Not
Ulysses, Circe tempted--not Sintram seeking his Undine--not the hapless
sailor wight pursuing the maiden of the _mer_, was more utterly enamored
than was I. As a proof that I was no bad specimen of the 'gushing'
persuasion, at this period, read the following expressive though
sometimes commonplace retort. I do not profess to know, and do not much
care, whether it was the utterance of an artful fiend, a misguided
saint, or one of those 'sympathetic spirits' of whom Swedenborg makes
frequent mention. According to his statement, these beings are in such a
condition, that whenever they come in contact with a mortal, they chime
in with and encourage the views and tendencies of their terrestrial
acquaintance; and often, without meaning it, lead him into great
errors--being themselves used as cats' paws by decidedly evil spirits.
But here is the tender missive, which I transcribe from between two
heavy pages of notes on the Aristotelian and Baconian philosophies:
'I thought that I had experienced the joys of reciprocal affection; but
never until now have begun to realize what an unbounded sea of bliss two
kindred souls can bathe in. Ah! who could have convinced me that so
much rapture could be crowded into a few moments, as was mine while you
were pouring forth the inexhaustible treasures of your mind upon my
entranced ear? Spare me the sudden transition from mere esteem to such
huge, melodious irresistible outpouring of affection.
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