" You will be almost what you were, dear Arthur," I said to
him one day when he began to despond ; " indeed, I forget that
you are not the same. Judge me by yourself: would you look
at me with less of true love's preference, if I were to be altered
by misfortune ?"

He shuddered, and exclaimed, " Do not mention it ; I can-
not bear to think of it." (I repeat his language, not with van-
ity, but to show his intense love of what he thought beautiful.)
" Let me gaze on you ;" and he fixed his melancholy eyes full
on mine, " lest some awful power should change you. So long
as those fringed orbs beam in their speaking sweetness ; so long
as I can trace the rose-tints on your cheeks, and the deep bril-
liancy of your lips ; while your braided hair lies thus in its
glossy folds ; while these soft hands are white as sun-tinged
ivory ; while your step glides around me, and I can catch the fine
proportions of your modest form ; while your voice falls in sweet
modulations on my ears, stirring up love's echoes, I will bear
God's dispensations on myself; but pray, pray that they may
stop before they reach you."

Arthur was at length able to walk a few steps, though in
great weakness, about his apartment. In my earnestness to as-
sist him one day, I forgot that he might approach the looking-
glass ; he did so inadrertently, glanced at himself, exclaimed,
" My Grod !" and fell senseless.
