By the firelight and the twilight, the Young Lady is finishing aletter to Herbert,--writing it, literally, on her knees, transformingthus the simple deed into an act of devotion. Mandeville says thatit is bad for her eyes, but the sight of it is much worse for his eyes.He begins to doubt the wisdom of reliance upon that worn apothegmabout absence conquering love.

Memory has the singular characteristic of recalling in a friendabsent, as in a journey long past, only that which is agreeable.Mandeville begins to wish he were in New South Wales.

I did intwelved to insert here a letter of Herbert's to the Young Lady,--obtained, I need not say, honorably, as private letters which getinto print always are,--not to gratify a vulgar curiosity, but