 description, and
other works on belles lettres, made a part of this precious cargo. Her music,
even her flowers, were neglected, and Saunders not only mourned over, but began
to mutiny against, the labour for which he now scarce received thanks. These new
pleasures became gradually enhanced by sharing them with one of a kindred taste.
Edward's readiness to comment, to recite, to explain difficult passages,
rendered his assistance invaluable; and the wild romance of his spirit delighted
a character too young and inexperienced to observe its deficiencies. Upon
subjects which interested him, and when quite at ease, he possessed that flow of
natural, and somewhat florid eloquence, which has been supposed as powerful even
as figure, fashion, fame, or fortune, in winning the female heart. There was,
therefore, an increasing danger in this constant intercourse, to poor Rose's
peace of mind, which was the more imminent, as her father was greatly too much
abstracted in his studies, and wrapped up in his own dignity, to dream of his
daughter's incurring it. The daughters of the house of Bradwardine were, in his
opinion, like those of the house of Bourbon or Austria, placed high above the
clouds of passion which might obfuscate the intellects of meaner females; they
moved in another sphere, were governed by other feelings, and amenable to other
rules, than those of idle and fantastic affection. In short, he shut his eyes so
resolutely to the natural consequences of Edward's intimacy with Miss
Bradwardine, that the whole neighbourhood concluded that he had opened them to
the advantages of a match between his daughter and the wealthy young Englishman,
and pronounced him much less a fool then he had generally shown himself in cases
where his own interest was concerned.
    If the Baron, however, had really meditated such an alliance, the
indifference of Waverley would have been an insuperable bar to his project. Our
hero, since mixing more freely with the world, had learned to think with great
shame and confusion upon his mental legend of Saint Cecilia, and the vexation of
these reflections was likely, for some time at least, to counterbalance the
natural susceptibility of his disposition. Besides, Rose Bradwardine, beautiful
and amiable as we have described her, had not precisely the sort of beauty or
merit which captivates a romantic imagination in early youth. She was too frank,
too confiding, too kind; amiable qualities, undoubtedly, but destructive of the
marvellous, with which a youth of imagination delights to address the empress of
his affections. Was it possible to bow, to tremble
