"Well, my life," replied Charlotte, "is too happy for any change of my _own_ making, I believe. If heaven deprived me of all that I love, it is another question, but to deprive _myself_, I cannot. My idea of marriage is not so favourable as yours. I think it would require the most powerful affection to render it a relation of real felicity; and if not _that_, I should think it much worse than even an unfortunate lot in single life." "Have I then _no_ ground of hope," said Russell. "Indeed, I feel wholly disinclined to marry any mortal at present," answered Charlotte. "To you I am scarcely at all known; and I believe that you are entirely mistaken in supposing for an instant that we are suited to each other. You and I have been educated in very different schools, and could never sympathize." "Do you then forget our musical sympathies. Am I not devoted to your sweet melodies, and have we not often admired them in unison?" "Oh yes, certainly," said Charlotte, "but music is a very little part of life.--We must not stay any longer from our party, who, perhaps, are wondering at our absence." Fanny appeared precisely as Charlotte spoke the last word, and the latter, seizing her sister's arm, was delighted to find excuse for terminating the conversation. The _last_ evening is always sad, when those who have been pleased in each other's society are to part; but there is generally also some degree of bustle, immediately preceding a journey, which prevents the mind from dwelling on gloomy thoughts, at least in _common_ cases; and as all were ignorant of what had happened, except the pair immediately concerned, there was less reserve than might have been anticipated by any one who knew the fact that a proposal had been made and rejected. Mr. Annesley is a very sweet young man, and he too was happy enough in our friendly circle to leave us with regret, which expressed itself silently in a fine and speaking countenance. We said farewell. The morning saw our visitors set out at so early an hour that the track of their carriage wheels alone reported of them when we met at breakfast. Is there one bright, breathless, listening joy that ever hung upon expected happiness which is not familiar to my memory; and is not that memory too a faithful register of every pang that severed love could teach the heart? How is it then, I wonder, that a tear is left for minor griefs? Yet tears _will_ flow; and I felt the difference between the gladsome merriment of approach, when our young friends were introduced by Mrs. Fitzroy, and the melancholy of their departing hour.