ervescence of romantic passion. His
hour came,--the hour that comes only once; his star rose in the
horizon,--that star that rises so often in vain, to be remembered
only as a thing of dreams; and it rose for him in vain. To drop the
figure,--he saw and won the love of a high-minded and beautiful woman,
in one of the northern states, and they were affianced. He returned
south to make arrangements for their marriage, when, most unexpectedly,
his letters were returned to him by mail, with a short note from her
guardian, stating to him that ere this reached him the lady would be the
wife of another. Stung to madness, he vainly hoped, as many another has
done, to fling the whole thing from his heart by one desperate effort.
Too proud to supplicate or seek explanation, he threw himself at once
into a whirl of fashionable society, and in a fortnight from the time
of the fatal letter was the accepted lover of the reigning belle of the
season; and as soon as arrangements could be made, he became the husband
of a fine figure, a pair of bright dark eyes, and a hundred thousand
dollars; and, of course, everybody thought him a happy fellow.

The married couple were enjoying their honeymoon, and entertaining
a brilliant circle of friends in their splendid villa, near Lake
Pontchartrain, when, one day, a letter was brought to him in _that_
well-remembered writing. It was handed to him while he was in full tide
of gay and successful conversation, in a whole room-full of company.
He turned deadly pale when he saw the writing, but still preserved his
composure, and finished the playful warfare of badinage which he was at
the moment carrying on with a lady opposite; and, a short time after,
was missed from the circle. In his room, alone, he opened and read the
letter, now worse than idle and useless to be read. It was from her,
giving a long account of a persecution to which she had been exposed by
her guardian's family, to lead her to unite herself with their son: and
she related how, for a long time, his letters had ceased to arrive; how
she had written time and again, till she became weary and doubtful; how
her health had failed under her anxieties, and how, at last, she had
discovered the whole fraud which had been practised on them both. The
letter ended with expressions of hope and thankfulness, and professions
of undying affection, which were more bitter than death to the unhappy
young man. He wrote to her immediately:

"I have r