he moved. The
difficulties of life were softened--its rewards and joys coloured and
enhanced. I thought of her as a wife, and the tone of my existence was
from the moment changed. If you could have seen her, sir--the angel of
that quiet house--gliding about, ministering happiness--her innocent
expression--her lovely form--her golden hair falling to her swelling
bosom--her truthfulness and cultivated mind--you would, like me, have
blessed the fortune which had brought her to your side, and revealed the
treasure to your youthful heart. I told her that I loved, and her tears
and maiden blushes made her own affection manifest. Her father spoke to
me, bade me reflect, take counsel, and be cautious. He gave at last no
opposition to our wishes--but requested that time might be allowed for
trial, and my settlement in life. And so it was agreed. I prosecuted my
studies more diligently than ever, and looked with impatience for the
hour when my profession (for I had gone to the university with a view to
the church) and my little income would justify me in offering to my
darling one a home. Did I now mourn over the inequality of my fortune?
Did I upbraid the dead--accuse the living? I did not, sir. Too pleased to
labour for the girl whom I had chosen--I rejoiced to owe my bread to my
exertion. She then, as now--for it was her--my Anna, sir--the wreck whom
you have seen--cruelly misused by poverty and grief--robbed of her beauty
and her strength--the miserable outline of her former self--she then,
even as now, was in all things actuated by the highest motives--a serious
and religious maid. She cheered me with her smiles--her perfect patience
and tranquil hope. It was to her a privilege to be united to a clergyman,
and to find her earthly joy combined with usefulness and good. In our
walks, I have painted the future which was never to be--the bliss we were
never to experience. I have spoken of the parsonage, and its little lawn
and many flowers--pictured myself at work--visiting the poor--comforting
the sick--herself my dear attendant at the cottage doors, with hosts of
little ones about her, whom she might call her children, and for whom she
might exercise more than a mother's care. She could not listen to such
promises, and not grow happier in her inexperience than reality could
ever render her; and yet sighs, sighs, ominous sighs, would from the
first escape her. Still for a twelvemonth our nook of earth was Paradise,
and sorrow, th