CHAPTER XXVII.
LADY MARCHMONT TO SIR JASPER MEREDITH.
Mind, dangerous and glorious gift!
Too much thy native heaven has left
Its nature in thee, for thy light
To be content with earthly home.
It hath another, and its sight
Will too much to that other roam;
And heavenly light, and earthly clay,
But ill bear with alternate sway:
Till jarring elements create
The evil which they sought to shun,
And deeper feel their mortal state
In struggling for a higher one.
There is no rest for the proud mind,
Conscious of its high powers confined;
Vain dreams and feverish hopes arise,
It is itself its sacrifice.
Is it not Le Sage, my dearest uncle, who says, "to judge by their own account, the people of England are the most unhappy people under
