desire, to shine, that the union of love and timidity has been called
inseparable, in the hackneyed language of every love-tale. But this
is no invariable rule, as Shakspeare has shown us in the artless
Miranda, in the eloquent Juliet, in the frank and healthful Rosalind;
--and the love of Sibyll was no common girl's spring-fever of sighs and
blushes. It lay in the mind, the imagination, the intelligence, as
well as in the heart and fancy. It was a breeze that stirred from the
modest leaves of the rose all their diviner odour. It was impossible
but what this strong, fresh young nature--with its free gayety when
happy, its earnest pathos when sad, its various faculties of judgment
and sentiment, and covert play of innocent wit--should not contrast
forcibly, in the mind of a man who had the want to be amused and
interested, with the cold pride of Katherine, the dull atmosphere in
which her stiff, unbending virtue breathed unintellectual air, and
still more with the dressed puppets, with painted cheeks and barren
talk, who filled up the common world, under the name of women.

His feelings for Sibyll, therefore, took a more grave and respectful
colour, and his attentions, if gallant ever, were those of a man
wooing one whom he would make his wife, and studying the qualities to
which he was disposed to intrust his happiness; and so pure was
Sibyll's affection, that she could have been contented to have lived
forever thus,--have seen and heard him daily, have talked but the
words of friendship though with the thoughts of love; for some
passions refine themselves through the very fire of the imagination
into which the senses are absorbed, and by the ideal purification
elevated up to spirit. Rapt in the exquisite happiness she now
enjoyed, Sibyll perceived not, or, if perceiving, scarcely heeded;
that the admirers, who had before fluttered round her, gradually
dropped off; that the ladies of the court, the damsels who shared her