I could not think, however, of leaving Corinna to the desolation of unrequited love, without a word of excuse or consolation. The result of “mature consideration” on the subject was the following note:

B——’s Hotel, Tuesday Night,

My dear Friend:—Never till now did I really believe such misery as I experience, could be mine. Truly I am the most unhappy being on the face of the earth! Without the slightest design on my part, it appears that I have won your affections—at a time too, when it is utterly impossible I can requite them. Your father’s precipitancy prevented an explanation that might have saved you the mortification of a written avowal respecting my sentiments; but I assure you, however desirous I am that you should be as happy as you desire to be, I cannot love you. The contemplated union can never be. Truly grateful for your good opinion of me, and for the honor of the intended alliance,

I remain, if you permit me,

Ever sincerely your friend,

Henry Weston.

To Miss Corinna Wilton.

At four o’clock in the morning, I was in the stage, on my way to the nearest seaport town. I had made up my mind to embark for Europe. The packet ship A—— was ready to start, and awaited only a fair wind. I engaged a passage for Bordeaux; and the delay being transient, I was soon beyond the reach of Captain Wilton, and the wiles of Corinna.

But alas! what hope is there for the unfortunate? I discovered to my sorrow that new troubles awaited me. As I sat one evening on the bulwark, brooding over my past career, a female voice of exquisite pathos, accompanied by the guitar delicately and tastefully touched, ascended from the ladies’ cabin. I fancied there was something heavenly in the soft, melancholy strain that was wafted from the lips of the songstress. The words were beautiful and touching, and entirely in unison with my feelings. Under any circumstances, the performance would not have appeared commonplace; but at a moment like this, sounds which alone were the soul and essence of poetry, borne to my ear so softly, so unexpectedly, entranced my senses, till I voluntarily exclaimed—

“Can any mortal mixture of earth’s mould