all their work is done the
instant the virtuous determination is formed. Now, the fact is, that the
real work is not even begun; and if exertion be suspended at the point at
which it is most needed, the resolute individual is in greater danger of
miscarriage than if he had not resolved at all, but had permitted things
to take their own course and natural direction. I do believe that Margaret
received Michael on the following day without deeming it in the slightest
degree incumbent upon her to act upon the offensive. She established
herself behind her decision and her prayers, and, relying upon such
fortifications, would not permit the idea of danger. A child might have
prophesied the result. Michael was always at her side--Margaret's
departure from the cottage was postponed day after day. The youth, who in
truth ardently and truly loved the gentle widow, had no joy away from her.
He supplied her with books, the choice of which did credit to his
refinement and good taste. Sometimes she perused them alone--sometimes he
read aloud to her. His own hand culled her flowers, and placed the
offering on her table. He met her in her walks--he taught her botany--he
sketched her favourite views--he was devoted to her, heart and soul. And
_she_--but they are sitting now together after a month's acquaintance, and
the reader shall judge of Margaret by what he sees. It is a day for lovers.
The earth is bathed in light, and southerly breezes, such as revive the
dying and cheer their heavy hours with promises of amendment and recovery,
temper the fire that streams from the unclouded sun. In the garden of the
cottage, in a secluded part of it, there is a summer-house--call it
beauty's bower--with Margaret within--and honeysuckle, clematis, and the
passion flower, twining and intertwining, kissing and embracing, around,
above, below, on every side. There they are sitting. He reads a book--and
a paragraph has touched a chord in one of the young hearts, to which the
other has responded. She moves her foot unconsciously along the floor, her
downcast eye as unconsciously following it. He dares to raise his look,
and with a palpitating heart, observes the colour in her cheek, which
tells him that the heart is vanquished, and the prize is won. He tries to
read again, but eyesight fails him, and his hand is shaking like a leaf.
His spirit expands, his heart grows confident and rash--he knows not what
he does--he cannot be held back, though death be