not be ascertained. For my part, it struck me that the recollection of his former adventure with a rival at that moment crossed his mind, and I did not feel any pleasure in the idea.

In the evening I was asked for music. I sat down to the piano, and after playing a few things, my aunt asked me for her favourite song, one of Moore's, which she used to warble in her younger days

"When Time which steals our years away."

When I had ceased singing it, Mr. Oswald asked me if I had the words. I handed to him the book which contained them, and saw him take up a pen, which lay on the writing-table near, and a half sheet of paper. He sat down, as I thought, to copy them out, and I felt rather annoyed at his spending in that way the time which might be, in my opinion, better employed in conversing with me. To my great surprise, as he took leave of me at night, and, as usual, shook hands, I felt a paper placed in

mine, which I was careful not to let fall; he was gone before I examined it. The rest of the party being still occupied by their rubber at whist, took no notice of what passed. The paper contained nothing but a parody, written off-hand, on the song I had sung, and, I confess, I was a little disappointed, though the inuendos in it are certainly strong. I here transcribe it for you.

66 Though time which steals our years away,
May steal your friendship too,

My faithful heart unchanged shall stay,

And linger still by you.

Still through the gloom of cheerless days,

My only hope shall be,

That memory in your breast may raise

One transient thought of me.

If sauntering through some lonely bowers,

Or woods, or meadows wide,

Oh! think sometimes on those blest hours
When I was by your side.

Whilst you of festive cheer partake,

Or charm with song divine,

One sigh may fond remembrance wake,

Which I may claim as mine.

And could some Zephyr's airy wing

Waft to my soul that sigh,
Consoling pleasure it would bring,

And hope might hover nigh.

But hope's bright ray's for ever set

For me, and though replete,

With unavailing sad regret,

"Tis memory now I greet.

From her alone the comfort springs,
Which now remains for me,

If whilst we're parted e'er, she brings
My image back to thee."

A. O.

This seems to me more an adieu than a declaration of love. Perhaps, however, in my next letter I may be able to inform you if these verses are merely an effusion of a poet's gallantry, or if they really come from his heart. Farewell, for the letter-carrier is waiting, and I have not time to write a word more.

LETTER XI.

I HAVE been very remiss in writing to you, my dear friend. For some days past my time and my thoughts have been too much occupied to bestow any, even upon you; but now my mind feels more composed, and I will not defer telling you that I am happy, inexpressibly happy, for I can no longer doubt the love of Alan Oswald.

He came the day after he had given me the verses, which I sent you in the letter which I despatched to the post that morning. I was walking at a little distance from the house when I met him. We were both embarrassed; but his eyes were fixed on me, although he did not speak, and he pressed my hand within his. I was the first to break the silence.

"I thank you for the parody you gave me,"

said I,

"and should like your verses very

much, if I could think them sincere."

"Can you

"Can you doubt it?" said he. doubt their coming from a heart full of love, but which, perhaps, you already despise for daring to avow it? Is it not so?" he cried passionately, raising the hand he held to his lips, but I suspect with something like a conviction that his heart was not despised, though he said so.

"Tell me," said I, "tell me the truth, and do not deceive me, if you do not really love me; 'tis all I ask!"

"Oh heavens! oh earth," he cried, "bear witness to my love." He clasped me to his heart, and I felt no inclination to push him from me. That moment bound me to him for ever, yet I was glad there was no witness to this scene, which did not last more than a few minutes. We walked on together, and he asked me how I could doubt his loving me, and if it was possible that any one could do otherwise.

"Never," said he, "never before had I an idea of one so beautiful as yourself, and withal