Every promise of the soul has innumerable fulfillments；each often。 Na-ture， uncontainable， flowing， forelooking， in the first sentiment of kindness anticipates already a benevolence which shall lose all particular regards in its general light。The introduction to this felicity is in a private and tender relation of one to one， which is the enchantment of human life；which， like a certain divine rage and enthusiasm， seizes on man at one period， and works a revolution in his mind and body；unites him to his race， pledges him to the domestic and civic relations， carries him with new sym-pathy into nature， enhances the power of the senses， opens the imagination， adds to his character heroic and sacred attributes， establishes marriage， and gives permanence to human society。
The natural association of the sentiment of love with the heyday of the blood seems to require， that in order to portray it in vivid tints， which every youth and maid should confess to be true to their throbbing experi-ence， one must not be too old。 The delicious fancies of youth reject the least savour of a mature philosophy， as chilling with age and pedantry their purple bloom。And， therefore， I know I incur the imputation of unneces-sary hardness and stoicism from those who pose the Court and Parlia-ment of Love。But from these formidable censors I shall appeal to my seniors。For it is to be considered that this passion of which we speak， though it begin with the young， yet forsakes not the old， or rather suf-fers no one who is truly its servant to grow old， but makes the aged participators of it， not less than the tender maiden， though in a different and nobler sort。
For it is a fire that， kindling its first embers in the narrow nook of a private bosom， caught from a wandering spark out of another private heart， glows and enlarges until it warms and beams upon multitudes of men and women， upon the universal heart of all， and so lights up the whole world and all nature with its generous flames。It matters not， therefore， whether we attempt to describe the passion at twen-ty， at thirty， or at eighty years。He who paints it at the first period will lose some of its later， he who paints it at thelast， some of its earlier traits。Only it is to be hoped that， by patience and the Muses'aid， we may attain to that inward view of the law， which shall describe a truth ever young and beautiful， so central that it shall mend itself to the eye， at whatever angle beholden。
And the first condition is， that we must leave a too close and linger-ing adherence to facts， and study the sentiment as it appeared in hope and not in history。 For each man sees his own life defaced and disfig-ured， as the life of man is not， to his imagination。Each man sees over his own experience a certain stain of error， whilst that of other men looks fair and ideal。Let any man go back to those delicious relations which make the beauty of his life， which have given him sincerest instruc-tion and nourishment， he will shrink and moan。Alas！I know not why， but infinite punctions embitter in mature life the remembrances of bud-ding joy， and cover every beloved name。Every thing is beautiful seen from the point of the intellect， or as truth。But all is sour， if seen as ex-perience。Details are melancholy；the plan is seemly and noble。In the ac-tual world-the painful kingdom of time and place-dwell care， and canker， and fear。With thought， with the ideal， is immortal hilarity， the rose of joy。Round it all the Muses sing。But grief cleaves to names， and per-sons， and the partial interests of today and yesterday。
The strong bent of nature is seen in the proportion which this topic of personal relations usurps in the conversation of society。 What do we wish to know of any worthy person so much， as how he has sped in the history of this sentiment？What books in the circulating libraries circu-late？How we glow over these novels of passion， when the story is told with any spark of truth and nature！And what fastens attention， in the intercourse of life， like any passage betraying affection between two parties？
Perhaps we never saw them before， and never shall meet them again。 But we see them exchange a glance， or betray a deep emotion， and we are no longer strangers。We understand them， and take the warmest inter-est in the development of the romance。All mankind love a lover。The earliest demonstrations of placency and kindness are nature's most winning pictures。It is the dawn of civility and grace in the coarse and rustic。The rude village boy teases the girls about the school-house door；-but today he es running into the entry， and meets one fair child disposing her satchel；he holds her books to help her， and instantly it seems to him as if she removed herself from him infinite-
ly， and was a sacred precinct。 Among the throng of girls he runs rudely enough， but one alone distances him；and these two little neighbors， that were so close just now， have learned to respect each other's personality。Or who can avert his eyes from the engaging， half-artful， half-artless ways of school-girls who go into the country shops to buy a skein of silk or a sheet of paper， and talk half an hour about nothing with the broad-faced， good-natured shop-boy。In the village they are on a perfect e-quality， which love delights in， and without any coquetry the happy， affec-tionate nature of woman flows out in this pretty gossip。The girls may have little beauty， yet plainly do they establish between them and the good boy the most agreeable， confiding relations， what with their fun and their earnest， about Edgar， and Jonas， and Almira， and who was invited to the party， and who danced at the dancing-school， and when the singing-school would begin， and other nothings concerning which the parties cooed。By and by that boy wants a wife， and very truly and heartily will he know where to find a sincere and sweet mate， without any risk such as Milton deplores as incident to scholars and great men。
I have been told， that in some public discourses of mine my reverence for the intellect has made me unjustly cold to the personal relations。 But now I almost shrink at the remembrance of such disparaging words。For persons are love's world， and the coldest philosopher cannot recount the debt of the young soul wandering here in nature to the power of love， without being tempted to unsay， as treasonable to nature， aught derogatory to the social instincts。For， though the celestial rapture falling out of heav-en seizes only upon those of tender age， and although a beauty overpower-ing all analysis or parison， and putting us quite beside ourselves， we can seldom see after thirty years， yet the remembrance of these visions outlasts all other remembrances， and is a wreath of flowers on the oldest brows。But here is a strange fact；it may seem to many men， in re-vising their experience， that they have no fairer page in their life's book than the delicious memory of some passages wherein affection contrived to give a witchcraft surpassing the
deep attraction of its own truth to a par-cel of accidental and trivial circumstances。In looking backward， they may find that several things which were not the charm have more reality to this groping memory than the charm itself which embalmed them。But be our experience in particulars what it may， no man ever forgot the visita-tions of that power to his heartand brain， which created all things new；which was the dawn in him of music， poetry， and art；which made the face of nature radiant with purple light， the morning and the night varied enchantments；when a single tone of one voice could make the heart bound， and the most trivial circum-stance associated with one form is put in the amber of memory；when he became all eye when one was present， and all memory when one was gone；when the youth bees a watcher of windows， and studious of a glove， a veil， a ribbon， or the wheels of a carriage；when no place is too solitary， and none too silent， for him who has richer pany and sweeter conversation in his new thoughts， than any old friends， though best and purest， can give him；for the figures， the motions， the words of the beloved object are not like other images written in water， but， as Pl-utarch said，“enameled in fire，”and make the study of midnight。