scription; it is really a beautiful production of human genius. How unfortunate I am not to have prevailed on you to read it."
The earnestness with which he spoke upon a subject which, as he would have her believe, no otherwise concerned him than merely to contribute to her amusement, created an involuntary smile, which he perceived playing upon her countenance, and mistook it for a sign of acquiescence; then seizing the occasion with a gentle, yet respectful familiarity, he sought to thrust the book into her hand. Swayed however by that decision which ever upheld her, never to vary from a point once taken and approved of by her reason and judgment, she again rejected the proffered work. Absolute pride and contradiction, thought he, looking downwards, abashed and confused; or can she suspect me of design!
To relieve the pain he seemed evidently labouring under, Rosilia addressed him.
"I do not wish, Mr. Melliphant," said she, "to indulge in a sickly sensibility for fictitious woes, life abounding with so many real ones; such works which give vigour and fortitude to the mind I should prefer, the lessons they teach us of rising superior to misfortune being always useful."
Trembling under the apprehension that she might have suspected his intentions, and that he might lose in her favourable and flattering estimation,—after, by a subtle device to rescue himself from her ill opinion, he recommended Homer's Iliad.
