with his withering sneer--“and are you not happy now? The delicacy of your exquisite frame is no longer exposed to the rage of the elements--the fine and feminine luxury of your taste is solicited and indulged by a thousand inventions of art--your bed is of down--your chamber hung with tapestry. Whether the moon be bright or dark, six wax tapers burn in your chamber all night. Whether the skies be bright or cloudy,--whether the earth be clothed with flowers, deformed with tempests,--the art of the limner has surrounded you with “a new heaven and a new earth;” and you may bask in suns that never set, while the heavens are dark to other eyes,--and luxuriate amid landscapes and flowers, while half your fellow-creatures are perishing amid snows and tempests!” (Such was the overflowing acrimony of this being, that he could not speak of the beneficence of nature, or the luxuries of art, without interweaving something that seemed like a satire on, or a scorn of both.) “You also have intellectual beings to converse with instead of the chirpings of loxias, and the chatterings of monkeys.”--“I have not found the conversation I encounter much more intelligible or significant,” murmured Isidora, but the stranger did not appear to hear her. “You are surrounded by every thing that can flatter the senses, intoxicate the imagination, or expand the heart. All these indulgences must make you forget the voluptuous but unrefined liberty of your former existence.”--“The birds in my mother’s cages,” said Isidora, “are for ever pecking at their gilded bars, and trampling on the clear seeds and limpid water they are supplied with--would they not rather rest in the mossy trunk of a doddered oak, and drink of whatever stream they met, and be at liberty, at all the risk of poorer food and fouler drink--would they not rather do any thing than break their bills against gilded wires?”--“Then you do not feel your new existence in this Christian land so likely to surfeit you with delight as you once thought? For shame, Immalee--shame on your ingratitude and caprice! Do you remember when from your Indian isle you caught a glimpse of the Christian worship, and were entranced at the sight?”--“I remember all that ever passed in that isle. My life formerly was all anticipation,--now it is all retrospection. _The life of the happy is all hopes,--that of the unfortunate all memory._ Yes, I remember catching a glimpse of that religion so beautiful and pure; and when they brought me to a Christian land, I thought I should have found them all Christians.”--“And what did you find them, then, Immalee?”--“Only Catholics.”--“Are you aware of the danger of the words you utter? Do you know that in this country to hint a doubt of Catholicism and Christianity being the same, would consign you to the flames as a heretic incorrigible? Your mother, so lately known to you as a mother, would bind your hands when the covered litter came for its victim; and