their visions for the more commonplace happiness of life, without disappointment and repining.

The hero and heroine of our sketch were not of these. They had loved passionately-wildly. Their parents had, from motives of prudence, opposed their union, considering them as too young to enter a state which requires more wisdom to render it one of happiness, than most of its votaries are disposed to admit.

This opposition produced its natural result,-an increase of violence in the passion of the lovers. Henri de Bellevalle, our hero, was ready to commit any action, however rash, to secure the hand of Hermance de Montesquieu; and she did all that a well-brought up young French lady could be expected to do, she fell dangerously ill. Her illness and danger drove her lover to desperation; while it worked so effectually on the fears of her parents, that they yielded a reluctant consent to the marriage, which was to be solemnised the moment that she was restored to health. The first interview between the lovers was truly touching: both declared that they must have died, had their marriage not been agreed to; and both firmly believed what they asserted.

Henri de Bellevalle, being now received as the future husband of Hermance, passed nearly the whole of his time with her, seated by the chaise-longue of the con-valescent; marking with joyful heart the return of health's roses to her delicate cheek, and promising her unchanging, devoted, eternal love.

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"when once

'Yes, dearest Hermance," would he say, you are mine, wholly mine, I shall have no will but yours; never shall I quit your presence. Oh! how tormenting is it to be forced to leave you,to be told by your mother, that I fatigue you by the length of my visits, and to be absent from you so many long and weary hours! And you, Hermance, do you feel as I do, do you mourn my absence, and count with impatience the hour for our meeting?"

The answer may be guessed: yet, though tender as youthful and loving lips could utter, it scarcely satisfied the jealous and exigeant lover.

"But will you always love me as at present?" asked

the timid girl. "I have heard such strange tales of the difference between the lover and the husband: nay, indeed, I have seen; for the Viscomte de Belmonte now leaves my poor friend, Elise, for whole hours; yet you may remember, that before they were married, he, too, could hardly bear to be absent from her side. Ah! were you to change like him, I should be wretched."

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You wrong yourself and me, my adored Hermance, by supposing me capable of acting like de Belmonte; and, besides, your poor friend, though a very charming person, does not resemble you. Ah! what woman ever did? If she only possessed one half your charms, he could not tear himself away from her. No! dearest ; years shall only prove that my passion for you can know no decrease, and never, never, shall the husband be less ardent than the lover! I have planned all our future life; it shall pass as a summer day,-bright and genial. We will retire from Paris, which I have hated ever since I have loved you; its noise, its tumultuous pleasures distract me. I could not bear to see you gazed at, followed, and admired. No! I feel, my Hermance, that it would drive me mad. But you, my beloved, will you not sigh to leave the pleasures of the metropolis, and to exchange a crowd of admirers for one devoted heart?"

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How can you ask such a question?" replied Hermance, pouting her pretty lip, and placing her little white hand within his: "I shall be delighted to leave Paris; for I could not bear to see you talking to the Duchess de Montforte, and a dozen other women, as you used to do, when I first knew you; and when all my young friends used to remark, how strange it was that the married women occupied the attention of the young men so much, that they scarcely took any notice of us spinsters. I should be very jealous, Henri, I can tell you, were you to show more than distant politeness to any woman but me."

And her smooth brow became for a moment contracted, at the recollection of his former publicly marked attentions to certain ladies of fashion.

The little white hand was repeatedly pressed to his lips, as he assured her, again and again, that it would be

even irksome to him to be compelled to converse with any woman but herself; and her brow resumed its former unruffled calmness.

"I have taken the most beautiful cottage orué, at Bellevue; it is now fitting up by Le Sage, as if to receive a fairy queen. Such a boudoir! How you will like it! We will walk, ride, drive, read, draw, and sing together; in short, we shall never be a moment asunder: but perhaps, Hermance, you will get tired of me.”

How cruel, how unjust, to suppose it possible !" was the answer.

In such day-dreams did the hours of convalescence of the fair invalid pass away; interrupted only by the pleasant task of examining and selecting the various articles for her trousseau, rendered all the pleasanter by the impassioned compliments of the lover, who declared that, while each and all were most becoming, they still borrowed their last grace from her whom they were permitted to adorn.

He taught her to look forward to wedlock as a state of uninterrupted happiness, where love was for ever to bestow his sunny smiles, and never to spread his wings. They were to be free from all the ills to which poor human nature is subject. Sorrow, or sickness, they dreamt not of; and even "ennui," that most alarming of all the evils in a French man or woman's catalogue, they feared not; for how could it reach two people who had such a delightful and inexhaustible subject of conversation as was offered to themselves?

At length the happy morn arrived; and, after the celebration of the marriage, the wedded pair, contrary to all established usage in France, on similar occasions, left Paris, and retired to the cottage orné, at Bellevue.

The first few days of bridal felicity, marked by deli. cate and engrossing attentions, and delicious flatteries, flew quickly by; reiterated declarations of perfect happiness were daily, hourly, exchanged; and the occasional interruption to their tête-à-tête, offered by the visits of friends, was found to be the only drawback to their enjoyment.

After the lapse of a week, however, our wedded lovers

became a little more sensible to the claims of friendship. Fewer confidential glances were now exchanged between them, expressive of their impatience at the lengthened visits of their acquaintances; they began to listen with something like interest to the gossip of Paris, and not unfrequently extended their hospitality to those who were inclined to accept it. In short, they evinced slight symptoms of a desire to enter again into society, though they declared to each other that this change arose merely from their wish of not appearing ill-bred, or unkind, to their acquaintances. They even found that such casual interruptions served to give a new zest to the delights of their tête-à-têtes. Yet, each remarked in secret, that "a change, had come over the spirit of their dream ;" and that, when no visiters dropped in, the days seemed unusually long and monotonous. They were ashamed to acknowledge this alteration, and endeavoured to conceal their feelings by increased demonstrations of affection; but the forced smiles of both insensibly extended to yawns; and they began to discover, that there must be something peculiarly heavy in the atmosphere to produce such effects.

When they drove, or rode out, they no longer sought the secluded wooded lanes in the romantic neighbourhood, as they had invariably done during the first ten days of their marriage; but kept on the high road, or the frequented one in the Bois de Boulogne. Hermance observed with a sigh, that Henri not unfrequently turned his head to observe some fair equestrian who galloped by them; and Henri discovered, with some feeling allied to pique, that Hermance had eyes for every distinguishedlooking cavalier whom they encountered; though, to be sure, it was but a transient glance that she bestowed on them. Each was aware that the change equally operated on both; but neither felt disposed to pardon it in the other. Hermance most felt it; for, though conscious of her own desire to see, and be seen again, she was deeply offended that her husband betrayed the same predilection for society. They became silent and abstracted.

"I am sure," would Hermance say to herself, "he is now regretting the gaieties of Paris; and this fickleness after only two weeks of marriage! It is too bad but

men are shocking creatures! Yet I must own Paris is much more agreeable than Bellevue; heigh ho! I wish we were back there. How I long to show my beautiful dresses, and my pearls, at the soirées! and when Henri sees me admired, as I am sure I shall be, he will become as attentive and as amusing as he used to be. Yes! Paris is the only place, where lovers are kept on the qui-vive by a constant round of gaieties, instead of sinking into a state of apathy, by being left continually dependent on each other."

While these reflections were passing in the mind of Hermance, Henri was thinking that it was very strange that she no longer amused or interested him so much as a few weeks before.

"Here am I," he would say to himself, "shut up in this retirement, away from all my occupations and amusements, leading nearly as effeminate a life as Achilles at Syros, devoting all my time to Hernance; and yet she does not seem sensible of the sacrifice I am making. Women are very selfish creatures: there is she, as abstracted as if two years had elapsed since our marriage, instead of two weeks; and, I dare be sworn, wishing herself back at Paris, to display her trousseau, and be admired. This fickleness is too bad! but women are all the same: I wish we were back at Paris. I wonder whether they miss me much at the club?"

Henri no longer flatteringly applauded the toilet of Hermance,-a want of attention which no woman, and least of all a French woman, is disposed to pardon. He could now (and the reflection wounded her self-love) doze comfortably, while she sang one of her favourite songs,songs which, only a few weeks before, had called forth his passionate plaudits. He no longer dwelt in rapturous terms on her beauty; and she, consequently, could not utter the blushing, yet gratified, disclaimers to such compliments, or return them by similar ones. No wonder, then, that their conversation, having lost its chief charm, was no longer kept up with spirit, but sank into commonplace observations.

"Yes!" Hermance would mentally own; "he is changed-cruelly changed."