 perceived by this domestic circle. In the enjoyment of the beauties of nature, the charms of friendship, and the delightful intercourse of elegant and cultivated minds, the stream of time flowed not like the turbulent torrent which rushes in unequal cadence, as impelled by the tempestuous winds, nor like the sluggish pool, whose waters rest in dull stagnation: it glided cheerfully along, like the clear rivulet of the valley, whose surface is unruffled by the blast of the mountains, and whose bosom reflects the verdant landscape through which it passes.
Mr. Chartres, encouraged by the gentleness with which he was treated, conquered his bashful terrors sufficiently to enjoy the amiable society in which he was placed. He no longer sat at table with as much apparent uneasiness as if he had

been stretched on the bed of Procrustus. He raised his eyes when he was spoken to, found it less difficult to dispose of his hands than formerly, lost his tremulous accent, and sometimes delivered his opinions with the firm tone of a man at ease.
Mr. Clifford had some affairs to regulate previously to his daughter's marriage, which was therefore deferred two months longer: mean while Charlotte, who delighted to display the merits of Julia, and wished her beloved friend to be a favourite with her future husband, was at pains, in her frequent conversations with Seymour, to give him the most amiable picture of Julia; described her filial tenderness, her candour, her benevolence, and every amiable quality she possessed, with all the enthusiasm of affection. This was unnecessary—Frederick Seymour had, at first sight, greatly admired Julia's beauty; and, as she had conversed with him with the utmost frankness and cordiality, he found that the purity of her mind, and the goodness

of her heart, were equal to the excellence of her understanding; nor could he refuse his friendship to one so dear to Charlotte. He loved to talk to Charlotte of her cousin; he loved to think of her when alone; and at length he discovered that Charlotte's society lost its charm when Julia was absent. He could deceive himself no longer: Julia had inspired him with the most violent, the most unconquerable passion.
The gradations from friendship to love are often imperceptible to the mind. Like successive shades of the same colour, they blend so finely together, that it is difficult to mark the precise point at which their distinctions commence. Love comes to the bosom under the gentle forms of esteem, of sympathy, of confidence: we listen with dangerous pleasure to the seducing accents of his voice, till he lifts the fatal
