life. Weary, disappointed, and desolate as it is, why should I wish such a pilgrimage to he prolonged? Were we wise, we should weep when life begins, and only rejoice at the close."
Francesca spoke in the bitterness of a wounded spirit, whose burden is too heavy to bear. All patient hope, all cheerful submission, had for the time passed away; but oh! the victory of the grave is terrible.
"We shall not separate for long," continued Guido. "The heart has its own revelations; and the aspect of the invisible, so soon to be known, casts its shadows, which are omens, as we draw unto its presence. I feel the love which binds me to you stronger every hour;—would it not weaken with all my other hopes and earthly thoughts, were I about to part from you, as I have done with them, for ever? Francesca, beloved, we are alike; and neither are made of materials that ever yet lasted. Think of those who have gone down to an early grave—are they not the good, the beautiful, those of the passionate feeling and the dreaming hope? They have but a brief time in this world, for their nature belongs to another. Victims of an inexorable destiny, they suffer, they struggle, till at last the trial is ended, and the tomb is the dark and awful gate through which they pass into
