down the boughs," exclaimed Sir Howard with vivacity; "and here finish my queries."
"May they not expressively mean," said Rosilia, with equal animation, "the virtues,—such the delightful, the resplendent fruit mankind may bear, shining bright in the autumn of life?"
"Excellent, admirable moralist?" again exclaimed Sir Howard.
"Say rather," returned she, smiling, "I have said my catechism well. Perhaps you are not aware that my maternal grandfather was in the Church, and that some of his lessons of wisdom have descended to me in right of inheritance; and also that I have a learned friend of the same profession and opinions, a neighbour in the country."
The insinuating mildness of Sir Howard's accents, the sensible topics he discussed in the course of the conversation which followed, were undoubtedly calculated, for the time, to flatter, please, and win upon Rosilia's attention, who, in her turn, expressed herself with unaffected ease, combined with an effusion of intelligence, a glow of imagery, a fervour of sentiment—not only breathed in language, but transmitted from eyes so full of alternately pensive interest, brilliancy, and charm, that Sir Howard, had he been even less infatuated, might have still acknowledged that, notwithstanding her comparatively juvenile understanding, few
