frequently gains a footing by means even more slight, and more
improbable than these. I shall not controvert the reasonableness of the
suspicion, but leave you at liberty to draw, from my narrative, what
conclusions you please.

Night at length returned, and the storm ceased. The air was once more
clear and calm, and bore an affecting contrast to that uproar of the
elements by which it had been preceded. I spent the darksome hours, as
I spent the day, contemplative and seated at the window. Why was my mind
absorbed in thoughts ominous and dreary? Why did my bosom heave with
sighs, and my eyes overflow with tears? Was the tempest that had just
past a signal of the ruin which impended over me? My soul fondly dwelt
upon the images of my brother and his children, yet they only increased
the mournfulness of my contemplations. The smiles of the charming babes
were as bland as formerly. The same dignity sat on the brow of their
father, and yet I thought of them with anguish. Something whispered
that the happiness we at present enjoyed was set on mutable foundations.
Death must happen to all. Whether our felicity was to be subverted by it
to-morrow, or whether it was ordained that we should lay down our heads
full of years and of honor, was a question that no human being could
solve. At other times, these ideas seldom intruded. I either forbore to
reflect upon the destiny that is reserved for all men, or the reflection
was mixed up with images that disrobed it of terror; but now the
uncertainty of life occurred to me without any of its usual and
alleviating accompaniments. I said to myself, we must die. Sooner or
later, we must disappear for ever from the face of the earth. Whatever
be the links that hold us to life, they must be broken. This scene
of existence is, in all its parts, calamitous. The greater number is
oppressed with immediate evils, and those, the tide of whose fortunes is
full, how small is their portion of enjoyment, since they know that it
will terminate.

For some time I indulged myself, without reluctance, in these gloomy
thoughts; but at length, the dejection which they produced became
insupportably painful. I endeavoured to dissipate it with music. I had
all my grand-father's melody as well as poetry by rote. I now lighted
by chance on a ballad, which commemorated the fate of a German Cavalier,
who fell at the siege of Nice under Godfrey of Bouillon. My choice was
unfortunate, for the scenes of violence a