"Love makes its record in deeper colors," says Longfellow, "as we grow
out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their names in
green ink when under age, but when of age, in purple." "The heart of a
young woman in love is a golden sanctuary," says Paulin Limayrac, "which
often enshrines an idol of clay." This thought, the reader can see is a
close neighbor of the Boston poet's idea of the "base wooden god,"
spoken of a while back. "We forgive more faults in love than in
friendship," says Henry Home; "expostulations betwixt friends end
generally ill, but well betwixt lovers."
"Gold," says Deluzy, "does not satisfy love; it must be paid back in
its own coin." "The platform of the altar of love," says Jane Porter,
with great accuracy of metaphor, "is constructed of virtue, beauty, and
affection; such is the pyre, such the offering; but the ethereal spark
must come from heaven that lights the sacrifice." "This passion is,"
says Dr. South, "the great instrument and engine of nature, the bond and
cement of society, the spring and spirit of the universe. It is the
whole man wrapped up into one desire, all the power, vigor, and
faculties of the soul