ht of discovery. The next day he found a small
bouquet of fresh flowers on the rustic seat beneath the window. At first
he scarcely dared to touch it; but with a sudden flash of hope that it
had been destined for himself, he pressed the flowers to his lips, and
hid them in his bosom. Each night now the same present attracted him to
the same place, and thus at once within his heart was lighted a flame
of hope that illuminated all his being, making his whole life a glorious
episode, and filling all the long hours of the day with thoughts of her
who thus could think of him.

Life has its triumphant moments, its dream of entrancing, ecstatic
delight, when suocess has crowned a hard-fought struggle, or when
the meed of other men's praise comes showered on us. The triumphs of
heroism, of intellect, of noble endurance; the trials of temptation met
and conquered; the glorious victory over self-interest,--are all great
and ennobling sensations; but what are they all compared with the first
consciousness of being loved, of being to another the ideal we have made
of her? To this, nothing the world can give is equal. From the moment
we have felt it, life changes around us. Its crosses are but barriers
opposed to our strong will, that to assail and storm is a duty. Then
comes a heroism in meeting the every-day troubles of existence, as
though we were soldiers in a good and holy cause. No longer unseen or
unmarked in the great ocean of life, we feel that there is an eye
ever turned towards us, a heart ever throbbing with our own; that our
triumphs are its triumphs,--our sorrows its sorrows. Apart from all the
intercourse with the world, with its changeful good and evil, we feel
that we have a treasure that dangers cannot approach; we know that in
our heart of hearts a blessed mystery is locked up,--a well of pure
thoughts that can calm down the most fevered hour of life's anxieties.
So the youth felt, and, feeling so, was happy.

CHAPTER XXXIV. A MINISTER'S LETTER

British Legation, Naples,

Nov--, 18--.

My dear Harcourt,--Not mine the fault that your letter has lain six
weeks unanswered; but having given up penwork myself for the last
eight months, and Crawley, my private sec., being ill, the delay was
unavoidable. The present communication you owe to the fortunate arrival
here of Captain Mellish, who has kindly volunteered to be my amanuensis.
I am indeed sorely grieved at this delay. I shall be _desole_ if it
occasion