_Mr. Forester._ Fresh air and liberty are all that is necessary to the happiness of children. In that blissful age ‘when nature’s self is new,’ the bloom of interest and beauty is found alike in every object of perception—in the grass of the meadow, the moss on the rock, and the seaweed on the sand. They find gems and treasures in shells and pebbles; and the gardens of fairyland in the simplest flowers. They have no melancholy associations with autumn or with evening. The falling leaves are their playthings; and the setting sun only tells them that they must go to rest as he does, and that he will light them to their sports in the morning. It is this bloom of novelty, and the pure, unclouded, unvitiated feelings with which it is contemplated, that throw such an unearthly radiance on the scenes of our infancy, however humble in themselves, and give a charm to their recollections which not even Tempe can compensate. It is the force of first impressions. The first meadow in which we gather cowslips, the first stream on which we sail, the first home in which we awake to the sense of human sympathy, have all a peculiar and exclusive charm, which we shall never find again in richer meadows, mightier rivers, and more magnificent dwellings; nor even in themselves, when we revisit them after the lapse of years, and the sad realities of noon have dissipated the illusions of sunrise. It is the same, too, with first love, whatever be the causes that render it unsuccessful: the second choice may have just preponderance in the balance of moral estimation; but the object of first affection, of all the perceptions of our being, will be most divested of the attributes of mortality. The magical associations of infancy are revived with double power in the feelings of first love; but when they too have departed, then, indeed, the light of the morning is gone. [Illustration: _Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Hippy._] Pensa che questo di mai non raggiorna! _Anthelia._ If this be so, let me never be the object of a second choice: let me never love, or love but once. _Mr. Forester._ The object of a second choice you cannot be with any one who will deserve your love; for to have loved any other woman, would show a heart too lightly captivated to be worthy of yours. The only mind that can deserve to love you is one that would never have known love if it never had known you. Anthelia and Mr. Forester were both so unfashionably sincere, that they would probably, in a very few minutes, have confessed to each other more than they had till that morning, perhaps, confessed to themselves, but that their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Hippy fuming for his breakfast, accompanied by Sir Telegraph cracking his whip, and Sir Oran blowing the réveillée on his French horn. ‘So ho!’ exclaimed Sir Telegraph; ‘Achilles and Thetis, I protest, consulting on the sea-shore.’