fated to begin the passion of desire and of reverence if individuality pursues us there, will attend on through eternity. But he cannot realize in wor absolute separation this hour made in the child's lif new creation, the birth which seemingly wrought a c greater than that from the first nothingness to 1 existence; the trembling, the great delight, the inner of crowned triumph, 'the peace' (to quote words familiar sublimity) which the world cannot give'. N I describe the early steps in that Eden: non so ben like Dante wandering into the wood where he was to tidings of Beatrice, 'com' i' v' entrai'. I suppose this with all men. Love, who leads us blindfold, keeps hi the secret of that labyrinth to which he is at onc clue and the perplexity. He says, 'Ask no more: it': he whispers the warning not to search too curio that his enchantment perhaps gave the freshness t grass and the glory to the flower, holiness to the sl and faith to the pilgrim. There is a special my about many beginnings, and none more than this: not wisely lifted: a reverential fear which tells us faith on some things is more secure than knowledge.

If, in truth, I could retrace the looks, words, doings of that spring afternoon, they would be noth two children together in a room; others coming going; furniture around and the things of the most e day; laughter and trivial syllables, bright hair and br features, and animation, and the golden atmospher youth; childly inconsecutiveness of discourse, perh plans for future meeting suggested and left incomp even in words; a gay farewell, quick steps of departu and then As the angel's medicinal touch at pools of Bethesda, a moment's alchemy had transmu

̄erence which,
nd one soul
n words the
d's life; the
ht a change
s to human
inner music
Fords of so-
e. Nor can

> ben ridir,

was to hear
e this is so
ps himself

- once the
re: I did
Curiously;
ss to the
he shrine,
mystery
s: a veil
us that

re.
ds, and
othing:
ng and

st every

I bright here of

erhaps, mplete rture; at the muted

earth to heaven.7 But that this miracle should be nar-;
rowed to one—that I had gone down alone into what was
in after years to be bitter with a more than Marah bitter-)

ness—could I have mistrusted Providence so far as to
believe such calamity possible? Where two children had
met for an hour's play and laughter, and no further
thought, an old scene and calamity had renewed itself:
Ida and Toggenburg: Dante and Beatrice: Eros and
Anteros. Alas, what I drank of, was it the fountains of
'God', or the mocking and illusive waters of Gadara ?

VI Immediately the object of existence was to see this
lady, or to muse on her after seeing. Any clear sense of
pursuit, of ultimate triumph, I had not: these desires, the
first thoughts of later and less ideal passion, presented
themselves dimly as yet, matters that roused no para-
mount interest: the joy of the day was all-sufficient.
Thought of Désirée seemed to glorify the simple sense of
life into a 'pure organic pleasure', a delight 'sublime

my

in its senselessness': but if seeing her, hearing, sitting by
her, at the touch of her hand or dress, I may truly say, I
felt love in every limb. . . . One can hardly put these
things into words: if I could, I would hope that some
few, here and there, would recognize the truth of the
description. My entrance on school life, commenced a
few months before, and then the main event of little
experience, how trivial did it now appear! It had seemed,
of course, at the time, the beginning of man's estate:
now these matters merged themselves in what had sud-
denly become the dark ages of childhood, the days of
which I could willingly have said, that I was as one of the
heathen, and ignorant then of heaven. Whilst to others'
eyes remaining, no doubt, miserably childish, love at least.
so far raised me already to more manly thoughts, that

I was a separate creature at once from the child, out aims or central and guiding passion: I ha interest in the years when I had not truly k Désirée. Henceforth the world was changed, and great love coloured everything: giving a new life to studies, which were to make me worthier her: to games which, at every moment of animation or triu seemed to me at once transacted under her eye, wh conquered for her, or if not, her fancied consolation the victory to the first friendships of school, pursued the greater warmth, because I felt that how much e might love friends, it was still with a passion differin essential nature from that which the burning blush of soul made me conscious of at the least recollection Désirée. And there is one characteristic of youth w gave a peculiar force and exquisiteness of delight to recollections.

VII As years advance, and we learn what life is, common-places of existence strike most men less. have trodden the daily round so often, that we lose alı the sense of the dust and the monotony: we are at h in the office; we have learned to like Lombard Street. then we recognise that it is so with others also. E day in palace, or counting-house, or cottage, is filled with a succession of what to the most indolent and i pendent are nothing less than daily tasks and inevita Since this burden of uniform iteration is laid on all, former envy of those we had once fancied exempt diminis We do not perhaps desire wealth less, but we are alw more aware of the limitations under which wealth incre happiness of its narrow power, whilst procuring much bestow what to most men is the pleasure of pleasu novelty:

is, the

We

almost home

And

Every

ed up indetable.

Il, our

ishes. lways

reases

ch, to

sures,

....

versamur ibidem atque insumus usque, nec nova vivendo procuditur ulla voluptas.

But in boyhood, unbent as yet to the yoke of custom and credulous of an eternity of change, we were sensitive to the monotonous spaces in life, and felt its commonplaceness with a strange intensity. The mind is nearer Nature then, the taste and senses unconsciously more refined, more instinctively fastidious, than when in later life our faculties have been dulled by iteration of experiences, distracted by a thousand arguments. Many a rough English lad, all animal as he seems to foreign critics, incapable of appreciating our noble public education, carries with him. to that little arena of clamorous warfare a heart almost too delicately alive to the peace of home and its images of female tenderness: and amidst wild games, or during the first intoxicating glimpses of the glorious ancient world unfolded like a banner' before him, thinks of the field and forest he has left as of an imperial palace; a liberty he has surrendered. He does not regret the resumption of study, or find no animation in the return to river or football field it is the repeated and unswerving routine, the something too well known and hackneyed in every circumstance (I put it to readers' recollections), which depresses him.

VIII But how glorious the contrast, to turn in thought from the midst of that narrow circle of Common-place over-familiar, to the image of Désirée! I feel the subtle sweetness of the fancy now, as I recall those days, in what seems at least all its original freshness. Around were the well-known faces of hearty companions, the rough, the out-speaking, the careless contemporaries, the din, the shouting voices, the reckless murmur, the long room with its worn and dismal formality of furniture, the ragged

benches, scattered books, diagrams dark with neglect, lurid air and at a thought, in the centre of all, that vision which appeared almost bodily immanent b force and passion of loving remembrance: that tr which was all one's own, and yet seemed, by some n rious magic, transfused into all around it; omnipres Nature to the youthful Wordsworth, by process diviner Pantheism. The desk before me was fretted a hundred initials; my own, I remember, cut on a s thought of magnitude hitherto unreached. I dare give Désirée's such honours; I wrote her name everyw and effaced it: the very form of the letters, as the appeared, assumed a talismanic and individual life, a lo superhuman sweetness. If I saw them repeated, as in initials of a name on a book's title-page, or abroad where in the street, they gave a sanctity to the pla their occurrence; they smiled on me for delight and encouragement.

IX Again, on any occasion of school-festivity, jo union for games, or talk, or excursion with the friend the day, there was yet a further and special happines withdraw the mind from circumstances of present plea recalling the moments when I had seen Désirée last. was a triumph of irony; a contrast that truly see whatever the joy of the moment, between earth and hea

I might think of many such scenes. . . . O! let pause here an instant,- for we then met often. one afternoon she had consecrated by exhibition of the and treasures of a girl's childhood: a birthday watch-c I remember especially, because in far other days I sa again by chance, and the sight pierced me: how we interchanged little gifts: how I had stolen with suc (and my heart swelled with pride at the little ruse,