Let him be trained by his tyrant to
dwell upon the thought that he belongs to the vast crowd of people in
London who are unimportant; almost useless; to whom it is a charity
to offer employment; who are conscious of possessing no gift which
makes them of any value to anybody, and he will then comprehend the
divine efficacy of the affection of that woman to whom he is dear.
God's mercy be praised ever more for it! I cannot write poetry, but
if I could, no theme would tempt me like that of love to such a
person as I was--not love, as I say again, to the hero, but love to
the Helot. Over and over again, when I have thought about it, I have
felt my poor heart swell with a kind of uncontrollable fervour. I
have often, too, said to myself that this love is no delusion. If we
were to set it down as nothing more than a merciful cheat on the part
of the Creator, however pleasant it might be, it would lose its
charm. If I were to think that my wife's devotion to me is nothing
more than the simple expression of a necessity to love somebody, that
there is nothing in me which justifies such devotion, I should be
miserable. Rather, I take it, is the love of woman to man a
revelation of the relationship in which God stands to him--of what
OUGHT to be, in fact.
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