difference. All her former pleasures now appeared insipid; she
wondered that they ever had power to affect her, and that she had
endured with content the dull uniformity to which she had been
condemned. It was now only that she appeared to live. Absorbed in the
single idea of being beloved, her imagination soared into the regions
of romantic bliss, and bore her high above the possibility of evil.
Since she was beloved by Hippolitus, she could only be happy.

From this state of entranced delight, she was awakened by the sound of
music immediately under her window. It was a lute touched by a
masterly hand. After a wild and melancholy symphony, a voice of more
than magic expression swelled into an air so pathetic and tender, that
it seemed to breathe the very soul of love. The chords of the lute
were struck in low and sweet accompaniment. Julia listened, and
distinguished the following words;

SONNET

Still is the night-breeze!--not a lonely sound
Steals through the silence of this dreary hour;
O'er these high battlements Sleep reigns profound,
And sheds on all, his sweet oblivious power.
On all but me--I vainly ask his dews
To steep in short forgetfulness my cares.
Th' affrighted god still flies when Love pursues,
Still--still denies the wretched lover's prayers.

An interval of silence followed, and the air was repeated; after which
the music was heard no more. If before Julia believed that she was
loved by Hippolitus, she was now confirmed in the sweet reality. But