e fulfilled
my vow!'"

"I believe that alone to be a true description of Virtue which makes
it all-sufficient to itself, that alone a just portraiture of its
excellence which does not lessen its internal power by exaggerating its
outward advantages, nor degrade its nobility by dwelling only on its
rewards. The grandest moral of ancient lore has ever seemed to me that
which the picture of Prometheus affords; in whom neither the shaking
earth, nor the rending heaven, nor the rock without, nor the vulture
within, could cause regret for past benevolence, or terror for future
evil, or envy, even amidst tortures, for the dishonourable prosperity
of his insulter! [Mercury.--See the "Prometheus" of Aeschylus.] Who
that has glowed over this exalted picture will tell us that we must make
Virtue prosperous in order to allure to it, or clothe Vice with misery
in order to revolt us from its image? Oh! who, on the contrary, would
not learn to adore Virtue, from the bitterest sufferings of such a
votary, a hundredfold more than he would learn to love Vice from the
gaudiest triumphs of its most fortunate disciples?"

Something there was in Mordaunt's voice and air, and the impassioned
glow of his countenance, that, long after he had ceased, thrilled in
Clarence's heart, "like the remembered tone of a mute lyre." And when
a subsequent event led him at rash moments to doubt whether Virtue was
indeed the chief good, Linden recalled the words of that night and the
enthusiasm with which they were uttered, repented that in his doubt he
had wronged the truth, and felt that there is a power in the deep heart
of man to which even Destiny is submitted!

CHAPTER LXIII.

Will you hear the letter?
.....
This is the motley-minded gentleman that I have before met in the
forest.--As You Like It.

A morning or two after the conversation with which our last chapter
concluded, Clarence received the following letter from the Duke of
Haverfield:--

Your letter, my dear Linden, would have been answered before, but for an
occurrence which is generally supposed to engross the whole attention of
the persons concerned in it. Let me see,--ay, three,--yes, I have been
exactly three days married! Upon my honour, there is much less in the
event than one would imagine; and the next time it happens I will not
put myself to such amazing trouble and inconvenience about it. But one
buys wisdom only by experience. Now, however, that I have co