BACRE. 215 



feelings is such a scene viewed by the lover^ for to him only it 

 becomes the theatre of romance, and the dwelling-place of passion . 

 There have been some who think that love is a native of the 

 rocks; but its birth-place matters little, when once it is called 

 into being, for it can thrive alike wherever it is transplanted. It 

 shrouds itself in an atmosphere of its own creation, and sees the 

 surrounding objects through the medium of its own fanciful halo. 

 The existence of color depends not more on the rays of the sun, 

 than depends the hue which is lent to all that is external, upon 

 the internal feelings of the mind. The bustling scenes of gaiety 

 may appear ill suited to the indulgence of deep feeling ; yet the 

 mind which is preoccupied by one absorbing thought, has not 

 only an inward attraction that bids defiance to the intrusions of 

 others, but has even the power of converting into aliment ail 

 that should tend to destroy its force. The crowds that pass 

 before the eyes of a lover, seem but as a procession of which his 

 mistress is the queen. If he talks to another, it is to listen to 

 the welcome theme of her praise from the voice of partial friend- 

 ship ; and if the actions of others ever attract his attention, it is 

 to observe, with the jealous watchfulness of a lover, the manner 

 and reception of those whom he regards as rivals. 



There is generally some difficulty in passing the first evening 

 of a country-house visit; and it is upon these occasions that even 

 the semblance of something to do, is an object to the unoccupied 

 guests. Then it is that the pages of splendid Albums filled with 

 nonsense verses, and bad drawings on richly embossed paper, 

 are eagerly turned over, more to employ the fingers than to please 

 the eye. Then does the click of the billiard ball sound sweet as 

 melody to the ear ; and music becomes welcome, not for its 

 beauty, but its noise. 



