Shall check my sympathetic sigh.

With this resolution fixed in her mind, one dark and dreary night, when the winds whistled and the tempest roared, she received intelligence that Elfonzo was then waiting, and every preparation was then ready, at the residence of Dr. Tully, and for her to make a quick escape while the family was reposing.  Accordingly she gathered her books, went the wardrobe supplied with a variety of ornamental dressing, and ventured alone in the streets to make her way to Elfonzo, who was near at hand, impatiently looking and watching her arrival.  “What forms,” said she, “are those rising before me?  What is that dark spot on the clouds?  I do wonder what frightful ghost that is, gleaming on the red tempest?  Oh, be merciful and tell me what region you are from.  Oh, tell me, ye strong spirits, or ye dark and fleeting clouds, that I yet have a friend.”  “A friend,” said a low, whispering voice.  “I am thy unchanging, thy aged, and thy disappointed mother.  Why brandish in that hand of thine a javelin of pointed steel?  Why suffer that lip I have kissed a thousand times to equivocate?  My daughter, let these tears sink deep into thy soul, and no longer persist in that which may be your destruction and ruin.  Come, my dear child, retract your steps, and bear me company to your welcome home.”  Without one retorting word, or frown from her brow, she yielded to the entreaties of her mother, and with all the mildness of her former character she went along with the silver lamp of age, to the home of candor and benevolence.  Her father received her cold and formal politeness—­“Where has Ambulinia been, this blustering evening, Mrs. Valeer?” inquired he.  “Oh, she and I have been taking a solitary walk,” said the mother; “all things, I presume, are now working for the best.”

Elfonzo heard this news shortly after it happened.  “What,” said he, “has heaven and earth turned against me?  I have been disappointed times without number.  Shall I despair?—­must I give it over?  Heaven’s decrees will not fade; I will write again—­I will try again; and if it traverses a gory field, I pray forgiveness at the altar of justice.”

Desolate Hill, Cumming, Geo., 1844.

Unconquered and Beloved Ambulinia—­ I have only time to say to you, not to despair; thy fame shall not perish; my visions are brightening before me.  The whirlwind’s rage is past, and we now shall subdue our enemies without doubt.  On Monday morning, when your friends are at breakfast, they will not suspect your departure, or even mistrust me being in town, as it has been reported advantageously that I have left for the west.  You walk carelessly toward the academy grove, where you will find me with a lightning steed, elegantly equipped to bear you off where we shall be joined in wedlock with the first connubial rights.  Fail not to do this—­think not of the tedious relations of our wrongs —­be invincible.  You alone occupy all my ambition, and I alone will make you my happy spouse, with the same unimpeached veracity.  I remain, forever, your devoted friend and admirer, J. L. Elfonzo.