We had gone into Devonshire, for the purpose of being more retired, that we might study more attentively, and with less chance of interruption, than in a town.  We chose, accordingly, for our residence, one of the most beautiful and retired cottages we ever saw.  It was situated very near the sea; and, oh! what thoughts used to steal over us, of romance and true love, as we gazed upon that quiet ocean, from the vine-covered window of our quiet, sweet, secluded home!  Day after day, we wandered among the woods in the neighbourhood, and rejoiced, at each successive visit, to find out new beauties.  This continued for some time; till at last, on returning one day, we saw an unusual bustle in the room we occupied.  On entering, we found our landlady hurrying out in great confusion, and, along with her, a beautiful, blushing girl, so perfectly ladylike in her appearance, that we wondered by what means our venerable hostess could have become acquainted with so interesting a visiter.  She soon explained the mystery; this lady, who seemed more bewitching every moment that we gazed on her, was the daughter of a ’squire in whose family our worthy landlady had been nurse.  She had come, without knowing that any lodger was in the house, and was to stay a week.  Oh! that week! the happiest of our life.  We soon became intimate; our books lay fast locked up at the bottom of our trunk:  we walked together, saw the sun set together in the calm ocean, and then walked happily and contentedly home in the twilight; and long before the week was at an end, we had vowed eternal vows, and sworn everlasting constancy.  We had not, to be sure, discovered any great powers of mind in our enslaver; but how interesting is even ignorance, when it comes from such a beautiful and smiling mouth!  We had already formed happy plans of moulding her unformed opinions, and directing and sharing all her studies.  The little slips which were observable in her grammar, we attributed to want of care; and the accent, which was very powerful, was rendered musical to our ear, at the same time as dear to our heart, by the whiteness of the little arm that lay so quietly and lovingly within our own.  And then, her taste in poetry was not the most delicate or refined; but she was so enthusiastically fond of it, that we imagined a little training would lead her to prefer many of Mr. Moore’s ballads, to the pathos of Giles Scroggins; and that in time, the “Shining River” might occupy a superior place, in her estimation, to a song from which she repeated, with tears in her eyes—­,

  “But like the star what lighted
  Pale billion to its fated doom,
  Our nuptial song is blighted,
  And its rose quench’d in its bloom.”

And then, she seemed so fond of flowers, and knew so much about their treatment, that we fancied how lovely she must look while engaged in that fascinating study; and often, in our dreaming moods, did we mutter about

        “Fair Proserpine
  Within the vale of Enna gathering flowers,
  Herself the fairest flower.”—­