Oh! I love!--Methinks
This word of love is fit for all the world,
And that for gentle hearts, another name
Should speak of gentler thoughts than the world owns.
--P. B. Shelley.

For me, I ask no more than honour gives,
To think me yours, and rank me with your friends,
--Shakspeare

Callous and worldly as I may seem, from the tone of these memoirs, I can
say, safely, that one of the most delicious evenings I ever spent, was
the first of my introduction to Miss Glanville. I went home intoxicated
with a subtle spirit of enjoyment that gave a new zest and freshness to
life. Two little hours seemed to have changed the whole course of my
thoughts and feelings.

There was nothing about Miss Glanville like a heroine--I hate your
heroines. She had none of that "modest ease," and "quiet dignity," and
"English grace" (Lord help us!) of which certain writers speak with such
applause. Thank Heaven, she was alive. She had great sense, but the
playfulness of a child; extreme rectitude of mind, but with the
tenderness of a gazelle: if she laughed, all her countenance, lips, eyes,
forehead, cheeks laughed too: "Paradise seemed opened in her face:" if
she looked grave, it was such a lofty and upward, yet sweet and gentle
gravity, that you might (had you been gifted with the least imagination,)
have supposed, from the model of her countenance, a new order of angels
between the cherubim and the seraphim, the angels of Love and Wisdom. She
was not, perhaps, quite so silent in society as my individual taste would
desire; but when she spoke, it was with a propriety of thought and