But the season of boyhood passes--the youth of sixteen becomes a young man
of twenty, and smiles at the innocent emotions of his uneducated heart. He
is no longer the mute adorer who worshipped in secrecy and in silence.
Each season produces its own flowers. At twenty, the time for mute
sympathy has passed away: it is one of the most eventful periods in the
life of a lover; for should he then chance to meet a heart free to respond
to his ardent passion, and that no cruel father, relentless guardian, or
richer lover interposes to overthrow his hopes, he may with the aid of a
licence, a parson, and a plain gold ring, be suddenly launched into the
calm felicity of married life.

I know not what mysterious chain unites the heart of a young lover to that
of the woman whom he loves. In the simplicity of their hearts they often
imagine it is but friendship that draws them towards each other, until
some unexpected circumstance removes the veil from their eyes, and they
discover the dangerous precipice upon whose brink they have been walking.
A journey, absence, or sickness, inevitably produce a discovery. If a
temporary separation be about to occur, the unconscious lovers feel, they
scarce know wherefore, a deep shade of sadness steal over them; their
adieux are mingled with a thousand protestations of regret, which sink
into the heart and bear a rich harvest by the time they meet again. Days
and months glide by, and the pains of separation still endure; for they
feel how necessary they have become to the happiness of each other, and
how cold and joyless existence seems when far from those we love.

That which may be anticipated, at length comes to pass; the lover
returns--he flies to his mistress--she receives him with blushing cheek
and palpitating heart. I shall not attempt to describe the scene, but
throughout the day and night that succeeds that interview the lover seems
like one distracted. In the city, in the fields--alone, or in company--he