more glowing hope, of a far purer and loftier vein of sentiment, than all
the "floods and fells" in the universe; and that, sweet evening! is one
reason why we like that the earnest and tender thoughts thou excitest
within us should be rather surrounded by the labours and tokens of our
species than by sheep and bats and melancholy and owls. But whether,
most blessed evening! thou delightest us in the country or in the town,
thou equally disposest us to make and to feel love! Thou art the cause
of more marriages and more divorces than any other time in the twenty-
four hours! Eyes that were common eyes to us before, touched by thy
enchanting and magic shadows, become inspired, and preach to us of
heaven. A softness settles on features that were harsh to us while the
sun shone; a mellow "light of love" reposes on the complexion which by
day we would have steeped "full fathom five" in a sea of Mrs. Gowland's
lotion. What, then, thou modest hypocrite! to those who already and
deeply love,--what, then, of danger and of paradise dost thou bring?

Silent, and stilling the breath which heaved in both quick and fitfully,
Lucy and Clifford sat together. The streets were utterly deserted; and
the loneliness, as they looked below, made them feel the more intensely
not only the emotions which swelled within them, but the undefined and
electric sympathy which, in uniting them, divided them from the world.
The quiet around was broken by a distant strain of rude music; and as it
came nearer, two forms of no poetical order grew visible. The one was a
poor blind man, who was drawing from his flute tones in which the
melancholy beauty of the air compensated for any deficiency (the
deficiency was but slight) in the execution. A woman much younger than
the musician, and with something of beauty in her countenance,
accompanied him, holding a tattered hat, and looking wistfully up at the
windows of the silent street. We said two forms; we did the injustice of
forgetfulness to another,--a rugged and simple friend, it is true, but