precipitous black-jagged rocks,
For ever shattered, and the same for ever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam?"

COLERIDGE.

William Bernard had, of late, been more than usually attracted to the
society of Faith. In habits of familiar intercourse with the family
of the Armstrongs, from his childhood, and admitted to almost the same
degree of intimacy which exists between brothers and sisters with
the little black-eyed girl whom, in winter, he drew on his sled, with
Anne, to school, and, to fill whose apron, he shook chestnuts and
walnuts from the trees, in autumn, he and Faith had never had, during
the earlier period of their acquaintance, feelings other than those
attaching one to another, members of the same household. The fact that
Faith had no brother, taken in connection with her love for Anne, had
caused her to lean more on William, and be willing to call upon him
for a thousand little services, which he was as ready to grant as she
to ask. These, in the years of childhood, were rewarded by a kiss, or
permission to ride on her rocking-horse, or to make calls, with Anne
and herself, on their dolls, and so forth; but as years rolled on,
and vague feelings and shadowy intimations assumed definiteness, a
delicate veil of reserve imperceptibly interposed itself, as effectual
to bar the former familiarity as if a Chinese wall had been built
between them. Yet, for years, no warmer sentiment succeeded; and,
though William Bernard felt pleasure in the society of his beautiful
neighbor, he experienced no uneasiness in her absence.

But a change was destined to take place which, indeed, it is
surprising had not sooner occurred. William found himself, he hardly
knew how, more frequently in the company of his sister's lovely
friend, notwithstanding it was with a more timid step he sought the
dwelling of Mr. Armstrong. For it seemed to him as if the little
community were beginning to suspect the existence of those feelings
which, like the morning glory, shrink from the rays of the sun. They
were too delicate for inspection. They were like the wing of the
butterfly or the plumage of the humming-bird, which cannot be handled
without being tarnished. Hence, though longing to enter the house as
in his school-boy days, were it only to catch for a moment the sounds
of Faith's voice or a glimpse of her face, he would content himse