nearly related. The sun was sinking, as the travellers neared Delme. The
old mansion looked as calm as ever. The blue smoke curled above its
sombre roof; and the rooks sailed over the chimneys, flapping their
wings, and cawing rejoicefully, as they caught the first glimpse of
their lofty homes. Emily let down the carriage window, and with sunshiny
tear, looked out on the home of her ancestors.

There let us leave her; and turn to bid adieu for a season, to one, who
for many a weary day, was doomed to undergo the pangs of blighted
affection. Such pangs are but too poignant and enduring, let the
worldly man say what he may. Could we but read the history of the
snarling cynic, blind to this world's good--of him, who from being the
deceived, has become the deceiver--of the rash sensualist, who plunging
into vice, thinks he can forget;--could we but know the train of
events, that have brought the stamping madman to his bars--and his
cell--and his realms of phantasy;--or search the breast of her, who
lets concealment "feed on her damask cheek"--who prays blessings on
him, who hath wasted her youthful charms--then mounts with virgin soul
to heaven:--we, in our turn, might sneer at the worldling, and pin our
fate on the tale of the peasant girl, who discourses so glibly of
crossed love and broken hearts.

Sir Henry Delme left England with very unenviable sensations. A cloud
seemed to hang over the fate of his brother, which no speculations of
his could pierce. Numberless were the conjectures he formed, as to the
real causes of George's sickness and mental depression. It was in vain
he re-read the letters, and varied his comments on their contents. It
was evident, that nothing but his actual presence in Malta, could
unravel the mystery. Sir Henry had _one_ consolation; how great, let
those judge who have had aught dear placed in circumstances at all