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140 busy turmoil of deceit. When one gazes thus upon the sublime and lovely face of Nature, how poor do all the arts, the ambition, and the pitiful contrivances of man appear. The soul seems elevated to its proper sphere, and to long to throw off the frail covering of clay, which yet chains it down to the grovelling passions of earth, and to soar triumphant to its native skies."

His fine eyes were turned to heaven as he spoke; and Elvira gazed upon them and his noble countenance beaming: with enthusiasm, till she quite forgot to reply.

"Do you not agree with me, Elvira!" said he, in a tone of the softest melody, fixing his eyes upon hers with a look that sank deep into her heart. Again she sighed deeply, but she could not speak. "Oh, Elvira," continued he, taking her hand; "will you forget me? will not the remembrance of this night form a tie between us, when we shall be far, far apart?"

"Apart!" cried Elvira, almost with a shriek of surprise.

The youth sighed; and, gazing earnestly