Rosalia, then, the beauty, the pet, and the rival, is domesticated with Hagar, the jealous and the slighted girl—and with Raymond, the poetic and the artistic epicurean—Rosalia equally fascinating in her extreme beauty, in her artless grace, and in the affectionate tenderness of her manner and her tone, soon won the warm friendship of Raymond Withers as she had won the affection of every man, woman, child, and beast, that fell in her way. She would have been a delightful addition to the circle at the Rialto, a delightful fireside companion in the autumn evenings, could Hagar have rid herself of the vulture of jealousy gnawing in the bottom of her heart. Yet do not mistake Hagar, do not think more meanly of her than she deserves—she was not _generally_, but only _particularly_ envious of Rosalia; thus, had they both been in general society together, Hagar could have sympathized with, could have rejoiced in the highest success of her lifelong rival, could have been contented to be obscured by, to be lost under the glory of Rosalia’s charms and conquests; but here in her own domestic circle, here where she had “garnered up her heart,” she could brook no intrusion, no partnership, no rival; and as in this boundless universe, there _was_ but ONE, there ever _had been_ but ONE whom her whole soul worshipped—GOD—so on this wide earth there was but _one_, there had been but _one_ whom her whole heart adored—her _husband_. This was Hagar’s religion and her love. In almost every respect she was as opposite to Rosalia in mind and heart as she was in person and appearance. Rosalia, with a generous benevolence, radiating from her heart as the beams from the sun, knew no exclusive affection, was “innocent of the knowledge” of any particular love. Hagar’s soul, nearly destitute of general benevolence, was absorbed in one intense passion. Had a city been swallowed by an earthquake, overflowed by the boiling lava thrown from the crater of a burning volcano, carried away by an inundation of the sea, or reduced to ashes by a general conflagration; had a nation been exterminated by war, pestilence, or famine, the news would have impressed Hagar very slightly. _But!_ had the lightest sabre cut but marked the fair and regal brow of her loved one, her very heart would have dropped blood. Yet much as she desired his _happiness_, much she desired his _affections_ more! she could have borne his _death_ better than the _loss of his love_! she wished to be all in all to the man who was everything to her. Her jealousy was morbid as her love was extravagant. For her, his broad and high white forehead, in its superb amplitude and repose, expressed more majesty than the wild expanse of heaven itself—for her, his soft and deep blue eyes revealed more spiritual life than the purest dreams of her own soul—for her every expression of the face, every gesture of the figure, every tone of the voice revealed more poetry, religion, love, than the whole universe besides. Often when he