added to my being. Alas! how little do the miserable
race to which I belong know of such a feeling. They blend a moment's
vanity, a moment's gratification, into a temporary excitement, and they
call it love. Such are the many, and the many make the wretchedness of
earth. And yet your own heart, Leoni, and that of my gentle cousin, may
witness for my words, there are such things as truth, and tenderness,
and devotion in the world; and such redeem the darkness and degradation
of its lot. Nay, more, if ever the mystery of our destiny be unravelled,
and happiness be wrought out of wisdom, it will be the work of love.

It matters little to tell you of my blessedness; but my very heart was
filled with the light of those radiant eyes, which were to me what the
sun is to the world. Yet one dark shadow rested on my soul, beyond even
their influence. Death had been the awful conqueror with whom my race
had so often struggled, and to whom they had so often yielded. A mortal,
I loved an immortal, and the fear of separation was ever before me; yet
a long and happy time passed away before my fear found words.

It was one evening we were floating over the earth, and the crimson
cloud on which we lay was the one where the sun's last look had rested.
Its gleam fell on a small nook, while all around was fast melting
into shade. Still it was a sad spot which was thus brightened--it was
a new made grave. Over the others the long grass grew luxuriantly,
and speckled, too, by many small and fragrant flowers; but on this,
the dark-brown earth had been freshly turned up, and the red worm,
writhed restlessly about its disturbed habitation. Some roses had been
scattered, but they were withered; their sweet leaves were already damp
and discoloured. All wore the present and outward signs of our eternal
doom--to perish in corruption.

The shadows of the evening fell, deepening the gloom into darkness--the
one last, bright ray had long been past, when a youth came from the
adjacent valley. That grave but yesterday received one who was to have
been his bride--his betrothed from childhood, for whose sake he had been
to far lands and gathered much wealth, but who had pined in his absence
and died. He flung himself on the loathsome place, and the night-wind
bore around the ravings of his despair. Wo for that selfishness which
belonged to my mortality! I felt at that moment more of terror than of
pity! I thought of myself: Thus must I, with all my powe