Heavens! thou art a strange creature, _Slawkenbergius!_ what a whimsical view of the involutions of the heart of woman hast thou opened! how this can ever be translated, and yet if this specimen of _Slawkenbergius's_ tales, and the exquisitiveness of his moral, should please the world--translated shall a couple of volumes be. ------Else, how this can ever be translated into good _English_, I have no sort of conception. --There seems in some passages to want a sixth sense to do it rightly. ----What can he mean by the lambent pupilability of slow, low, dry chat, five notes below the natural tone----which you know, madam, is little more than a whisper? The moment I pronounced the words, I could perceive an attempt towards a vibration in the strings, about the region of the heart. ------The brain made no acknowledgment. ----There's often no good understanding betwixt 'em --I felt as if I understood it. ----I had no ideas. ----The movement could not be without cause. --I'm lost. I can make nothing of it--unless, may it please your worships, the voice, in that case being little more than a whisper, unavoidably forces the eyes to approach not only within six inches of each other--but to look into the pupils--is not that dangerous? ----But it can't be avoided--for to look up to the ceiling, in that case the two chins unavoidably meet----and to look down into each other's lap, the foreheads come to immediate contact, which at once puts an end to the conference ----I mean to the sentimental part of it. ----What is left, madam, is not worth stooping for.
Heavens! thou art a strange creature, Slawkenbergius! what a whimsical view of the heart of woman hast thou opened! How this can ever be translated into good English, I have no idea. There seems a sixth sense needed to do it rightly. What can he mean by 'the lambent pupilability of slow, low, dry chat, five notes below the natural tone' - which you know, madam, is little more than a whisper?
The moment I pronounced the words, I felt something like a vibration in the heart-strings. - The brain made no acknowledgment. There's often no good understanding betwixt 'em. - I'm lost. I can make nothing of it - unless the voice being little more than a whisper, it forces the eyes to approach within six inches of each other - and to look into the pupils - is not that dangerous? But it can't be avoided - for if they look up to the ceiling, the two chins unavoidably meet - and if they look down into each other's lap, the foreheads contact, which at once puts an end to the sentimental part of the conference. - What is left, madam, is not worth stooping for.