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There must be something wrong—far wrong, indeed, When he is sorrowful and thou unkind.

Pardon me, sister, something has distressed me; I meant not to have told thee till to-morrow. Our cousin Hartman died last night.

So suddenly! Awfully sudden! I am sorry for it; Yes; very, very sorry. Ah, poor Hartman! I have, with too much levity, I fear, Made his last days pass most uneasily. He was vindictive, vain, and irritable: But when the storm of passion passed away, Who was more ready to repair a wrong With generous amends? Alas! poor Hartman! And thou too, gentle Claudien, weep'st for him, Although he loved thee not. Well may'st thou weep; For thou wert also one of his tormentors: Ay, we did both of us too hardly press Upon his natural infirmity.

Detested wretch! I've been a fiend, a

Claudien,