nticipate
superlative and uninterrupted bliss! Mistaken and delusive hope!
[_returning the miniature to his bosom._] Vain and presumptuous
assurance. Then [_pointing to the grave_] there behold how my dearest
wishes, my fondest expectations are realized!----Hallowed turf! lie
lightly on her bosom!--Sacred willows! sprinkle the dews gently over her
grave, while the mourning breezes sigh sadly amid your branches! Here
may the "widowed wild rose love to bloom!" Here may the first placid
beams of morning delight to linger; from hence, the evening ray
reluctantly withdraw!--And when the final trump shall renovate and
arouse the sleeping saint;--when on "buoyant step" she soars to glory,
may our meeting spirits join in beatifick transport! May my enraptured
ear catch the first holy whisper of her consecrated lips."

* * * * *

Alonzo having thus poured out the effusions of an overcharged heart,
pensively returned to the inn, which he entered and seated himself in
the common room, in deep contemplation. As usual at public inns, a
number of people were in the room, among whom were several officers of
the American army. Alonzo was too deeply absorbed in melancholy
reflection, to notice passing incidents, until a young officer came,
seated himself by him, and entered into conversation respecting the
events of the war. He appeared to be about Alonzo's age; his person was
interesting, his manners sprightly, his observations correct.--Alonzo
was, in some degree, aroused from his abstractedness;--the manners of
the stranger pleased him. His frankness, his ease, his understanding,
his urbanity, void of vanity or sophistication, sympathetically caught
the feelings of Alonzo, and he even felt a sort of solemn regret when
the stranger departed. He soon retired to bed, determining to proceed
early in the morning.

He arose about daylight; the horizon was overcast, and it had begun to
rain, which before sunrise had encreased to a violent storm. He found
therefore that he must content himself to stay until it was over, which
did not happen till near night, and too late to pursue his journey. He
was informed by the inn-keeper, that the theatre, which had been closed
since the commencement of the war, was to be opened that night only,
with the tragedy of _Gustavus_, and close with a representation of
Burgoyne's capture, and some other recent events of the American war.
To "wing the hours with swifter speed,"