sudden shock which she had sustained, and to its effect on a mind
weakened by previous anxiety and sorrow; while they feared her malady
was of a nature, which admitted no hope of the return of reason.

Her mind, it was stated, remained an entire blank. Imbecile, vacant,
drivelling--she appeared almost unconscious of former existence; and of
those subjects which formerly engrossed her attention, and excited her
feelings, there were scarcely any on which she now evinced any emotion.
Even the name of her lover was almost powerless on her soul, and if
repeated in her hearing, seemed scarcely to call forth her notice.

One only gift remained, in all its native pathos, tenderness, and
beauty--her voice, so sweet before her illness, seemed, amid the wreck
of youth, and joy, and love, and all that was charming and endeared, to
have only become sweeter still! She was incapable or unwilling to learn
any new airs, but she would occasionally recollect snatches of former
songs or duets, which she and Henri had sung together, and she would
pour the simple melodies in strains of more than mortal sweetness!

This, alas! was the only relic of former talent or taste that she
retained; in all other respects, her mind and body, instead of evincing
symptoms of recovery, seemed to sink in utter hopelessness and despair;
and an early tomb seems to be the best and kindest boon which heaven, in
its mercy, can bestow, on the once fair and fascinating Rosalie!

_Tales of all Nations._

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