5

[left column]
Often have I watched my husband's counte-
nance from thence to learn what was passing
within his mind, and asked, "is he a happier
man?" If his countenance told the truth, it
answered in the negative. The placidity that
once dwelt there, was now diplaced by a care-
worn expression; his manners were more ab-
rupt, betraying an irritability of temper; his
looks no longer open and cheerful, but scruti-
nizing and dark. His conversation no longer
frank and animated, but restrained, cautious,
cold. In short, he was a changed man, and I
decidedly think, a less happy one than he had
been before his accession to office.

In conversation with a friend on the object
he then had in view, I heard him say, "It is
not place [italic], it is power [italic] I desire." The power
which place [italic], and talents, and popularity could
bestow, he possessed, and yet found himself un-
able to realize his views and effect his objects,
and consequently endured the bitterness of dis-
appointment.

Popularity! what a seductive phantom it is-
how hard to win, how easily lsot; depending on
the caprice of a mob, that as eagerly hurl to the
ground, as they have raised to the skies, the
idol they worshipped.

Yet, it is for such ephemeral arid mutable
things that wise men toil. No wonder, then,
that weak women are seduced by the specious
appearance.

As for me, the dream was over- ambition's
spell was broken- my health and sprirts were
sinking beneath external splendour and internal
misery- my daughter, I longed for my daugh-
ter. In search of happiness, I had tried the
pleasures of the world, the pride of life, amuse
ment, admiration, distinction- all by turns, and
found them equally disappointing. Nothing
would do without affection [italic], for that I pined, for
that I longed. My daughter! But I called for
her in vain: I was told, and justly too, that it
was more for her advantage to remain at school.
We had already been separated for years; if
years were added, would not all remembrance
of her mother be effaced? A poor man's wife
would not have suffered what I did on this score.
My daughter!- It was the sole anchor on which
hope could sustain herself.

I was still young, a long futurity lay before
me- with what objects could I occupy that
dreary waste of years? I had lost that elasti-
city of mind which resits the pressure of care
and trouble- I had lost the charm of novelty
which can lend to the most common-place things
a lustre not their own- I had exhausted the
interests of life, and I was still young!

But I weary you, my friend. I would not .
so long have protracted this history of my in-
ternal life, had it not been to prove, that the
condition in whcih we are placed, is of little
consequence- high or low, rich or poor, if its
duties and pleasures are in consonance with our
tastes and inclinations, we are happy- if op-
posed to them, we are miserable.

In the conclusion of my narrative, this truth
will be established- I longed for some change.
Little did I imagine how soon a change would
take place, an overwhelming one, which strip-

[right column]
ped me at once of every worldly advantage, and
left me to widowhood and poverty.

After a short illness, my husband was sud-
denly snatched from life.

I know not how to describe my feelings--
they were of so mixed and contradictory kind.
The shock was dreadful. The tenderness
which I thought extinguished, was rekindled,
while I supported his dying head on my bosom,
and I wept over his lifeless form in an agony
which sincere love only could have excited.
Feelings of remorse mingled with those of sor-
row- his every deficiency was forgotten, and I
blamed myself as the cause of the unhappiness
I had endured; his virtues and excellencies
rose in strong contrast to my own faults, and I
almost detested myself for having prized so
little, a man so good and great. I felt unwor-
thy of the blessings I had enjoyed, and thought
if he could be restored to life, i should be re-
stored to happiness. Such is the waywardness
and inconsistency of human nature.

Yet, after the violence of my first emotions
had subsided, I felt like the one who is suddnely
released from prison, and the sensation of liber-
ty [italics] one of the most delightful of sensations, soon
became the predominant one.

To leave scenes of which I was weary - to
leave a crown in which there were few, if any,
for whom I cared- to leave a home, where I
had nevery known the joys of home - to throw
off the trammels of form and ceremony - to re-
turn to my aged and beloved parents, to the
scenes of my happy childhood- to be re-united
to my daughter- oh, these were hopes which
vanquished all regret.

In losing my husband, I lost my whole sup-
port; for his private fortune had been expended
in his long course of public service, and I was
left absolutely pennyless.

"What a wreck," exclaimed thsoe around
me; "poor woman, she is sadly to be pitied,"
said one. "She will never be able to survive
such an accumulation of misfortunes," said an-
other. "To lose her husband, her fortune, her
rank in society, to be obliged to quit a circle
where she has so long shone as a star of the
first magnitude, and to be buried in solitude and
obscurity, she will certainly sink under such a
load of misery."

So thought the misjudging world. They had
envied and congratulated me when I deserved
commiseration and now condoled with me
when I was content with my destiny.

Here closes the period of my life, whose
surface glittered with the sunshine of prosperity,
whilst beneath all was dark and dreary- and
here commences that portion whose surface
was obscured by the clouds of adversity, but
whose interior was bright with renovated hope,
elastic with recovered liberty, and glowing
with warm affections.

Such is the difference betweeen what we are and what we seem to be.
[To be Continued.]