All Nature preaches forgetfulness.

Its very order is the progress of oblivion.

And I--I--give me your hand, Madeline,--I, ha! ha! I forget too!" As Aram spoke thus wildly, his countenance worked; but his voice was slow, and scarcely audible; he seemed rather conferring with himself, than addressing Madeline.

But when his words ceased, and he felt the soft hand of his betrothed, and turning, saw her anxious and wistful eyes fixed in alarm, yet in all unsuspecting confidence, on his face; his features relaxed into their usual serenity, and kissing the hand he clasped, he continued, in a collected and steady tone, "Forgive me, my sweetest Madeline.

These fitful and strange moods sometimes come upon me yet.