elp fancying that were its sweet and subtle origin herself to quit
this inspired scene, the universe itself would not be unconscious of its
deprivation, and somewhat of the world's lustre might be missed even by
the most callous.

The morning burst as beautiful as such love. A rosy tint suffused the
soft and tremulous sky, and tinted with a delicate hue the tall trees
and the wide lawns, freshened with the light and vanishing dew. The air
was vocal with a thousand songs; all was bright and clear, cheerful and
golden. Ferdinand awoke from delicious dreams, and gazed upon the scene
that responded to his own bright and glad emotions, and inhaled the
balmy air, ethereal as his own soul. Love, that can illumine the dark
hovel and the dismal garret, that sheds a ray of enchanting light
over the close and busy city, seems to mount with a lighter and more
glittering pinion in an atmosphere as brilliant as its own plumes.
Fortunate the youth, the romance of whose existence is placed in a scene
befitting its fair and marvellous career; fortunate the passion that is
breathed in palaces, amid the ennobling creations of surrounding art,
and greets the object of its fond solicitude amid perfumed gardens,
and in the shade of green and silent woods! Whatever may be the harsher
course of his career, however the cold world may cast its dark shadows
upon his future path, he may yet consider himself thrice blessed to whom
this graceful destiny has fallen, and amid the storms and troubles of
after-life may look back to these hours, fair as the dawn, beautiful as
the twilight, with solace and satisfaction. Disappointment may wither
up his energies, oppression may bruise his spirit; but baulked, daunted,
deserted, crushed, lone where once all was sympathy, gloomy where all
was light, still he has not lived in vain.

Business, however, rises with the sun. The morning brings cares, and
although with rebraced energies and renovated strength, then is the
season that we are best qualified to struggle with the harassing brood,
still Ferdinand Armine, the involved son of a ruined race, seldom rose
from his couch, seldom recalled consciousness after repose, without a
pang. Nor was there indeed magic withal, in the sweet spell that now
bound him, to preserve him, from this black invasion. Anxiety was one
of the ingredients of the charm. He might have forgotten his own broken
fortunes, his audacious and sanguine spirit might have built up many
a castl