en ease to my doubts?--Was I to be abandoned, Diego, because
I was deceived? or was it kind to take me at my word, whether my
suspicions were just or no, and leave me, as you did, a prey to much
uncertainty and sorrow?

'In what manner Julia has resented this--my brother, when he puts this
letter into your hands, will tell you; He will tell you in how few
moments she repented of the rash message she had sent you--in what
frantic haste she flew to her lattice, and how many days and nights
together she leaned immoveably upon her elbow, looking through it
towards the way which Diego was wont to come.

'He will tell you, when she heard of your departure--how her spirits
deserted her--how her heart sicken'd--how piteously she mourned--how low
she hung her head. O Diego! how many weary steps has my brother's pity
led me by the hand languishing to trace out yours; how far has desire
carried me beyond strength--and how oft have I fainted by the way, and
sunk into his arms, with only power to cry out--O my Diego!

'If the gentleness of your carriage has not belied your heart, you will
fly to me, almost as fast as you fled from me--haste as you will--you
will arrive but to see me expire.--'Tis a bitter draught, Diego, but oh!
'tis embittered still more by dying un...--'

She could proceed no farther.

Slawkenbergius supposes the word intended was unconvinced, but her
strength would not enable her to finish her letter.

The heart of the courteous Diego over-flowed as he read the letter--he
ordered his mule forthwith and Fernandez's horse to be saddled; and as
no vent in prose is equal to that of poetry in such conflicts--chance,
which as often directs us to remedies as to diseases, having thrown
a piece of charcoal into the window--Diego availed himself of it, and
whilst the hostler was getting ready his mule, he eased his mind against
the wall as follows.

Ode.

Harsh and untuneful are the notes of love,
Unless my Julia strikes the key,
Her hand alone can touch the part,
Whose dulcet movement charms the heart,
And governs all the man with sympathetick sway.

2d.

O Julia!

The lines were very natural--for they were nothing at all to the
purpose, says Slawkenbergius, and 'tis a pity there were no more
of them; but whether it was that Seig. Diego was slow in composing
verses--or the hostler quick in saddling mules--is not averred; certain
it was, that Diego's mule and Fernandez's horse w