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mortals have inspired a passion for spirits, that passion has always been the germ of infelicity. However strongly it may have been developed, or however ardently reciprocated, discomfiture has invariably been the result. Mortals never yet made matches with spirits. Of their having loved them fondly, we have heard, but in the annals of spirits there is nothing like an absolute match of the kind on record. Nor is this to be lamented. Spirits may indeed do for mortals to love, but they certainly will not do for mortals to marry. They couldn't guide, they couldn't govern, they couldn't hold them. Of all flighty wives they would be the most flighty. They might dance very well, they might sing very well, they might look very well, and be very enchanting, but they would be found to be fit to love only in imagination. It is true that in all cases there is much imagination in love: two thirds of it is generally composed of imagination; but when love is all imagination, they by whom it is cherished are much to be pitied.

Sylvester's love for Rosalie was all imagination. But then he loved only when asleep. At no other time did it in the slightest degree disturb him: albeit, so strong was its influence then, that, prompted by a vivid recollection of his imaginary interview the preceding night, he rose immediately after Jones had commenced a fine nasal duet with his reverend friend, and proceeded—without at all disturbing those guardians —to the arbour, invoking Rosalie in the most touching tones of endearment.

Here, after having sighed deeply for a time, he beheld the scene suddenly change as before, and found himself seated in the centre of the dell upon the same couch of moss and wild roses. But Rosalie! Where was Rosalie? She was not there!

He looked anxiously round. The flowers were drooping; the birds were silent; the lake had lost its former lustre, and even the butterflies were still. '

Something had occurred! Everything around him seemed stricken with grief! What could be the meaning of it? What could be the cause? Was Rosalie dead?

Presently he heard a slight fluttering among the birds; the butterflies came out, although cautiously; the lake reflected a gleam of light, and the flowers raised slowly their beautiful heads.

Sylvester turned, and saw Rosalie approaching. But her steps were lingering and languid. Her head was bowed down, and her countenance was sad, but her ensemble still was lovely.