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 by with every varying caprice. Another, and another still succeed; but to each thus cast away, the pang has been beyond thought, the stain indelible, and the wound mortal. Glenarvon had offered his heart to another. He had given the love gifts—the chains and the rings which he had received from Calantha, to his new favourite. Her letters he had shewn; her secrets he had betrayed; to an enemy's bosom he had betrayed the struggles of a guilty heart, tortured with remorse, and yet at that time at least but too true, and faithful to him. 'Twas the letters written in confidence which he shewed! It was the secret thoughts of a soul he had torn from virtue and duty to follow him, that he betrayed!

And to whom did he thus expose her errors?—To the near relations of her husband, to the friends, and companions of her youth; and instead of throwing a veil upon the weakness he himself had caused, when