mind. In fact, without any revolution of his nature, without the slightest effort, by mere growth it would seem, he passed on into the "Chamber of Maiden Thought," as he phrased it, and became absorbed as deeply in his reflections as previously in his impulses. At no time, indeed, was he wholly unthoughtful. The passages that have been given above are parenthetical, and should be read in connection with such as these, of the opposite tenor:—
"I must think that difficulties nerve the spirit of a man; they make our prime objects a refuge as well as a passion."
"I am becoming accustomed to the privations of the pleasures of sense. In the midst of the world, I live like a hermit. I have forgot how to lay plans for the enjoyment of any pleasure. I feel I can bear anything,—any misery, even imprisonment,—so long as I have neither wife nor child."
"Women must want imagination, and they may thank God for it; and so may we, that a delicate being can feel happy without any sense of crime."
"Scenery is fine, but human nature is finer; the sward is richer for the tread of a real nervous English foot; the eagle's nest
