such indeed as it was painted in romance; in real life, where was the unsullied ray to be met with? Not in his own sex; and with Hamlet, he had been often inclined to exclaim, "Frailty, thy name is Woman!" That he had at last discovered one of a pure and simple innocence he had felt conscious during his last evening's promenade at the villa of Mount Zephyr; and as he rode gently home, sentiments new and powerful soothed whilst they repressed his transports. "What a lovely girl!" he breathed in secret; "what a heavenly meekness is blended with the eloquent expression of her countenance! to win her affections, to call her mine, what a bliss!"
A sense of unworthiness slightly intruded to check, for a moment only, his presumption; gay and sanguine hope, with all its exhilarating train of images, quickly crowded upon his fancy. Life with him seemed one boundless theatre of delight, and to enjoy was his unvaried maxim. Under the dominion of such false persuasions he passed the night, and when the morning dawned, the result of his meditations determined him not to protract the avowal of his sentiments. To declare them openly, indeed, was very far from his intentions; his deficiency of fortune, though his vanity led him to believe it might not sway Rosilia, yet he
