d-humor, patience, and forbearance. You can let
the wind blow and the rain fall unheeded then, for your hearth will be
warm and bright, and the faces round it will make sunshine in spite of
the clouds without.

I am afraid, dear Edwin and Angelina, you expect too much from love.
You think there is enough of your little hearts to feed this fierce,
devouring passion for all your long lives. Ah, young folk! don't rely
too much upon that unsteady flicker. It will dwindle and dwindle as the
months roll on, and there is no replenishing the fuel. You will watch it
die out in anger and disappointment. To each it will seem that it is the
other who is growing colder. Edwin sees with bitterness that Angelina no
longer runs to the gate to meet him, all smiles and blushes; and when he
has a cough now she doesn't begin to cry and, putting her arms round his
neck, say that she cannot live without him. The most she will probably
do is to suggest a lozenge, and even that in a tone implying that it is
the noise more than anything else she is anxious to get rid of.

Poor little Angelina, too, sheds silent tears, for Edwin has given up
carrying her old handkerchief in the inside pocket of his waistcoat.

Both are astonished at the falling off in the other one, but neither
sees their own change. If they did they would not suffer as they do.
They would look for the cause in the right quarter--in the littleness
of poor human nature--join hands over their common failing, and start
building their house anew on a more earthly and enduring foundation.
But we are so blind to our own shortcomings, so wide awake to those
of others. Everything that happens to us is always the other person's
fault. Angelina would have gone on loving Edwin forever and ever and
ever if only Edwin had not grown so strange and different. Edwin would
have adored Angelina through eternity if Angelina had only remained the
same as when he first adored her.

It is a cheerless hour for you both when the lamp of love has gone out
and the fire of affection is not yet lit, and you have to grope about
in the cold, raw dawn of life to kindle it. God grant it catches light
before the day is too far spent. Many sit shivering by the dead coals
till night come.

But, there, of what use is it to preach? Who that feels the rush of
young love through his veins can think it will ever flow feeble and
slow! To the boy of twenty it seems impossible that he will not love as
wildly at sixt