If _Sylvia_’. fears were great before she opened the letter, what were her pains when all those fears were confirmed from that never-failing mark of a declining love, the coldness and alteration of the style of letters, that first symptom of a dying flame! ‘O where,’ said she, ’.here, oh perjured charmer, is all that ardency that used to warm the reader? Where is all that natural innocence of love that could not, even to discover and express a grace in eloquence, force one soft word, or one passion? Oh,’ continued she, ‘he is lost and gone from _Sylvia_ and his vows; some other has him all, clasps that dear body, hangs upon that face, gazes upon his eyes, and listens to his voice, when he is looking, sighing, swearing, dying, lying and damning of himself for some new beauty--He is, I will not endure it; aid me, _Antonet_! Oh, where is the perjured traitor!’ _Antonet_, who was waiting on her, seeing her rise on the sudden in so great a fury, would have stayed her hasty turns and ravings, beseeching her to tell her what was the occasion, and by a discovery to ease her heart; but she with all the fury imaginable flung from her arms, and ran to the table, and snatching up a penknife, had certainly sent it to her heart, had not _Antonet_ stepped to her and caught her hand, which she resisted not, and blushing resigned, with telling her, she was ashamed of her own cowardice; ‘For,’ said she, ‘if it had designed to have been brave, I had sent you off, and by a noble resolution have freed this slave within’ (striking her breast) ‘from a tyranny which it should disdain to suffer under:’ with that she raged about the chamber with broken words and imperfect threatenings, unconsidered imprecations, and unheeded vows and oaths; at which _Antonet_ redoubled her petition to know the cause; and she replied--’_Philander_! The dear, the soft, the fond and charming _Philander_ is now no more the same. O, _Antonet_,’ said she, ‘didst thou but see this letter compared to those of heretofore, when love was gay and young, when new desire dressed his soft eyes in tears, and taught his tongue the harmony of angels; when every tender word had more of passion, than volumes of this forced, this trifling business; Oh thou wouldst say I were the wretchedest thing that ever nature made--Oh, thou wouldst curse as I do--not the dear murderer, but thy frantic self, thy mad, deceived, believing, easy self; if thou wert so undone--’ Then while she wept she gave _Antonet_ liberty to speak, which was to persuade her, her fears were vain; she urged every argument of love she had been witness to, and could not think it possible he could be false. To all which the still weeping _Sylvia_ lent a willing ear; for lovers are much inclined to believe every thing they wish. _Antonet_, having a little calmed her, continued telling her, that to be better convinced of his love, or his perfidy, she ought to have patience till _Octavio_ should come to visit her; ‘For you