it
would, that I had never heard that air, or seen him who first sent
its melancholy music to my heart. He is gone; but when--when will he
return?"

"Do not take his departure so heavily, dear child," said her father.
"If you were acquainted with life and the world you would know that a
journey to the Continent is nothing. Two years to one as young as you
are will soon pass."

"It would, papa, if I loved him less. But my love for him--my love for
him--that now is my misery. I must, however, rely upon other strength
than my own. Papa, kneel down and pray for me,--and you, mamma, and all
of you; for I fear I am myself incapable of praying as I used to do,
with an un-divided heart."

Her father knelt down, but knowing her weak state of mind, he made
his supplication as short and simple as might be consistent with the
discharge of a duty so solemn.

"Now," said she, when it was concluded, "will you, mamma, and Agnes,
help me to bed; I am very much exhausted, and my heart is sunk as if it
were never to beat lightly again. It may yet; I would hope it,--hope it
if I could."

They allowed her her own way, and without any allusion whatsoever to
Charles, or his departure, more than she had made herself, they embraced
her; and in a few minutes she was in bed, and as was soon evident to
Agnes, who watched her, in a sound sleep.

Why is it that those who are dear to us are more tenderly dear to us
while asleep than while awake? It is indeed difficult to say but we
know that there are many in life and nature, especially in the and
affections, which we feel as distinct truths without being able to
satisfy ourselves they are so. This is one of them. What parent does
not love the offspring more glowingly while the features are composed
in sleep? What young husband does not feel his heart melt with a warmer
emotion, on contemplating the countenance of his youthful wife, when
that countenance is overshadowed with the placid but somewhat mournful
beauty of repose?

When the family understood from Agnes that Jane had fallen into a
slumber, they stole up quietly, and standing about her, each looked
upon her with a long gaze of relief and satisfaction; for they knew that
sleep would repair the injury which the trial of that day had wrought
upon a mind so delicately framed as her's. We question not but where
there is beauty it is still more beautiful in sleep. The passions are
then at rest, and the still harmony of the countenance un