fe is dull. It is very often and
very much the reverse. If we look back on those passages of our life
which dwell most upon the memory, they are brief periods full of action
and novel sensation. Egremont found this so during the first days of his
new residence in Mowedale. The first week, an epoch in his life, seemed
an age; at the end of the first month, he began to deplore the swiftness
of time and almost to moralize over the brevity of existence. He found
that he was leading a life of perfect happiness, but of remarkable
simplicity; he wished it might never end, but felt difficulty in
comprehending how in the first days of his experience of it, it had
seemed so strange; almost as strange as it was sweet. The day that
commenced early, was past in reading--books lent him often too by Sybil
Gerard--sometimes in a ramble with her and Morley, who had time much
at his command, to some memorable spot in the neighbourhood, or in the
sport which the river and the rod secured Egremont. In the evening, he
invariably repaired to the cottage of Gerard, beneath whose humble roof
he found every female charm that can fascinate, and conversation that
stimulated his intelligence. Gerard was ever the same; hearty, simple,
with a depth of feeling and native thought on the subjects on which they
touched, and with a certain grandeur of sentiment and conception which
contrasted with his social position, but which became his idiosyncracy.
Sybil spoke little, but hung upon the accents of her father; yet ever
and anon her rich tones conveyed to the charmed ear of Egremont some
deep conviction, the earnestness of her intellect as remarkable as
the almost sacred repose of her mien and manner. Of Morley, at first
Egremont saw a great deal: he lent our friend books, opened with
unreserve and with great richness of speculative and illustrative power,
on the questions which ever engaged him, and which were new and highly
interesting to his companion. But as time advanced, whether it were that
the occupations of Morley increased, and the calls on his hours left him
fewer occasions for the indulgence of social intercourse, Egremont saw
him seldom, except at Gerard's cottage, where generally he might be
found in the course of the week, and their rambles together had entirely
ceased.

Alone, Egremont mused much over the daughter of Gerard, but shrinking
from the precise and the definite, his dreams were delightful, but
vague. All that he asked was, tha