"Lord, what fools these mortals be!"


THERE is only one event in life which really astonishes a
man and startles him out of his prepared opinions. Everything
else befalls him very much as he expected. Event succeeds to
event, with an agreeable variety indeed, but with little that
is either startling or intense; they form together no more
than a sort of background, or running accompaniment to the
man's own reflections; and he falls naturally into a cool,
curious, and smiling habit of mind, and builds himself up in a
conception of life which expects to-morrow to be after the
pattern of to-day and yesterday. He may be accustomed to the
vagaries of his friends and acquaintances under the influence
of love. He may sometimes look forward to it for himself with
an incomprehensible expectation. But it is a subject in which
neither intuition nor the behaviour of others will help the
philosopher to the truth. There is probably nothing rightly
thought or rightly written on this matter of love that is not
a piece of the person's experience. I remember an anecdote of
a well-known French theorist, who was debating a point eagerly
in his CENACLE. It was objected against him that he had never
experienced love. Whereupon he arose, left the society, and
made it a point not to return to it until he considered that
he had supplied the defect. "Now," he remarked, on entering,
"now I am in a position to continue the discussion." Perhaps
he had not penetrated very deeply into the subject after all;
but the story indicates right thinking, and may serve as an
apologue to readers of this essay.