She seemed the very personification of one of Ossian's blue-eyed maids, with her white, rising hands, and long, floating locks.
I was passionately fond of music, and had my talent been early cultivated I would doubtless have excelled.

I cared not much about the piano, but there was inspiration in the very sight of a harp.

In imagination I was Corinna, improvising the impassioned strains of Italy, or a Sappho, breathing out my soul, like the dying swan, in strains of thrilling melody.

Edith was a St.Cecilia.Had my hand swept the chords, the hearts of mortals would have vibrated at the touch; she touched the divine string, and "called angels down." When I retired that night and saw the reflection of myself full length, in the large pier-glass, between the rosy folds of the sweeping damask, I could not help recalling what Richard Clyde had said of my personal improvement.

Was he sincere, when with apparent enthusiasm he had applied to me the epithet, _beautiful_?
No, he could not be; and yet his eyes had emphasized the language of his lips.
I was not vain.