The Charleston daily news. [volume] (Charleston, S.C.) 1865-1873, 1869-10-07

for what Is cOquetry but the half-incredulity Of
girl unable to bolieyo In her own happiness,
tho now strength and attraction THAT she hns
gained? After-lifo brings deeper, intenscr
passion, but never sensations SO vivid, 30
rapid, SO exquisitely, contrasted, never SO In
voluntary. 4 girl lies passive in the very
dreaminess of JOY rs emotion aftcr emotion
sweeps over her, faith and jealousy and bitter
ness and delight, like the wind sweeping over
Eolan chorus and wakening music as Wild anu
wayward rs the music In her hc9rt. What
other moment Of life gives her those "grands
enhuis cntrcmeles tie joie" that the old French
poctess sung about
Quand je pcnsc avoir plus dc 1oulcur,
Sans pcnsez je me trouye hors dc pelne;
Puts quand je cros ma jois etre certainc,
Et ctrc au haut dc mon desire heur,
II me remct en- mon premier malheur.
Men spend great deal too much time, says
a great philosopher, over love. We share Mr..
Mills opinion, though probably Mr.. Mill would
hardly rs 9ar o,grn grounds l0r IT, we don't
because man believes In 1t. "Crcdo quia
mpossibc"-''I believe just because 1t Is I'm
posslble"-replied TertullIan to the objcctor to
the very outset OF life one should meet and be-
licvc In thing SO impossible us first love-
Wc arc saved Mt any rate from the dreary
gospel Of Mr.. Buckle, from regarding our
selves as machines, and tabulatihg our lives
IN averages. So, too, there are days, carly
days In q mans course, when, sitting alone
and looking OH q sunset he feels like grain
whence and whittier he knows not First love
ut any ratc savcs'us ont of thoughts like these
by quickcning In us pulses of pain and plea
sure that will bent on, drive the winds
the reserve, the grace and refinement of char
acter, springs ont of those days Of distant,
hushed worship, of ofall-surrendering, all-daring
filth? mere girl, like mere daisy, rouses
within us thoughts too deep for tears. That
first touch of passion gives n beauty of its own
to the temper of n man. as 1t gives 1t to the
face Of woman. Who has not noticed the
strange, sweet change that softcns the abrupt
gesture, and gives music to the hasty speech,
In the hoydcn when loves finger first touches
her? When Pygmalion's stnfue-bridc quick
encd into human life, she must have felt, one
rapture her beauty had created, and could sus-
tain. 1t Is this new sense-this consciousness
that, rs she simply lives and moves, her grnce
and power is going out OF her to gladden. Mt
least one heart OF mans-that quickens girls
iacc out ofthc hardness and immobllity ofcarlicr
years. From mere physical, immobile form,
It becomes life and spirit, sensitive to every
wonder Of tho new world 'I she looks out upo Sol
iis interest, Its awe, mirror themselves in
thc quick altcrnatiols of enthusiasm, Of ter
r0r, of tenderness. 1t is quite rs well to get
preserve q little poetry in man, and while first
love does this, we don't mean to surrender it
to Mr.. Mill. But we freely give up to him Its
successors The mere conventional repetition
OF the real thing, when It's first fcrvor Of faith
has fled, the repetition of the old love-ltanics
by lips that have learnt the irony of them, the
mechanical performance of the ritual that has
become q sham, this is-wc agree with Mr..
Mill-a sheer waste of human time. When
man has got safely over thirty, and looks back
on the number Of these performances, their
extreme dreariness, and the time they have
cost him, he feels twingc of conjunction,
and eain pleasure in the consciousness
that he IS now at any rate secure till forty. AS
for women, till they are quickened by the apos-
they will probably go on thinking these little
iarces the pleasantest things in life. After all,
they are not more ridiculous than the general
tenor of their existence, and woman has at
any rate more time to waste than man.