The activity of camps and armies, “the pomp and circumstance of war,” the exercise of bodily power and mental energy, the chivalric glow of perilous enterprize, still had charms for this unquenchable spirit: in renouncing their attractions at the command of principle, his heart had yet yearned after them; he had bidden them adieu with such fond regret as the lover feels who tears himself away from a faithless mistress, exclaiming, “Ah why are so many charms united with so much frailty!” Now his soul sprung back with impetuous force, for now he should at once fight for an oppressed people and a beloved object: he rose, he traversed his apartment with disordered steps; his burning cheek and kindling eye were full of noble purposes: again his limbs seemed to feel the gallant clasp of mailed armour; the knightly helm again seemed to press his brow; and once more his manly arm wielded the tremendous faulchion. Who that had seen Sebastian at this moment, would have failed to discover in him that enthusiastic, rash heroic King of Portugal, who had once risked and lost every thing for the sake of glory?--he was no longer the same Sebastian that had so lately been stricken to the dust by despair and misanthropy. How often does the spirit of man die and revive! in the season of youth grief may destroy, but hope will renew it. Like the hardy eagle which poets have fabled immortal, the soul decays, sheds her plumes, sinks into transient death, then suddenly glows again with life, rises new-winged from dust, and soars to Heaven! Into the mind of Sebastian no visions entered, except such as were bright and blissful: an instant of time, an atom only of distance, seemed to divide him from the possession of all he panted for. In the vigour of youth, and the full zenith of ardour, he felt an inward strength, which assured him that his destiny was yet in his own hands. “I shall acquire thee, Aziek!” he said exultingly, “I shall regain my crown, my people’s hearts, my friends, and my own respect!” Yet erring Sebastian!--didst thou weakly think that a throne and a name were necessary to make thee great? thou wast more worthy thy own respect when performing the meanest tasks for thy fellow-slaves in the cassavee of El Hader, than when issuing commands to crowds of obedient courtiers, from thy palace of Ribera. Sebastian’s proud nature was yet but imperfectly amended; he had to suffer and to learn still more. At the hour appointed, he repaired to the place marked out by Aziek’s friend: it was a spot calculated for concealment, being surrounded by decayed buildings and thick clusters of sycamores: he looked up at the sound of an opening blind, which was put aside by Kara Aziek herself, who regarding him tenderly, took a small packet from her bosom, and pressing it to her lips with a smile that seemed to say “I send this kiss to thee,” threw down the packet, motioned him away, and withdrew immediately.