real value to the esteem which virtue generally commands; such was he who then sat opposite to Rosilia, viewing her from time to time with a jealous and perturbed soul, whilst, With folded arms and head reclined, he seemed indifferent to all that passed, with the exception of those divine strains issuing from the magic fingers of Oriana.
And what was there in the countenance of Melliphant so incomprehensible to Rosilia, as she caught his momentary glance—accustomed, by her art of taking likenesses, to Lavaterise human expression, to portray the spirit of the face, either gay or pensive, serene or melancholy,—that she could not interpret his? His aspect pale, his brow lowering, still in that sombre hue and deep-searching eye there was a something not altogether repelling, a something that might excite interest, and lead to the supposition that Melliphant possessed a mind preying upon itself from some secret adverse fortune. It was sufficient to be unhappy, to claim the commiseration of Rosilia.
The person of Melliphant was nicely proportioned, and when he spoke his voice combined a modulation of tone with an eloquence rarely met with; every phrase he uttered riveted attention.
Sir Howard and Mr. Valpée also had each rendered themselves agreeable; the former, wholly unable to suppress a species of adulation common to him, had paid almost his exclusive attentions to Rosilia, and yet had not forborne to join in general con-
