He says that, in Town, they met again:  “day after day, like his heart’s sun, the blooming Blumine shone on him.  Ah! a little while ago, and he was yet in all darkness:  him what Graceful (Holde) would ever love?  Disbelieving all things, the poor youth had never learned to believe in himself.  Withdrawn, in proud timidity, within his own fastnesses; solitary from men, yet baited by night-spectres enough, he saw himself, with a sad indignation, constrained to renounce the fairest hopes of existence.  And now, O now!  ‘She looks on thee,’ cried he:  ’she the fairest, noblest; do not her dark eyes tell thee, thou art not despised?  The Heaven’s-Messenger!  All Heaven’s blessings be hers!’ Thus did soft melodies flow through his heart; tones of an infinite gratitude; sweetest intimations that he also was a man, that for him also unutterable joys had been provided.

“In free speech, earnest or gay, amid lambent glances, laughter, tears, and often with the inarticulate mystic speech of Music:  such was the element they now lived in; in such a many-tinted, radiant Aurora, and by this fairest of Orient Light-bringers must our Friend be blandished, and the new Apocalypse of Nature enrolled to him.  Fairest Blumine!  And, even as a Star, all Fire and humid Softness, a very Light-ray incarnate!  Was there so much as a fault, a ‘caprice,’ he could have dispensed with?  Was she not to him in very deed a Morning-star; did not her presence bring with it airs from Heaven?  As from AEolian Harps in the breath of dawn, as from the Memnon’s Statue struck by the rosy finger of Aurora, unearthly music was around him, and lapped him into untried balmy Rest.  Pale Doubt fled away to the distance; Life bloomed up with happiness and hope.  The past, then, was all a haggard dream; he had been in the Garden of Eden, then, and could not discern it!  But lo now! the black walls of his prison melt away; the captive is alive, is free.  If he loved his Disenchantress? Ach Gott!  His whole heart and soul and life were hers, but never had he named it Love:  existence was all a Feeling, not yet shaped into a Thought.”

Nevertheless, into a Thought, nay into an Action, it must be shaped; for neither Disenchanter nor Disenchantress, mere “Children of Time,” can abide by Feeling alone.  The Professor knows not, to this day, “how in her soft, fervid bosom the Lovely found determination, even on hest of Necessity, to cut asunder these so blissful bonds.”  He even appears surprised at the “Duenna Cousin,” whoever she may have been, “in whose meagre hunger-bitten philosophy, the religion of young hearts was, from the first, faintly approved of.”  We, even at such distance, can explain it without necromancy.  Let the Philosopher answer this one question:  What figure, at that period, was a Mrs. Teufelsdrockh likely to make in polished society?  Could she have driven so much as a brass-bound Gig, or even a simple iron-spring one?  Thou foolish “absolved Auscultator,” before whom lies no prospect of capital, will any yet known “religion of young hearts” keep the human kitchen warm?  Pshaw! thy divine Blumine, when she “resigned herself to wed some richer,” shows more philosophy, though but “a woman of genius,” than thou, a pretended man.