On the evening of Sir William Temple's dinner-party, the invitation to which Lord Albert had declined, he retired at an early hour to his study; and having closed his door, he sat some minutes with his head reclining on his hands, endeavouring to shut out the frivolous insignificances of many late past evenings, and to recal those of a very different description and tendency. A sweet and silvery tone of feeling analogous to a fine Wilson that hung opposite to his writing-table, shed a serene, self-satisfying sensation over his mind; it might be a false complacency, yet complacency for the time being it was--and he opened his writing-box, in the lid of which was a portrait. This portrait represented a very youthful girl intently busied in copying a bust, the likeness of himself. A flush passed over his countenance, his eyes sparkled, and a genuine sensation of rapture thrilled through his heart, as he said, "Oh! how superior to all I now see around me--young, innocent, intelligent, the dignity of human nature is here! Gazing at this image, I can never err; it would recal me to the path of rectitude were I ever so inclined to swerve from it." At that moment a letter caught his attention; it was still unanswered--again he coloured, for it had remained so since the preceding morning; and such a letter! Now with an eagerness that would have redeemed the slight, he actually kissed the opened page; and previous to replying to it, re-perused the following contents of LADY ADELINE SEYMOUR'S LETTER. "I think it a long time, dearest Albert, since I have heard from you. But then you are so busy, and have so many things to do; whereas I have nothing to do, but to count up minutes, days, and hours; yet this is so wrong, that I blame myself even for thinking, much more for writing the thought; and would blot out the dissatisfied words, but that I promised you should know truly, and without disguise, what really passed in my mind. "After what I heard good Mr. Adams preach last Sunday, how dare I wish to hurry on time, when I make so poor a use of it? Indeed, dear Albert, when I think seriously, I do not wish it; but when I feel that we are parted, and yield to that feeling, why then I am a wayward creature. Does not this prove, my dear Albert, how cautiously we ought to look into our hearts, since out of them are the issues of life? I will do so; I will try to do so, if God will help me; for it is only by this watching that I shall render myself at all worthy of you. Mamma said to me the other day: