which we rowed along the banks of the Thames with Miss Montenero. I always enjoyed every beautiful object in nature with enthusiasm, but now with new delight--with all the enchantment of a first love, and of hope that had never known disappointment. I was almost angry with my dear friend Mowbray, for not being as enthusiastic this day as I was myself. There were certain points of taste and character on which we never could agree; my romantic imagination and enthusiastic manner of expressing myself, were often in contrast with his worldly comic mode of seeing and talking. He hurt, sometimes, my feelings by his raillery--he pulled me down too suddenly from my flights of imagination. By the flashes of his wit he showed, perhaps too clearly, the danger of my fall from “high sublime to deep absurd;” but, after all, I was satisfied that Miss Montenero preferred my style, and in general I was content that he should enjoy his dear wit and gay rhetoric--even a little at my expense. The morning we went to Westminster Abbey, I own I was provoked with him, for pointing out to my observation, at the moment when my imagination was struck with the sense of sublimity at the sight of the awful pile, the ridiculous contrast of the showman and his keys, who was impatiently waiting till I had finished my exclamations; but I soon forgot both the showman and the wit, while at every step, among the illustrious dead, my enthusiasm was raised, and some anecdote of their lives, or some striking quotation from their works, rushed upon my mind. I was inspired and encouraged by the approbation of the father, and the sympathy of the daughter. As we were quitting the Abbey, Mr. Montenero stopped, turned to me, and said, “You have a great deal of enthusiasm, I see, Mr. Harrington: so much the better, in my opinion--I love generous enthusiasm.” And at the moment I flattered myself that the eyes of his daughter repeated “I love generous enthusiasm,” her father caught the expression, and immediately, with his usual care, moderated and limited what he had said. “Enthusiasm well governed, of course, I mean--as one of your English noblemen lately said, ‘There is an enthusiasm of the head, and that is genius--there is an enthusiasm of the heart, and that is virtue--there is an enthusiasm of the temper, and that is--’” Miss Montenero looked uneasy, and her father perceiving this, checked himself again, and, changing his tone, added, “But with all its dangers and errors, enthusiasm, in either man or woman, is more amiable and respectable than selfishness. Enthusiasm is not the vice of the young men or women of the present day.”