going to relate to you a most painful one. It grieves me to have to cause one pang of pain or sorrow to your young heart; but you are now nearly eighteen, and it is time you should know what I am going to tell you. Besides, I am not without hope that it may tend to check, by showing you the fearful consequences of the same failing in my own character, the fault, into which your kind and gentle disposition leads you, of yielding too readily, and even in opposition to what you know to be right, to the opinions and wishes of others. You have often kindly endeavoured to draw from me, my dear Mary, the history of my early life, and of your poor father's death; but, unwilling to give you unnecessary pain, I have hitherto refrained from speaking of it. You shall now hear it.
"My father, as you know, was a gentleman of good family and moderate fortune, residing in the neighbourhood of one of our university towns. I was an only child, and my mother died in giving me birth. I had the most affectionate and indulgent of fathers; but, instead of being wilful and capricious, as children in those circumstances often are, I grew up rather erring, like you, in the opposite direction.
"I was about your age when my father formed an acquaintance with the Baron von Wolin, a young German nobleman, who was then a student at the neighbouring university, whither he had come, partly to receive his education, partly to be out of the way of some family troubles which might have endangered his safety in his own country. My father, who had spent much of his early life in Germany, was enabled, after first making his acquaintance, to render him some slight service, and at length prevailed upon him to visit at our house—I say, prevailed on him, for with no one else had he ever exchanged the kindnesses, nay, scarcely the common civilities of life. With none of his fellow-students did he mix on terms of friendship or companionship, and though many had at first made advances to him, yet the haughtiness and coldness with which they were met had soon caused them to give up all attempts to make his acquaintance, which had, indeed, only been called forth by politeness, and the desire to be kind to a foreigner and stranger, and which his dark, gloomy disposition would have effectually prevented being made for his own sake. And yet there appeared to be something noble about him. In person he was tall, dignified, and commanding; his figure was perfect; and his face also would have been eminently handsome, had not its expression been an unpleasing one; but when he was enraged, his very features seemed to be changed, and assumed a look that, once seen, could never be forgotten.
"Being possessed of a most commanding intellect and studious habits, his talents, had he chosen to exert them, must have placed him at the head of the university; but he seemed to direct them almost entirely to the study of the German school of metaphysics and philosophy. In these, and in the wild fantastic imaginings ox the German poets, his whole soul seemed to be wrapped up. For the ordinary routine of his college duties he showed no inclination, though he always kept a high place, apparently almost without effort. His gloomy temper, and mysterious studies and habits, not only repelled his equals, but affected also the minds of the lower orders, who looked upon the baron with fear and awe; the
