death, with the more earthly desires of life? They looked to heaven--it was calm and unclouded: the evening lay there in its balm and perfume, and the air was less agitated than their sighs. They turned towards the beautiful sea which was to be their grave: the wild birds flew over it exultingly: the far vessels seemed “rejoicing to run their course.” All was full of the breath, the glory, the life of nature; and in how many minutes was all to be as nothing! Their existence would resemble the ships that have gone down at sea in the very smile of the element that destroyed them. They looked into each other’s eyes, and they drew still nearer together. Their hearts, in safety apart, mingled in peril and became one. Minutes rolled on, and the great waves came dashing round them. They stood on the loftiest eminence they could reach. The spray broke over their feet: the billows rose--rose--they were speechless. He thought he heard her heart beat, but her lip trembled not. A speck--a boat! “Look up, Emily! look up! See how it cuts the waters. Nearer--nearer! but a little longer, and we are safe. It is but a few yards off;--it approaches--it touches the rock!” Ah! what to them henceforth was the value of life, when the moment of discovering its charm became also the date of its misfortunes, and when the death they had escaped was the only method of cementing their--union without consummating their guilt? FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO THE HON. FREDERICK MONKTON. I will write to you at length to-morrow. Events have occurred to alter, perhaps, the whole complexion of the future. I am now going to Emily to propose to her to fly. We are not _les gens du monde_, who are ruined by the loss of public opinion. She has felt that I can be to her far more than the world; and as for me, what would I not forfeit for one touch of her hand? EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL OF LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE. Friday.--Since I wrote yesterday in these pages the narrative of our escape, I have done nothing but think over those moments, too dangerous because too dear; but at last I have steeled my heart--I have yielded to my own weakness too long--I shudder at the abyss from which I have escaped. I can yet fly. He will come here to-day--he shall receive my farewell.