asm; 'Happy Man, who
is destined to possess the heart of that lovely Girl! What delicacy in
her features! What elegance in her form! How enchanting was the timid
innocence of her eyes, and how different from the wanton expression,
the wild luxurious fire which sparkles in Matilda's! Oh! sweeter must
one kiss be snatched from the rosy lips of the First, than all the full
and lustful favours bestowed so freely by the Second. Matilda gluts me
with enjoyment even to loathing, forces me to her arms, apes the
Harlot, and glories in her prostitution. Disgusting! Did She know the
inexpressible charm of Modesty, how irresistibly it enthralls the heart
of Man, how firmly it chains him to the Throne of Beauty, She never
would have thrown it off. What would be too dear a price for this
lovely Girl's affections? What would I refuse to sacrifice, could I be
released from my vows, and permitted to declare my love in the sight of
earth and heaven? While I strove to inspire her with tenderness, with
friendship and esteem, how tranquil and undisturbed would the hours
roll away! Gracious God! To see her blue downcast eyes beam upon mine
with timid fondness! To sit for days, for years listening to that
gentle voice! To acquire the right of obliging her, and hear the
artless expressions of her gratitude! To watch the emotions of her
spotless heart! To encourage each dawning virtue! To share in her joy
when happy, to kiss away her tears when distrest, and to see her fly to
my arms for comfort and support! Yes; If there is perfect bliss on
earth, 'tis his lot alone, who becomes that Angel's Husband.'

While his fancy coined these ideas, He paced his Cell with a disordered
air. His eyes were fixed upon vacancy: His head reclined upon his
shoulder; A tear rolled down his cheek, while He reflected that the
vision of happiness for him could never be realized.

'She is lost to me!' He continued; 'By marriage She cannot be mine:
And to seduce such innocence, to use the confidence reposed in me to
work her ruin.... Oh! it would be a crime, blacker than yet the
world ever witnessed! Fear not, lovely Girl! Your virtue runs no
risque from me. Not for Indies would I make that gentle bosom know the
tortures of remorse.'

Again He paced his chamber hastily. Then stopping, his eye fell upon
the picture of his once-admired Madona. He tore it with indignation
from the wall: He threw it on the ground, and spurned it from him with
h