"The leagues that roll between the maid and me;
"Lonely I wander on the desert shore,
"And Julia's lovely form can never see.

"But fly, ye fleeting hours, I beg ye fly,
"And bring the time when Anna seeks her friend;
"Haste--Oh haste, or Edward sure must die.
"Arrive--and quickly Edward's sorrows end."

I know you will think with me, that these lines are
beautiful, and merely a faint image of his manly
heart. In the course of our ride, during which he did
nothing but converse on your beauty and merit, he
gave me a detailed narrative of his life. It was
long, but I can do no less than favour you with an
abridgment of it. Edward Stanley was early left an
orphan: no father's guardian eye directed his
footsteps; no mother's fostering care cherished his
infancy. His estate was princely, and his family
noble, being a wronged branch of an English
potentate. During his early youth he had to contend
against the machinations of a malignant uncle, who
would have robbed him of his large possessions,
and left him in black despair, to have eaten the
bread of penury. His courage and understanding,
however, conquered this difficulty, and at the age
of fourteen he was quietly admitted to an
university. Here he continued peacefully to wander
amid the academic bowers, until the blast of war
rung in his ears, and called him to the field of