 I not know my loss would be to you an irremediable calamity. Yet, who shall judge of the dispensations

of the Almighty?—I might fulfil all your wishes without seeing you happy—I might obtain all my own without ceasing to be wretched. Recall this often to your memory, whatever follows our parting; and remember your name will be ever on these lips while they have power to utter a sound.—For the adored of my soul—but she is surely become a part of it; and if not permitted to possess her in this world, I will expect her in a better."—Perceiving his dim eye was fixed on a picture of my daughter which hung at my bosom, I presented it to him.—"And do you too, beloved Henry, returned I, in a broken voice, remember the mother who gives you this, would have comprized in the original every grace, every virtue, to be found through human nature; and having done so, would still have thought her honored in your choice.—Ah! royal youth! resign not a heart so noble to vapourish depression!—Your life, your happiness, are not your own merely—a nation are born to pray for the former, to crown you with

the latter.—For myself—upon the sweet hope of matching my daughter with you, of sharing the soft transports of mutual virtue and affection, I have learnt to live, but surely I could never survive its extinction."—My full soul allowed not of another syllable. The Prince fixed his suffused eyes on mine, with a mysterious melancholy, almost amounting to despair; and touching with his lips those hands his trembling ones still grasped, rushed precipitately into the court yard. The sound of his voice drew me towards the window—the graceful youth made me a last obeisance, and galloped away; while my partial eye pursued him till beyond its reach, and even then my ear seemed to distinguish the feet of his horse.
With his usual kind consideration, Henry wrote to me the next day, that he found himself better; and in the pleasure of seeing his sister happy, felt reconciled to the impolitick match made for her.—He even assisted at the various festivals with which the nuptials of the royal Eli•abeth were honored; but scarce were

they over, when his health and spirits failed at once, and the faculty were called in to his aid. A malady which had been so long engrafting itself on his constitution, left but little hope of his life;—I had ceased to entertain any: yet, far from supporting the idea of losing him with fortitude, my soul mourned as
