pirited, often urged on my father. Sometimes, he says,
that had it not been for me, he would not have been what he is. He is my
father, the best and kindest parent that ever loved his child; yet, what
are fathers to you, my Ferdinand? and, if I could assist him, what may I
not do for-----'

'Alas! my Henrietta, we have no theatre for action. You forget our
creed.'

'It was the great Sir Ferdinand's. He made a theatre.'

'My Henrietta is ambitious,' said Ferdinand, smiling.

'Dearest, I would be content, nay! that is a weak phrase, I would, if
the choice were in my power now to select a life most grateful to my
views and feelings, choose some delightful solitude, even as Armine,
and pass existence with no other aim but to delight you. But we were
speaking of other circumstances. Such happiness, it is said, is not for
us. And I wished to show you that I have a spirit that can struggle with
adversity, and a soul prescient of overwhelming it.'

'You have a spirit I reverence, and a soul I worship, nor is there a
happier being in the world this moment than Ferdinand Armine. With such
a woman as you every fate must be a triumph. You have touched upon a
chord of my heart that has sounded before, though in solitude. It was
but the wind that played on it before; but now that tone rings with a
purpose. This is glorious sympathy. Let us leave Armine to its fate.
I have a sword, and it shall go hard if I do not carve out a destiny
worthy even of Henrietta Temple.'

CHAPTER IV.

_Henrietta Visits Armine, Which Leads to a Rather
Perplexing Encounter_.

THE communion of this day, of the spirit of which the conversation just
noticed may convey an intimation, produced an inspiriting effect on the
mind of Ferdinand. Love is inspiration; it encourages to great deeds,
and develops the creative faculty of our nature. Few great men have
flourished who, were they candid, would not acknowledge the vast
advantages they have experienced in the earlier years of their career
from the spirit and sympathy of woman. It is woman whose prescient
admiration strings the lyre of the desponding poet whose genius is
afterwards to be recognised by his race, and which often embalms
the memory of the gentle mistress whose kindness solaced him in less
glorious hours. How many an official portfolio would never have been
carried, had it not been for her sanguine spirit and assiduous love! How
many a depressed and despairing advocate has