hasty one, was sufficient. Julia loved its writer
more than she suspected herself, but there was
nothing in her manner or character that seemed
calculated to excite strong emotion. In short, all
her excellences were so evident that nothing was
left dependent on innate evidence; and our heroine
seldom dwelt with pleasure on any character that
did not give a scope to her imagination. In
whatever light she viewed the conduct or
disposition of her cousin, she was met by obstinate
facts that admitted of no cavil nor of any
exaggeration.

Turning quickly, therefore, from this barren
contemplation to one better suited to her
inclinations, Julia's thoughts resumed the agreeable
reverie from which she had been awakened. She
also could paint, and after twenty trials she at
length sketched an outline of the figure of a man
that answered to Anna's description, and satisfied
her own eye. Without being conscious of the theft,
she had copied from a print of the Apollo, and
clothed it in the uniform which Bonaparte is said to
have worn. A small scar was traced on the cheek in
such a manner that although it might be fancied as
the ravages of a bullet, it admirably answered all
the purposes of a dimple. Two epaulettes graced
the shoulders of the hero; and before the picture
was done, although it was somewhat at variance
with republican principles, an aristocratical star