In mine, the heat came up through an exquisite Etruscan vase, covered with flowers, which seemed to emit odor as well as warmth, and threw the illusion of spring over the dullness and gloom of winter.

But I missed the glowing hearth of Mrs.Linwood, the brightness and heartiness of her winter fireside.
I never shall forget how I started with horror, when I was conscious of a feeling of _ennui_, even in the presence of Ernest.

It was not possible I should be weary of the joys of heaven, if I were capable of sighing in my own Eden bower.

I tried to banish the impression; it WOULD return, and with it self-reproach and shame.
If Ernest had not been lifted by wealth above the necessity of exertion; had he been obliged to exercise the talents with which he was so liberally endowed for his own support and the benefit of mankind; had he some profession which compelled him to mingle in the world, till the too exquisite edge of his sensibilities were blunted by contact with firmer, rougher natures, what a blessing it would have been! With what pride would I have seen him go forth to his daily duties, sure that he was imparting and receiving good.

With what rapture would I have welcomed his returning footstep! Oh! had he been a _poor_ man, he would have been a _great_ man.