“I wish I had that high branch,” said she, “to put in my vase.” In a moment I was climbing up the tree like a great school-boy, while she, standing beneath, received the blossoms in her extended drapery; and I was on the point of descending, when a branch, lovelier than all I had culled, attracted my eye: this I intended to present in _propria persona_, that I might get a kiss of the hand in return. With my own hands sufficiently engaged in effecting my descent, I held my Hesperian branch in my teeth, and had nearly reached the ground, when Glorvina playfully approached her lovely mouth to snatch the prize from mine. We were just in contact--I suddenly let fall the branch--and--Father John appeared walking towards us; while Glorvina, who, it seems, had perceived him before she had placed herself in the way of danger, now ran towards him, covered with blushes and malignant little smiles. In short, she makes me feel in a thousand trivial instances the truth of Epictetus’s maxim, that to _bear_ and _forbear_, are the powers that constitute a wise man: to _forbear_, alone, would, in my opinion, be a sufficient test. Adieu, H. M. LETTER XXI. TO J. D. ESQ., M. P. I cannot promise you any more Irish history. I fear my _Hiberniana_ is closed, and a volume of more dangerous, more delightful tendency, draws towards its bewitching subject every truant thought. To him who is deep in the _Philosophia Amatoria_, every other science is cold and vapid. The oral legend of the Prince, and the historic lore of the priest, all go for nothing! I shake my head, look very wise, and appear to listen, while my eyes are riveted on Glorvina--who, not unconscious of the ardent gaze, sweeps with a feathery touch the chords of her harp, or plies her fairy wheel with double vigilence. Meantime, however, I am making a rapid progress in the Irish language, and well I may; for besides that I now listen to the language of Ossian with the same respect a Hindoo would to the Sanscrit of the Bramins, the Prince, the priest, and even Glorvina, contribute their exertions to my progress. The other evening, as we circled round the evening fire in the great hall, the Prince would put my improvements to the test, and taking down a grammar, he insisted upon my conjugating a verb. The verb he chose was, “_to love_”--? “Glorvina,” said he, seeing me hesitate, “go through the verb.” Glorvina had it at her fingers’ ends; and in her eyes swam a thousand delicious comments on the text she was expounding. The Prince, who is as unsuspicious as an infant, would have us repeat it together, that I might catch the pronunciation from her lip! “_I love_,” faintly articulated Glorvina. “_I love_,” I more faintly repeated. This was not enough--the Prince would have us repeat the plural twice over: and again and again we murmured together--“_we love!_”