uid agit quoquo vestigil vertit, Componit furtim, subsequiturque
decor.

Or what do you think of those in a modern play, which might actually
have been composed with an eye to this little trifler--

--"See with what a waving air she goes Along the corridor. How like a
fawn! Yet statelier. No sound (however soft) Nor gentlest echo telleth
when she treads, But every motion of her shape doth seem Hallowed by
silence. So did Hebe grow Among the gods a paragon! Away, I'm grown The
very fool of Love!"

The truth is, I never saw anything like her, nor I never shall again.
How then do I console myself for the loss of her? Shall I tell you, but
you will not mention it again? I am foolish enough to believe that she
and I, in spite of every thing, shall be sitting together over a
sea-coal fire, a comfortable good old couple, twenty years hence! But
to my narrative.--

I was delighted with the alteration in her manner, and said, referring
to the bust--"You know it is not mine, but yours; I gave it you; nay, I
have given you all--my heart, and whatever I possess, is yours! She
seemed good-humouredly to decline this carte blanche offer, and waved,
like a thing of enchantment, out of the room. False calm!--Deceitful
smiles!--Short interval of peace, followed by lasting woe! I sought an
interview with her that same evening. I could not get her to come any
farther than the door. "She was busy--she could hear what I had to say
there." Why do you seem to avoid me as you do? Not one five minutes'
conversation, for the sake of old acquaintance? Well, then, for the
sake of THE LITTLE IMAGE!" The appeal seemed to have lost its
efficacy; the charm was broken; she remained immoveable. "Well, then I
must come to you, if you will not run away." I went and sat down in a
chair near the door, and took her hand, and talked to her for three
quarters of an hour; and she listened patiently, thoughtfully, and
seemed a good deal affected by what I said. I told her how much I had
felt, how much I had suffered for her in my absence, and how much I had
been hurt by her sudden silence, for which I knew not how to account. I
could have done nothing to offend her while I was away; and my letters
were, I hoped, tender and respectful. I had had but one thought ever
present with me; her image never quitted my side, alone or in company,
to delight or distract me. Without her I could have no peace, nor ever
should again, unless she woul