hovering between sublimity and a giggle.

But here is an example, from _Vivian Grey_, of Disraeli's earliest
manner:--

"After a moment had passed, he was pouring forth in a rapid voice,
and incoherent manner, such words as men speak only once. He spoke
of his early follies, his misfortunes, his misery; of his matured
views, his settled principles, his plans, his prospects, his hopes,
his happiness, his bliss; and when he had ceased, he listened, in
his turn, to some small still words, which made him the happiest of
human beings. He bent down, he kissed the soft silken cheek which
now he could call his own. Her hand was in his; her head sank upon
his breast. Suddenly she clung to him with a strong clasp. 'Violet!
my own, my dearest; you are overcome. I have been rash, I have been
imprudent. Speak, speak, my beloved! say, you are not ill!'

"She spoke not, but clung to him with a fearful strength, her head
still upon his breast, her full eyes closed. Alarmed, he raised her
off the ground, and bore her to the river-side. Water might revive
her. But when he tried to lay her a moment on the bank, she clung
to him gasping, as a sinking person clings to a stout swimmer. He
leant over her; he did not attempt to disengage her arms; and, by
degrees, by very slow degrees, her grasp loosened. At last her arms
gave way and fell by her side, and her eyes partly opened.

"'Thank God! Violet, my own, my beloved, say you are better!'

"She answered not, evidently she did not know him, evidently she
did not see him. A film was on her sight, and her eye was glassy.