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Rh To many, the visionary hope which is born of the imagination may seem the very mockery of nothing. We cannot imagine what we have never experienced. The imagination, the highest, the noblest, the most ethereal portion of our nature, lies in some almost dormant; and to such, how strange must the influence which it exercises appear! On one of the ideal temperament of Guido its power is despotic—it had coloured his life, and it threw its soft, sweet shadow over the bed of death.

"Oh! how passionately," added he, after a brief pause, "I desire to see her again, for the last time, to let her know the deep truth of a heart which has never worn image save her own—to gaze upon her with one long, last look of love, and leave with her an impression no crowd, no gaiety, might ever efface. We shall meet again, Francesca—not so Marie and I. Our natures are far apart—she has no share in my futurity. Our earthly is an eternal farewell."

He sank back, quite exhausted, on his pillow; and at last he slept, but his sleep was feverish and broken, and his waking was unrefreshed.