r
than Sir Hubert, is undeniable. The writer must either have left out the
_hushing_ altogether, which would have been a great blemish in the
picture, or he must have written as he has done. How profoundly versed
in the physiology of blushing he must be! We are doubtful, however,
whether the costume of the picture is altogether appropriate; for we
question very much whether the Italian ladies of the thirteenth, or any
other century, were in the habit of paying forenoon visits in low-necked
gowns; and whether Mabel could have walked all the way from her castle
to Sir Hubert's cottage, in an attire which revealed so many of her
charms, without attracting the general attention of the neighbourhood.
She had no time, be it observed, to divest herself of shawl or mantilla
in order to show how _sumptuously_ she could blush--for her salutation
is made to Sir Hubert, and its roseate consequences ensue the very first
moment she sees him. But let that pass. We should have been very sorry
if such a "splendiferous" phenomenon had been obscured by envious boa or
pelisse, or lost to the proprieties of costume. The Lady then

"Said that she was wearied
With her walk--would stay to dine,
And name her wishes after."

Meanwhile the poet asks--

"How was it with Sir Hubert?
--Beggarly language! _I could burst_
For impotence of effort:
Those who made thee were accurst!
_Dumb men were gods were all dumb_.
But go on, and do thy worst!--

"His life-blood stopp'd to listen--
Her _delivering_ lips dealt sound--
Oh! _hungrily_ he listen'd,
But the meaning meant was drown'd;
For, to him, her voice and presence
Meaning held far more profound.

"He gave his soul to feasting,
And his sense, (which is the soul
More thoroughly incarnate,)
Backward standing, to control
His object, as a painter
Views a picture in the whole.

"She stood, her eyes cast downwards,
And, upon them, dropp'd halfway,
Lids, sweeter than the bosom
Of an unburst lily, lay,
With black abundant lashes,
To keep out the upper day.

"_A breath from out her shoulders
Made the air cool_, and the ground
Was greener in their shadow;
All her dark locks _loll'd_, unbound,
About them, heavily lifted
By the breeze that struggled round.

"As if from weight of beauty,
Gently bent--but oh, how draw