Who shall hope to express the mystery? Yet, is not thus much true, that,
if it must be allowed to the cynic that love rises in self, it yet has
its zenith and setting in another--in woman as in man? Two meet, and
passion, the joy of the selfish part of each, is born; shall love follow
depends on whether they have a particular grace of nature, love being
the thanksgiving of the unselfish part for the boon granted to the
other. The common nature snatches the joy and forgets the giver, but the
finer never forgets, and deems life but a poor service for a gift so
rare; and, though passion be long since passed, love keeps holy an
eternal memory.
'Love took up the harp of life and smote on all the chords
with might;
Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, pass'd in music
out of sight.'
Since the time of fairy-tales Love has had a way of coming in the
disguise of Duty. What is the story of Beauty and the Beast but an
allegory of true love? We take this maid to be our wedded wife, for her
sake it perhaps seems at the time. She is sweet and beautiful and to be
desired; but, all the same, we had rather shake the loose leg of
bachelordom, if it might be. However it be, so we take her, or maybe it
is she takes us, with a feeling of martyrdom; but lo! when we are home
together, what wonderful new lights are these beginning to ray about
her, as though she had up till now kept a star hidden in her bosom. What
is this new morning strength and peace in our life? Why, we thought it
was but Thestylis, and lo! it is Diana after all.
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