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I will not describe the subsequent interviews between
Leonard and his cousin, short and broken, but precious as
they were; nor that parting one, in which hands were
plighted with the sure and certain knowledge that hearts
had been interchanged. Remembrance will enable some of
my readers to portray the scene, and then perhaps a sigh
may be heaved for the days that are gone: Hope will picture
it to others — and with them the sigh will be for the
days that are to come.

There was not that indefinite deferment of hope in this
case at which the heart sickens. Leonard had been bred
up in poverty from his childhood; a parsimonious allowance,
grudgingly bestowed, had contributed to keep him frugal at
college, by calling forth a pardonable if not a commendable
sense of pride in aid of a worthier principle. He knew
that he could rely upon himself for frugality, industry, and
a cheerful as well as a contented mind. He had seen the
miserable state of bondage in which Margaret existed with
her aunt, and his resolution was made to deliver her from
that bondage as soon as he could obtain the smallest benefice
on which it was possible for them to subsist. They
agreed to live rigorously within their means, however poor,
and put their trust in Providence. They could not be deceived
in each other, for they had grown up together; and
they knew that they were not deceived in themselves.
Their love had the freshness of youth, but prudence and

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forethought were not wanting; the resolution which they
had taken brought with it peace of mind, and no misgiving
was felt in either heart when they prayed for a blessing
upon their purpose. In reality it had already brought a
blessing with it; and this they felt; for love, when it deserves
that name, produces in us what may be called a
regeneration of its own — a second birth — dimly, but yet
in some degree, resembling that which is effected by Divine
Love when its redeeming work is accomplished in the soul.

Leonard returned to Oxford happier than all this world's
wealth or this world's honors could have made him. He
had now a definite and attainable hope — an object in life
which gave to life itself a value. For Margaret, the world
no longer seemed to her like the same earth which she had
till then inhabited. Hitherto she had felt herself a forlorn
and solitary creature, without a friend; and the sweet
sounds and pleasant objects of nature, had imparted as little
cheerfulness to her as to the debtor who sees green fields in
sunshine from his prison, and hears the lark singing at liberty.
Her heart was open now to all the exhilarating and
all the softening influences of birds, fields, flowers, vernal
suns, and melodious streams. She was subject to the same
daily and hourly exercise of meekness, patience, and humility;
but the trial was no longer painful; with love in
her heart, and hope and sunshine in her prospect, she found
even a pleasure in contrasting her present condition with
that which was in store for her.

In these our days every young lady holds the pen of a
ready writer, and words flow from it as fast as it can indent
its zigzag lines, according to the reformed system of writing,—
which said system improves handwritings by making
them all alike and all illegible. At that time women wrote
better and spelt worse; but letter-writing was not one of
their accomplishments. It had not yet become one of the
general pleasures and luxuries of life, — perhaps the greatest

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gratification which the progress of civilization has given
us. There was then no mail-coach to waft a sigh across the
country at the rate of eight miles an hour. Letters came
slowly and with long intervals between; but when they
came, the happiness which they imparted to Leonard and
Margaret lasted during the interval, however long. To
Leonard it was as an exhilarant and a cordial which rejoiced
and strengthened him. He trod the earth with a lighter and
more elated movement on the day when he received a letter
from Margaret, as if he felt himself invested with an importance
which he had never possessed till the happiness of another
human being was inseparably associated with his own.

Happy, indeed, if there be happiness on earth, as that
same sweet poet says, is he

This was Leonard's case; and when he kissed the paper
which her hand had pressed, it was with a consciousness of
the strength and sincerity of his affection, which at once rejoiced
and fortified his heart. To Margaret his letters were
like summer dew upon the herb that thirsts for such refreshment.
Whenever they arrived, a headache became the
cause or pretext for retiring earlier than usual to her chamber,
that she might weep and dream over the precious lines.

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