different on different individuals. As for myself, I involuntarily felt for
the handkerchief in my pocket. The page of the album drew nearer.
Lady Holberton looked aghast, as though she had seen a cannibal.
Some bit their lips; others opened their eyes. Mr. T-----, however,
who held the album at the moment, and was bending over it when
Miss Rowley began her extraordinary disclosure, raised his eyes,
fixed his glasses on the fair speaker, and sent through them such a
glance as no words can fully describe. It was a glance of intense
admiration.

"What exalted views! What sublime sentiments!" he exclaimed in an
ecstasy.

But Mr. T-----'s blaze of admiration was not the only flame at work,
while he was gazing at the heroine of the moment. In the sudden
burst of enthusiasm roused by the fair purloiner, he forgot all else;
the precious volume in his hand drooped, touched the flame of a
wax-light on the table, and in another instant the great Holberton
Album, that Album of European reputation--was burning before our
eyes--its invaluable leaves were curling, and blackening, and
smoking under the devouring flame!

A shriek from Lady Holberton--an unearthly cry from the page of the
Album--both echoed by the spectators, came too late. The volume
was half consumed. Of the Lumley Autograph not a line remained!

Such was the ill-fated end of the letter of the poor starving poet. It
was written amid gloom and distress; its career closed in a stormy
hour. The loss of the Album of course broke off the engagement
between Lady Holberton and Mr. T-----. This however could scarcely