I saw many young and lovely girls; and I was told that mothers looked upon me as a desirable match--but I was true to my first love. I remembered her in the perfection of maiden beauty--I wished for none other; and to see _her_ again was my sole hope in life. After a season of unceasing gaiety and dissipation--sick of London and its vanities--I determined to travel, and for seven years I was absent from my native land. I was recalled to attend the deathbed of my father. I had seen but little of him; he had no sympathy with me, and in heart we were strangers to each other. He was proud of my talents, and I was an only son; but he never bestowed any real affection on me. I honoured him because he was my parent; but I never loved him as I ought to have loved a father. He died, and I succeeded to the baronetcy and estates; but I was already tired of life--wretched in the midst of my splendour. In a word--_I was mad_. At the table of a friend I met a man a few years my senior, whom I had known at school. We renewed our acquaintance; and I accepted an invitation to dine at his house, to meet some old schoolfellows. I consented to go, but not cheerfully, for a moody state of mind was coming over me. I can remember the struggle, the exertion it was to dress for the party. Twenty times I was tempted to send a message saying I was too unwell to go, but my better angel prevailed--and I went. To what an eventful period was that evening but the prelude! My friend met and welcomed me with a cordiality which somewhat cheered me; but I had a weight on my spirits from which I could not rouse myself, and most reluctantly accompanied Sir Charles Tracey, with faltering steps and an aching heart and brow, into the inner drawing-room, to be introduced to his wife, Lady Tracey. She was seated on a low ottoman, with her back to the door, reading. She arose as her husband presented me to her as his old friend, Sir Frederick B----. She turned towards me, and for a moment I was overpowered. I beheld before me the creature I had so long pined for--so earnestly searched for--whose memory I had so devotedly and entirely worshipped. With exquisite grace she extended her hand to welcome her husband's guest, and as I held those small taper fingers in mine, thick coming fancies crowded upon me. I was again the schoolboy--the anxious, ardent schoolboy, longing even for a look from this lovely woman, whose hand I now held in mine. Hot tears rushed into my eyes, and I bent over the fair hand to conceal them. This momentary cloud passed away, and while seated by her, I forgot that we had ever been parted, and imagination peopled a world of love--a paradise of hope. "But she in these fond feelings had no share." The years which had passed, had changed her from a lovely girl into the more matured loveliness of the matron.