reign ministers.
Among these, and highly distinguished by her, was Prince Zaimi, ambassador
to England from the free States of Greece; and his daughter, the young
Princess Evadne, passed much of her time at Windsor Castle. In company with
this sprightly and clever Greek girl, the Countess would relax from her
usual state. Her views with regard to her own children, placed all her
words and actions relative to them under restraint: but Evadne was a
plaything she could in no way fear; nor were her talents and vivacity
slight alleviations to the monotony of the Countess's life.

Evadne was eighteen years of age. Although they spent much time together at
Windsor, the extreme youth of Adrian prevented any suspicion as to the
nature of their intercourse. But he was ardent and tender of heart beyond
the common nature of man, and had already learnt to love, while the
beauteous Greek smiled benignantly on the boy. It was strange to me, who,
though older than Adrian, had never loved, to witness the whole heart's
sacrifice of my friend. There was neither jealousy, inquietude, or mistrust
in his sentiment; it was devotion and faith. His life was swallowed up in
the existence of his beloved; and his heart beat only in unison with the
pulsations that vivified hers. This was the secret law of his life--he
loved and was beloved. The universe was to him a dwelling, to inhabit with
his chosen one; and not either a scheme of society or an enchainment of
events, that could impart to him either happiness or misery. What, though
life and the system of social intercourse were a wilderness, a
tiger-haunted jungle! Through the midst of its errors, in the depths of its
savage recesses, there was a disentangled and flowery pathway, through
which they might journey in safety and delight. Their track would be like
the passage of the Red Sea, which they might traverse with unwet feet,
though a wall of destruction were impending on either side.

Alas! why must I record the hapless delusion of this matchless specimen of
humanity? What is there in our nature that is for ever urging us on towards
pain and misery? We are not formed for enjoyment; and, however we may be
attuned to the reception of pleasureable emotion, disappointment is the
never-failing pilot of our life's bark, and ruthlessly carries us on to the
shoals. Who was better framed than this highly-gifted youth to love and be
beloved, and to reap unalienable joy from an unblamed passion? If his