a pleasure. It is to be all heart, all pulse, all sympathy, all
spirit--but the warm soft kiss, that rarified bloom of the Material.

How the sick old nurse got out, cased in many blankets; how she was
bundled up stairs, and deposited safely on a sofa, no poet is alive to
sing: to those who would record the payment of postillions, let me leave
so sweet a theme.

The first fond greeting over, and those tumults of affection sobered
down, Charles rejoiced to find how lovingly the general met him; the
kind and good old man fell upon his neck, as the father in the parable.
Many things were then to be made known: and many questions answered, as
best might be, about a mother and a brother; but well aware of all
things ourselves, let us be satisfied that Charles heard in due time all
they had to tell him; though neither Emily nor the general could explain
what had become of Julian after that terrible encounter. In their
belief, he had fled for very life, thinking he had killed his father.
Poor wretched man, thought Charles--on that same spot, too, where he
would have murdered me! And for his mother--why came she not down
eagerly and happily, as mothers ever do, to greet her long-lost son? Do
not ask, Charles; do not press the question. Think her ill, dying,
dead--any thing but--drunken. He ran to her room-door; but it was
locked--luckily.

Now, Charles--now speedily to business; happy business that, if I may
trust the lover's flushing cheek, and Emily's radiant eyes; but a
mournful one too, and a fearful, if I turn my glance to that poor old
man, wounded in body and stricken in mind--who waits to hear, in more
despondency than hope, what he knows to be the bitter truth--the truth
that must be told, to the misery of those dear children.