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 much better adapted; therefore he dipoed every thing with the view of entrapping his heart through the medium of his enes. But he found herelf mitaken in her peculations. Neither Epicurean enuality, nor the more refined and entimental purity of Platonic love, eemed to be the ytem for him: he appeared rather to be a trict adherent of the Stoics—a dicovery which raied no mall atonihment, while it afforded but faint hopes of the ring.

In this tate of indeciion everal months had elaped, when the impatient dame thought it high time to hold a conference with her knight, for o he ued to call him, on the concerns of his heart. On the day when the return of pring was celebrated, and all her virgins, adorned with recent flowers, were engaged in the choral dance, he found him penive and alone. He was amuing himelf in an arbour, with a patime ymbolical of unuccesful love—plucking and tearing to pieces freh blown flowers. ‘Unfeeling knight!’ he