ut enough of all this. Our canvass has been eminently
successful; Edward has exerted himself amazingly. On the
nomination-day he really spoke admirably. It is impossible not
to be struck with his strong sense, his uncompromising
rectitude and steady moral decision of character. He is so
animated, too, by all these subjects; quite enthusiastic, in
his way, about the interests of the people, and the new field
of exertion which his present prospects open to him. It is
plain that he has a genius more fitted for active than for
contemplative life,--and so much the better for him; for a
man, this is the happiest of dispositions: and he will be
happy; for there is nothing in his character incompatible with
quiet enjoyment; no violent passions and feelings; no morbid
sensibility; with him all is sober, practical, and rational.

"Good-bye, my dear Mary. I am happy to think that Alice is
with you. Remember what you promised me; watch over her as you
would over a flower which a breath might, sully or a breeze
destroy. Thank God, you and I are no longer strangers to each
other's thoughts and hearts.

"Your ever affectionate brother,

"H. LOVELL."

Could Mrs. Middleton have intended me to see this letter? Had
she, perhaps, promised Henry to show it me? No, this was
entirely, utterly impossible. It must have been a mistake; and
I would not inform her of it, lest it should agitate and
distress her. Henry had evidently imparted to her the secret
of his unconquerable attachment to me. Was this wise in his
own interest? Did it correspond with his usual caution, and,
above all, with his recent behaviour? It seemed to me strange;
but Mrs. Middleton was easily worked upon: she did not know
Henry as I knew him; she thought him like herself; and because
their minds were in unison, she fancied their hearts were
alike. His power was so great over those who loved him, when
he chose to exert it, that it seemed to me, now, as if he had
taken up a new position, and, through his wife and his sister,
meant to rivet the chain which bound us together. Never did
two people know each other as well as Henry and myself. I
always read his motives through the veil which he flung over
them, and which, perhaps, concealed them sometimes from
himself. He was a practical artist; his own life was the
canvass on which he worked; and that was the reason why, with
a selfish heart and an unprincipled mind, he possessed all the
graces of emotion, all the cha