Though of all men in the world he was perhaps the least inclined to vanity, yet he must have been one of the most stupid had he not been convinced by this time of the dangerous attachment of Lady Sara. Added to that painful certainty he now more than dreaded a similar though a slighter folly in Miss Euphemia. Can a man see himself the daily object of a pair of melting eyes, hear everlasting sighs at his entrance and departure, day after day receive tender though covert addresses about disinterested love, can he witness all this, and be sincere when he affirms it is the language of indifference? If that be possible, the Count Sobieski has no pretensions of modesty. He comprehended the "discoursing" of Miss Euphemia's "eye;" also the tendency of the love-sick mottoes which, under various excuses, she put into his hand; and with many a pitying smile of contempt he contemplated her childish absurdity. A few days prior to that in which she made this appointment with Thaddeus, she had presented to him another of her posies, which ran thus: "Frighted love, like a wild beast, shakes the wood in which it hides." Thaddeus almost laughed at the oddity of the conceit. "Do, dear Mr. Constantine," cried she, "translate it into the sweetest French you can; for I mean to have it put into a medallion, and to give it to the person whom I most value on earth!" There was something so truly ridiculous in the sentence, that, reluctant to allow even Miss Euphemia to expose herself so far, he considered a moment how he should make anything so bad better, and then said, "I am afraid I cannot translate it literally; but surely, madam, you can do it yourself!" "Yes; but I like your French better than mine; so pray oblige me." He had done the same kind of thing a hundred times for her, and, without further discussion, wrote as follows:-- "L'amour tel qu'une biche blessée, se trahit lui-même par sa crainte, qui fait remuer le feuillage qui le couvre." "Bless me, how pretty!" cried she, and immediately put it into her bosom. To this unlucky addition of the words _se trahit lui-meme_ Thaddeus was indebted for the present of the folded paper. The ever- working imagination of Euphemia had seized the inverted thought as a delicate avowal that he was the wounded deer he had substituted in place of the wild beast; and as soon is he arrived at home, he found the fruits of her mistake in the packet she had given with so much secrecy. When he broke the seal, something dropped out and fell on the carpet. He took it up, and blushed for her on finding a gold medallion, with the words he had altered for Miss Euphemia engraved on blue enamel. With a vexed haste he next looked at the envelope; it contained a copy of verses, with this line written at the top: "To him who will apply them." On perusing them, he found them to be Mrs. Phillips's beautiful translation of that ode of Sappho which runs--