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Show 58 HICIIAitD IIORDIS. CIIAP'l'Elt VIII. ROA OSIDB I'ROGRESS. "But with the wor1l, the time will Lriug o11 summer, " ' hen briers sh11ll huvc lcu,·es ns well ns thoL"us, Aud be ns sweet. ns lilhatv. We must. nwny; Our wngon is prepn1·00, a nd time revives u s."-SUAKSl'ERI". I IIF.AHD it then-in long days a fter, when she was speech. 1<'ss, I heard it-! still hear it - I shall neYer lose its lingering memories. 'l'hey cling to me with a mother's loYe; tl10 purest, the lenst selfi sh of all human affections. 'l'he love of woman is a wondrous thing, Lut tho love of a motl10r is yet more wonderful. ·~Nhat is there like it in nature? 'Vhnt tic is there so closr, so warm, so uncnlculating in its compli:mccs, so unmeasured in its sacrifices, so enduring in its tenacious tenderness? It may accompany the feeble int<'llcct, tJw coarse form, tl1c equivocal virtue; but, in itself, it is ueither feeble, nor coarse, nor equivocal. It refines vulgnrity, it softens violence, it quali· fics and chastens, eYen when it may not redeem, aU other vices. I am convinced that, of all human nfi"ections, it is endowed with the greatest longevity ; it is the most hnrdy, if not tl1e most acute in its vitality. 'l'nlk of the love of young people for one another; it is not to Le spoken of in the same breath; nothing can be more inferior. Such love is of the earth, enrthy-a passion born of tumults, wild nnd fcnrful as the storm, and yet more capricious. An idol of clay -a. miserable pottery, the work, which in a fit of fi·enzied devotion we make with our own hands, and in another, and not more mad fit of brutality, we trample to pieces with our feet. Appetite is the fiend that degrades every passio11, :uHl the flame, of which it is a 1mrt1 must always end in smoke and ashes. 'l"hus I mused when I encountered my friend and companion. ll.OADSIDE PHOGHES::t 5\l He wns in fine spil'its; ovc1joycd with the novelty of the situa. lion in which he found himself: For the flrst time in his life, he wns :t tr:wcllcr, and his nature was one of those that corrcspoud with the generous season, and keep happy in spite of the cloudy. liis soul began to expand with the momcntly increasing consciousness of its freedom; and when lte described to me the sweet ltonr which h:td just terminated, nnd ·which he hncl cmplnJ:'ctl fOI' his r~ating with Emmeline "\Valkcr, he absolutely shouted. liis scpnration from l1is fo rmer home, his relat ives, nnd the wom:m whom he loved, was very different from mine ; a11d his detail of !tis own feelings, and his joys and ho1>cs, only added bitterness to mine. Going and coming, the world smiled U~JOn him. llackward and forward, an inviting prospect met Ius eyes. He saw no sun go down in night. lle was conscious of no evening not hallowed by a moon. Happy world, where the blessed and blessing heart moves the otherwise disobedient and froward elements as it p leases, banishes the clouds, sus. 1)ends the storm, nnd lighting up the sky without, from the l1eaven within, casts fOr ever more upon it, the smile of a satis. fied and indulgent Deity. 'l'he disappointed demon in my soul actually chafed to hear the self.gratulations of the delighted God in hi:;. And yet what had been my r eflections but a moment before! 'ro wlmt conclusion had I come? In what-supposing me to have been right in that conclusion - in what respect was his fortune Letter thau mine 1 In wLat respect was it hnlf so good 1 'l'he love of the sexes I had proclaimed worthless and vulnerable; that of a motl10r beyond all price. I had a mother, a fond, unselfish mother, and Carrington was an orphan. He had only that love, which I professed to think so valueless. llnt did I seriously til ink so 1 'Vhnt an absurdity. 'l'he love of tl~e ?'oung for. each other is a property of the coming time, :md 1t 1s the commg time for wh ich the young must l ive. That of a mother is a love of the past, or, at the best, of the present only. I t can not, in the ordinary term of human allotment, last us while we live. It is not meant that it should, and the Providence that beneficently cares for us always, even when we arc.least careful of ?urself, has wisely prompted us to seek and des1re that love wluch may. It was an instinct that made me |
