“Not long ago there came one to me, a man gifted with noble intellectual faculties, and rich in heart-wealth; he has wished me to be his wife; but knowing as I do what a very pauper I am in all that is best calculated to make his a happy home—you will understand I am not speaking of fortune or beauty _now_—I have declined his suit. I cannot regard him as I could have a few, _but_ a few short years ago. I do not love him as my imagination tells me that woman _can_ and _should_ love. For a moment when I read his words, my heart beat wildly—I was happy; but that passed quickly; I distrust myself; I do not wish _now_ that any one should intrust to me a charge of their happiness through life; it would be madness, and no less than foul wrong in me to wed with one whose affection I could make but such a paltry return. I give to you the answer I sent him; it is the sum total of my thoughts on this subject—and I would ask you as you read them, do you not think that there is but little to envy in one who has flung away a diamond, for a trifling but more brilliant gem? TO —— ——. It is too late; once, once I could have loved thee, Before my heart grew passionless and cold; My years are few, but trials have out-worn me— In thought and struggle I am old—am old! I had not _once_ been deaf to thy fond pleading— My soul had throbbed to hear thy ardent words; But now no inward voice is interceding, Thy finger touches upon tuneless chords! There _was_ a time when, hadst thou breathed of love, A fire had swiftly kindled in my heart; I would have coveted then, far, far above All earthly good—all that is set apart For the strong soul to labor for—a tone A look, such as thou gavest now to me, I would have gloried then to be thine own; That time is past—it never more can be! Once, when my heart beat strong with youth and hope, Once, when the future held a glorious prize, Through the surrounding gloom I strove to grope, And to close-thronging dangers shut my eyes. I fought for honor—fame. I thought that these Would _buy_ for me that other, nobler good, For which I prayed upon my bended knees, The boon of love—but fate my prayer withstood! Too many years have passed since that sweet dream— Too hard and ceaseless has my striving been; Through the calm twilight now there comes no gleam Of that wild hope—it cannot live again. It cannot be—thou wouldst not prize a gift So worthless as is all I have to give; Thou wouldst not care from my cold heart to lift The burden ’neath which I am doomed to live!