ed his walk.

What a change appeared in his countenance! A few moments since, and it was irradiated