nder and astonishment to that period of my life,
when such a being claimed and received the entire devotion of my heart.
Her idea blended with or predominated over all others. It was the
common centre in my mind from which all the radii of thought had their
direction; the nucleus around which I had gathered all that my ardent
imagination could conceive, or a memory stored with all the delicious
dreams of poetry and romances could embody, of female excellence and
purity and constancy.

"It is idle to talk of the superior attractions of intellectual beauty,
when compared with mere external loveliness. The mind, invisible and
complicated and indefinite, does not address itself directly to the
senses. It is comprehended only by its similitude in others. It
reveals itself, even then, but slowly and imperfectly. But the beauty
of form and color, the grace of motion, the harmony of tone, are seen
and felt and appreciated at once. The image of substantial and material
loveliness once seen leaves an impression as distinct and perfect upon
the retina of memory as upon that of the eyes. It does not rise before
us in detached and disconnected proportions, like that of spiritual
loveliness, but in crowds, and in solitude, and in all the throngful
varieties of thought and feeling and action, the symmetrical whole, the
beautiful perfection comes up in the vision of memory, and stands, like
a bright angel, between us and all other impressions of outward or
immaterial beauty.

"I saw her, and could not forget her; I sought her society, and was
gratified with it. It is true, I sometimes (in the first stages of my
attachment) had my misgivings in relation to her character. I sometimes
feared that her ideas were too much limited to the perishing beauty of
her person. But to look upon her graceful figure yielding to the dance,
or reclining in its indolent symmetry; to watch the beautiful play of
coloring upon her cheek, and the moonlight transit of her smile; to
study her faultless features in their delicate and even thoughtful
repose, or when lighted up into conversational vivacity, was to forget
everything, save the exceeding and bewildering fascination before me.
Like the silver veil of Khorassan it shut out from my view the mental
deformity beneath it. I could not reason with myself about her; I had
no power of ratiocination which could overcome the blinding dazzle of
her beauty. The master-passion, which had wrestled down