that all the world was not made up of Bloomfields, Murrays, Hatfields, Ashbys, &c.; and that human excellence was not a mere dream of the imagination. When we hear a little good, and no harm of a person, it is easy and pleasant to imagine more—in short, it is needless to analyze all my thoughts, but Sunday was now become a day of peculiar delight to me, (I was now almost broken in to the back corner in the carriage,) for I liked to hear him—and I liked to see him too, though I knew he was not handsome, or even, what is called, agreeable, in outward aspect, but, certainly, he was not ugly.
In stature, he was a little—a very little above the middle size; perfectly symmetrical in figure, deep chested, and strongly built; the outline of his face would be pronounced too square for beauty, but, to me, it announced decision of character; his dark brown hair was not carefully curled, like Mr. Hatfield's, but simply brushed aside over a broad, white forehead; the eyebrows, I suppose, were too projecting, but, from under those dark brows, there gleamed an eye of singular power, brown in colour, not large, and somewhat deepset but strikingly brilliant, and full of expression;
