ther must suffer, when he sees you forgetful of every thing which should bind you to society. And if I am yet dear to you, think what I suffer, when I see you almost suspecting the sincerity of my affection, and refusing to let the tenderest assurances of my love afford you any consolation! Take back then the freedom you were so anxious to give me. I have a pride, a pure happiness in being no longer free, in knowing myself entirely yours. Do you think there is no union but by the marriage ceremony? Did you not feel at our last parting that we were then united? And yet you tell me to marry!-to give myself to another!For what?-for fortune ?-Ah! I tell you that you do not know me. You profess to love me, and yet write as if you thought me capable of an act of mercenary baseness. Be just enough to suppose that my constancy to you, dearest Henry, is very natural, and that in assuring you of my affection, I am only expressing to you a senti

ment which it would be very unnatural not to feel. I will not return your farewell, because I hope that you will continue to write to me. Dearest Henry, if you knew how constantly and anxiously I think of you, how happy I feel when I suppose that you still love me, you would never suppose that I could ever be any other than "Your own affectionate and devoted

"JULIA."

CHAPTER XXXII.

You see what a philosopher I am!

WHEEL OF FORTUNE

SINCE the departure of Henry, Dr. Delby found that his studies had suffered considerable interruption. Notwithstanding bis general tranquillity and self-possession, he felt that he had not lately been able to give that exclusive and persevering attention to the sciences which he had hitherto done. He loved his daughter very tenderly; he felt great regard for Henry Welburn, and he was not willing to suppose that

any rational cause or impediment existed which should prevent their union. His "Thoughts on Madness" were again considered, and he was more and more satisfied with his own theory; and besides, he wished to amuse the evening of his life with the education of a little grandson. He was grieved to see the altered countenance of Julia. Her vivacity was gone. She appeared pale and thoughtful. The sweetness of her temper never varied, but even when she smiled, it was with an expression of sadness, which very much disturbed the tranquillity of her father.

After much and mature consideration, he determined that it was highly expe dient to bring about the marriage. He knew the parties themselves were willing. Mrs. Delby he considered as nobody, and as to any conscientious scruples Mr. Welburn might have upon the subject, he trusted that his own representations would entirely overcome them. He learned from

his daughter the residence of Mr. Welburn, and he resolved to proceed thither without loss of time, and prevail upon them to return to Torley.

When the Doctor had come to this determination, he began to arrange matters for his journey. He resolved to inform no one of his plan, and his arrangements were made in profound silence, and with that promptitude and energy which peculiarly distinguished him.

On the morning of his departure, he rose early, leaving Mrs. Delby in a very audible, and profound slumber. On the table of his study, he left a note, informing her of his departure; and he sent a servant with a letter to Julia, acquainting her with the object of his journey, and assuring her she might make preparations for her marriage; which should take place as soon as possible after his return.

The Doctor's mind was too intent on his own plans, and he was too anxious to arrive