friends, having surmounted the period of youth's romantic enthusiasm, and addicted to "maiden meditation, fancy-free," might have been thought no fit mark for his arrow.
Nevertheless, as I plodded my way to and from my school-house, a pair of deep-set and most expressive black eyes sometimes encountered mine, and spoke unutterable things. They were the property of a gentleman of striking physiognomy and the elegant manners of the olden school. Their dialect might not have made a lasting impression on one whose every thought and faculty were bespoken by her daily occupation; but ere long a letter came—a letter of touching eloquence and the fairest chirography. From this there was no escape. It was like a grappling-iron, not to be evaded. Wherever I turned, its words followed me as living creatures—an image of the wheel seen by the entranced prophet, full of eyes, that gazed wherever he went. To love-letters I had been no stranger, yet nothing like this appeal had caused such perturbation, and captivity of thought. Its writer I had occasionally met in select parties, with his wife, a being of angelic loveliness and beauty, who had gone to a higher and congenial sphere.
At length I determined to consult my dear Mr. and Mrs. Wadsworth. Readily and affectionately they gave me their opinion, adding earnest urgency that I should accept the proposal. The gentleman who had
