spares and protects an erring wife, sacrifices his future hopes of fame and exalted reputation at the shrine of mercy and of love. She suddenly started with alarm. "What then will become of me?" she cried. "The measure of my iniquity is at its full."
Calantha's tears fell upon her sleeping boy. He awoke, and he beheld his mother; but he could not discern the agitation of her mind. He looked on her, therefore, with that radiant look of happiness which brightens the smile of childhood; nor knew, as he snatched one kiss in haste, that it was the last, the last kiss from a mother, which ever through life should bless him with its pressure.
It was now near the hour of twelve; and Mrs. Seymour cautiously approached Calantha's bed. "Is it time?" "Not yet, my child." "Is Sir Richard gone?" "No; he is still in his own apartment. I have written a few lines," said Mrs. Seymour tenderly; "but if you fail,
