ned
when they have not well sifted the cause themselves, and their fortunes
marred, by one stroke on the affections of their youth. So at least have
I read, Madeline, and so marked in others. For myself, I knew nothing
of love in its reality till I knew you. But who can know you, and not
sympathise with him who has lost you?"

"Ah, Eugene! you at least overrate the influence which love produces on
men. A little resentment and a little absence will soon cure my cousin
of an ill-placed and ill-requited attachment. You do not think how easy
it is to forget."

"Forget!" said Aram, stopping abruptly; "Ay, forget--it is a strange
truth! we do forget! the summer passes over the furrow, and the
corn springs up; the sod forgets the flower of the past year; the
battle-field forgets the blood that has been spilt upon its turf; the
sky forgets the storm; and the water the noon-day sun that slept upon
its bosom. All Nature preaches forgetfulness. Its very order is the
progress of oblivion. And I--I--give me your hand, Madeline,--I, ha! ha!
I forget too!"

As Aram spoke thus wildly, his countenance worked; but his voice was
slow, and scarcely audible; he seemed rather conferring with himself,
than addressing Madeline. But when his words ceased, and he felt the
soft hand of his betrothed, and turning, saw her anxious and wistful
eyes fixed in alarm, yet in all unsuspecting confidence, on his face;
his features relaxed into their usual serenity, and kissing the hand he
clasped, he continued, in a collected and steady tone,

"Forgive me, my sweetest Madeline. These fitful and strange moods
sometimes come upon me yet. I have been so long in the habit of pursuing
any train of thought, however wild, that presents itself to my mind,
that I cannot easily break it, even in your presence. All studious
men--the twilight Eremites of books and closets, contract this
ungraceful custom of soliloquy. You know our abstraction is a common
jest and proverb: you must laugh me out of it. But stay, dearest!--there
is a rare herb at your feet, let me gather it. So, do you note its
leaves--this bending and silver flower? Let us rest on this bank, and I
will tell you of its qualities. Beautiful as it is, it has a poison."

The place in which the lovers rested, is one which the villagers to
this day call "The Lady's-seat;" for Madeline, whose history is fondly
preserved in that district, was afterwards wont constantly to repair to
that bank (during a sh