As I have always been fond of tracing to its source in nature any
prevailing custom, I have frequently thought that it was a
sentiment of affection for whatever had touched the person of an
absent or lost friend, which gave birth to that respect for
relicks, so much abused by selfish priests. Devotion, or love,
may be allowed to hallow the garments as well as the person; for
the lover must want fancy who has not a sort of sacred respect
for the glove or slipper of his mistress. He could not confound
them with vulgar things of the same kind. This fine sentiment,
perhaps, would not bear to be analyzed by the experimental
philosopher -- but of such stuff is human rapture made up! -- A
shadowy phantom glides before us, obscuring every other object;
yet when the soft cloud is grasped, the form melts into common
air, leaving a solitary void, or sweet perfume, stolen from the
violet, that memory long holds dear. But, I have tripped unawares
on fairy ground, feeling the balmy gale of spring stealing on me,
though november frowns.
