appear a broken-hearted man. He lived neither as a recluse, nor a misanthrope. He became extremely addicted to field sports, especially to hunting the wild boar; for he feared nothing so much as thought, and dreaded nothing so much as the solitude of his own chamber. He was an early riser, to escape from hideous dreams; and at break of dawn, he wandered among the wild passes of the Bergstrasse; or climbing a lofty ridge, was a watcher for the rising sun; and in the evening he sailed upon the star-lit Neckar.
I fear me much, that Vivian Grey is a lost man; but, I am sure that every sweet and gentle spirit, who has read this sad story of his fortunes, will breathe a holy prayer this night, for his restoration to society and to himself.
END OF VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, DORSET STREET.
