The Mysteries of the Court of London by Pauline Clarendon — page 371: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

368 THE COURT OF LONDON “ Dearest George, I also have thought of thee without ceasing,’ murmured Octavia, all her senses appearing to dissolve into softness beneath the melting influence of the insidious language which the melodious yet manly voice of her lover breathed in her ear. “ Yes, my angel,’ continued the practised and systematic deceiver, having conducted her to a seat, and placing him- self by her side, ‘‘ I have not for a single moment proved unfaithful to thy sweet image. It has been my contempla- tion by day, and has rendered my dreams delicious at night. But when thou art not with me, it seems as if a strain of exquisite music had passed away, leaving only the faint prolongation of the dulcet sounds in the ears.” “These assurances create an ineffable joy within my heart,’ said the enraptured young lady, suffering the prince, without a remonstrance, to remove her bonnet and ample shawl, while the very soul of her impassioned love breathed upon him through the words which she uttered, and shone upon him in her heavenly looks and her sunny smiles. “You cannot conceive the delight which your letter gave me,’ continued his Royal Highness, whose princely rank was so little suspected by the confiding Octavia. ‘“ It is said that poetry wafts the soul of the bard into an Elysian realm of his own creating, where thoughts and images appear as in a celestial temple full of music and incense, and whence his beatific spirit bears them back to the earth to weave them in immortal verse. But, oh, how much more truly may all this be said of love, which wafts the soul to no ideal world, but into a heaven having a real and palpable existence, and from which there is no awaking to find it all a dream!” ‘“ And shall you ever entertain these thoughts which infuse so much delight into my heart? ” murmured Octavia, who could not possibly have understood, even if a saint had risen from the dead to proclaim the fact, that her lover experienced not a particle of the poetic sentiment which he described in such glowing terms, but that his passion was a mere gross sensuousness. ‘“T shall never cease to adore and worship you, my angel,’ he replied, straining her to his breast, and lavishing upon her the warmest caresses. ECORNIELOOOKS (EO) m