alloy.

However much we may regret the waywardness of such a heart in the
present instance, in that it rejected one so nobly qualified as was Mr.
Buckminster to appreciate its genius and its love, while sympathizing
with his own mortifying disappointment, (for this we must admit,) that
she had in the secrets of her nature a preference for another, we cannot
altogether know its results. So cautiously and discreetly did he,
through a long and beautiful life, qualify both his lips and his pen,
that little or nothing remains beyond these letters of the
novelist--which we may not doubt are authentic, as they were long in the
possession of Mrs. Henry Hill, of Boston, the "Mrs. Sumner" of the
novel--to tell how the heart was instructed, and how blighted hope and
blasted affection were made the lobes through which the spirit caught
its sublimest and holiest respiration. We know

"Through lacerations takes the spirit wing,
And in the heart's long death throe grasps true life."

One little remark which has been suffered to creep into his Memoirs is,
however, of peculiar significance. I quote it here.

In speaking of Connecticut to a friend, he says, "My place was there; I
always wished that state to be my home; but Providence has directed my
line of duty far away _from the place of my first affections_."

He also--as one who had every means of knowing the fact has informed
me--was deeply affected on reading the "romance" here following, and at
the time remarked that, had the author been personally acquainted (not
knowing that she was) with the circumstances of his engagement with