t night came upon them, supposed that day would never
return. When the clouds of sorrow gather over us, we see nothing beyond
them, nor can imagine how they will be dispelled; yet a new day
succeeded to the night, and sorrow is never long without a dawn of ease.
But they who restrain themselves from receiving comfort, do as the
savages would have done, had they put out their eyes when it was dark.
Our minds, like our bodies, are in continual flux; something is hourly
lost, and something acquired. To lose much, at once, is inconvenient to
either, but, while the vital powers remain uninjured, nature will find
the means of reparation. Distance has the same effect on the mind, as on
the eye, and, while we glide along the stream of time, whatever we leave
behind us, is always lessening, and that which we approach increasing in
magnitude. Do not suffer life to stagnate; it will grow muddy for want
of motion: commit yourself again to the current of the world; Pekuah
will vanish by degrees; you will meet, in your way, some other
favourite, or learn to diffuse yourself in general conversation."

"At least," said the prince, "do not despair before all remedies have
been tried; the inquiry after the unfortunate lady is still continued,
and shall be carried on with yet greater diligence, on condition that
you will promise to wait a year for the event, without any unalterable
resolution."

Nekayah thought this a reasonable demand, and made the promise to her
brother, who had been advised, by Imlac, to require it. Imlac had,
indeed, no great hope of regaining Pekuah, but he supposed, that, if he
could secure the interval of a year, the princess would be then in no
danger of a cloister.

CHAP. XXXVI.

PEKUAH IS STILL REMEMBERED. THE PROGRESS OF SORROW.

Nekayah, seeing that nothing was omitted for the recovery of her
favourite, and having, by her promise, set her intention of retirement
at a distance, began, imperceptibly, to return to common cares, and
common pleasures. She rejoiced, without her own consent, at the
suspension of her sorrows, and sometimes caught herself, with
indignation, in the act of turning away her mind from the remembrance of
her, whom yet she resolved never to forget.

She then appointed a certain hour of the day for meditation on the
merits and fondness of Pekuah, and, for some weeks, retired constantly,
at the time fixed, and returned with her eyes swollen, and her
countenance clouded. By degrees, she