aid Glastonbury.

'Yes, if you could only hear her sing it by moonlight, I venture to say,
my dear Glastonbury, that you would confess that all you had ever heard,
or seen, or imagined, of enchanted spirits floating in the air, and
filling the atmosphere with supernatural symphonies, was realised.'

'Indeed!' said Glastonbury, 'a most accomplished performer, no doubt!
Was she professional?' 'Who?' inquired Ferdinand. 'Your songstress.'

'Professional! oh! ah! yes! No! she was not a professional singer, but
she was fit to be one; and that is an excellent idea, too; for I would
sooner, after all, be a professional singer, and live by my art, than
marry against my inclination, or not marry according to it.'

'Marry!' said Glastonbury, rather astonished; 'what, is she going to be
married against her will? Poor devoted thing!'

'Devoted, indeed!' said Ferdinand; 'there is no greater curse on earth.'

Glastonbury shook his head.

'The affections should not be forced,' the old man added; 'our feelings
are our own property, often our best.'

Ferdinand fell into a fit of abstraction; then, suddenly turning round,
he said, 'Is it possible that I have been away from Armine only two
days? Do you know it really seems to me a year!'

'You are very kind to say so, my Ferdinand,' said Glastonbury.

CHAPTER XIII.

_In Which Captain Armine Finds Reason to Believe in the
Existence of Fairies._

IT IS difficult to describe the restlessness of Ferdinand Armine. His
solitary dinner was an excuse for quitting Glastonbury: but to eat is
as impossible as to sleep, for a man who is really in love. He took a
spoonful of soup, and then jumping up from his chair, he walked up and
down the room, thinking of Henrietta Temple. Then to-morrow occurred
to him, and that other lady that to-morrow was to bring. He drowned the
thought in a bumper of claret. Wine, mighty wine! thou best and surest
consolation! What care can withstand thy inspiring influence! from what
scrape canst thou not, for the moment, extricate the victim! Who can
deny that our spiritual nature in some degree depends upon our corporeal
condition? A man without breakfast is not a hero; a hero well fed is
full of audacious invention. Everything depends upon the circulation.
Let but the blood flow freely, and a man of imagination is never without
resources. A fine pulse is a talisman; a charmed life; a balance at
our bankers. It is good luck; it is eternity; it