in reward. She was wealthy and distinguished, while I was poor and unconsidered, and the native pride which there is in all the passions, forbade me to approach her, except in the character of one who could offer in position as much as she asked in person. To work out so rich a gain, and dwell ever after in the fulness of the gladness I had won, seemed to insure an exhaustless bliss for all my coming life. For any purpose and on any spur I felt that I had energies to grapple with all disasters and difficulties; and with so bright a star to gild my course, high shining from its bright conclusion, there was nothing which could parallel the pleasure of my toils.

I called to mind the names and deeds of those who had succeeded in life as statesmen and men of action; and I found within my bosom a courage which might buffet such seas of danger as they contended with. I pondered earnestly the means of acquiring what I so much desired, and canvassed all the paths which the progress of the world throws open to the daring and the active. I perceived that the time had gone by in which a man may acquire by action, the sudden and romantic fame for which I panted. Modern tactics have reduced the wonders of the warrior to a mere calculation of figures upon paper. The employments of the state, either political or diplomatic, demand the devotion of a life-time, and the period of happiness is passed ere the sources of happiness are reached. It seemed to me, in reference as well to the advantages of the time, as to my own peculiar wishes, that the trophies of intellect that are acquired by the author's toil were more worthy of endeavour than any other species of renown. To the power which is exhibited in literature, there is attributed an undefined and mysterious depth and extent, which are not suggested by the vouchers, on which in other departments, genius founds its claim to greatness. A given amount of ability, exhibited in the composition of a volume, impresses us more strongly than the same degree of talent evinced in the taking of a city or the settlement of a treaty; for these occur to us as single achievements of greatness which many circumstances have united to accomplish, and which some accidents may directly have produced, while the

other gives evidence of the possession of a power which may be exerted upon all other subjects with equal certainty of success. In literary creation, it is less the act than the ability which it implies, that attracts our admiration. A triumph in the field, or in the cabinet, implies only a victory over persons, and the advantage may have been gained as much by the errors of the vanquished, as by the skill of the conqueror; but the reputation of the poet is the test of inherent and essential strength, for he deals with subjects that are constant in the character of their difficulty, and what he has done once he may do always.

While I was thus occupied in conceiving and digesting my designs of life, an occurrence took place which was peculiarly opportune for the fulfilment of my schemes. My father received, through the influence of some of his friends, an appointment from the government, which promised him a handsome annual income, but required him to fix his residence in the south. In communicating to me information of this change in his arrangements, he stated that it was his intention to leave me at college in the north, and afterwards to allow me to make choice of what mode of life I thought most desirable. This intelligence gave me high satisfaction, for the course of living which it laid open was precisely suited to the accomplishment of my wishes. It afforded me unfettered opportunity to exert my talents as I chose, and left me afterwards to follow up my success as I saw fit. Viewing the field which was thus laid before me, and satisfying myself of the powers on which I could depend to sustain me, I resolved to bury myself for three years in the retirement of devoted study, till I had won some honour for my name, and then to return to Merton and claim the hand of Emily as my reward.

The few days which intervened between the intention and the time of departure, were spent by my father and myself in active preparations for our respective journeys. I had met Emily frequently, and without a direct avowal of the sentiments which burned so strongly within me, the tenor of conduct and conversation had abundantly conveyed a knowledge of what were my own impres

sions, and brought assurance that they were neither despised nor disliked. I deferred till the last evening the task of taking leave of her, and of communicating the intention of those labours by which I hoped to make my name, in some measure, a worthy exchange for her hand. It was late in the evening of a fine autumnal day that I set out for her father's house, which stood at no great distance from my own. The moon had been long risen, * and was looking down through the marble ruins of its temple of the clouds, as I entered the door. It was a noble old mansion, flanked by a large cultivated garden of flowers, and surrounded towards the rear by an extensive lawn, tastefully enriched with various sorts of forest trees and divided gracefully, by winding walks of peculiar beauty and neatness. I found Emily sitting by the window, and I thought that she welcomed me with more cordiality than she had ever exhibited before. After some conversation we walked out into the park, and passed along through the paths which twisted about the grounds until we reached the summer-house in the centre. It was a spot of singular loveliness, planted with almost every species of odorous flower, and encircled at a small distance by tall shrubbery, through the opening in whose circling branches the cold, clear moon was pouring down the enchantment of its rays. We paused together and gazed in silence upon the deep, bright orb. There is always an intenseness of feeling attending on the evening hour; and there is a nameless magic in that look of inanimate intelligence with which the moon gazes upon us from off her moving throne, that proclaims her to be queen, not only of the ocean of deep waters that embrace the earth, but also of the sea of passions that flow deeper and mightier, in the human breast. In this moment, while the interest of nature added fervour to the emotions of man, and while the gentle face I gazed on, and the touch of the hand which I held in mine, assured me of the sympathy which awaited the utterance of what I felt, I poured out in hurried eloquence the story of my passionate love, and laid open the secret of the high ambition of the course to which my coming days were to be dedicated. While I painted the fulness of the passion

which possessed me, and depicted the honours for which, for her sake, I would task my utmost powers by night and day, her bosom beat with a generous delight as sanguine as my own, and with the faith of an affection which doubted nothing, she consented to all the ardour of my hopes. And when under the witness of the gazing moon, I printed a kiss upon her snow-white forehead, I felt as if the seal of our union were already affixed. In the vehemence of joy that swelled through all my frame I tasted a deep assurance of capacity to fulfil all that I had determined. Giving in her smiles the one best omen of success, and promising as long a constancy as I might require, we walked again towards the house and I took my leave. I returned to my chamber, and spent the night in completing the preparations for my journey.

CHAPTER II.

In youth by science nursed,

And led by nature into a wild scene
Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth

A favour'd being, knowing no desire

Which Genius did not hallow,-'gainst the taint
Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and hate,
And scorn, against all enemies prepared.

WORDSWORTH.

Ay, father!-I have had those earthly visions,
And noble aspirations in my youth,
To make my mind the mind of other men,
The enlightener of nations; and to rise
I know not whither,—it might be to fall.

MANFRED.

THE College to which I was destined, was situated in a neighbouring city,-a position vastly better adapted for such an institution, in this country, than the more customary one of a village. It had been long established, was well endowed, and boasted a character and eminence

which were rivalled by few establishments of the kind in the land. The buildings were spacious and venerable, many of the professors illustrious for their talents and acquirements, the libraries large and judiciously selected, and the students whom I found, generally respectable for their standing and manners. In such a situation, I hoped to pass the years which I should dedicate to study, with much profit and some pleasure.

As my purposes were deeply laid, and my resolutions were not taken without a knowledge that I could keep them, I allowed nothing to occupy my thoughts or affect my plans, which had not a strict connexion with the objects of my efforts. Aware of the importance of assuming at once the ground which I meant to maintain, I determined to start such as I designed to continue. My views and feelings were different and apart from those of the persons whom I met, and neither in temper nor intention was there any community between us; and I was accordingly disposed to stand aloof as much as possible. Most of the members of the college had their residence under the same roof, and their meals were in common. Such a commixture, I quickly perceived, would be as little agreeable to my taste as to my pursuits, and I therefore deviated from the usual custom by occupying rooms where I could be alone. The sum which my father allowed me for my expenses was sufficiently liberal, and I hired for myself a small single house of which I was the sole proprietor, and in which I could be secure from all interruption.

I thus avoided the ordinary error of young men,-that of having a numerous acquaintance, and the still more frequent and more hurtful one, of having a single friend. It is doubtless a true sentiment of the moralists, that there are few pleasures in life more elevated or more precious, than that resulting from the wise security of friendship. I would not contradict either the many wise saws, or the few modern instances, which may be found recorded in praise of this sacred tie; but the ordinary attachments of young men, which pass, in these days, under that honoured name, are the sources of more mischief than a dozen enmities. The best that one can ex