as enlivened with hope, or depressed under the resistless force of the sentiments he felt for her. A stoic indeed must have been the maid, and cold her hearty who could have remained unmoved on beholding such influence, such dominion!
The miniature was still grasped in her agitated hand; the eloquent lineaments still detained her sight, and illumined her fancy: "This," she exclaimed, "is mine; this no one can rob me of; my grief is already soothed by looking at it; it will ever have the same effect; I will contemplate it daily; it will soften my regrets for the absence of the original; it will be a harmless gratification I can always and at all times indulge in." She again deposited her treasure in the bureau, which she turned from with reluctance.
Rosilia, however, soon discovered her mistake; she found that the repeated visits she made to the bureau were more calculated to keep alive than abate her anguish. Whilst in the possession of a resemblance so perfect, how could she ever hope to efface from her memory and affections him whom she had acknowledged to herself was unworthy of them, and whom she had parted with for ever? The inconsistency of such a proceeding thus impressed upon her added to the depression of her
