that soul of hers can never rest.
What does "this," then, show forth? Her love in its tide can flow over
the lower nature, as the waves flow over the basking rocks. "Old earth
smiles and knows":

"If you loved only what were worth your love,
Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you:
Make the low nature better by your throes!
Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!"

I confess that I cannot follow this analogy. The lesson may be clear--of
that later; the analogy escapes me. Who says that rocks are of lower
nature than the sea which washes them? But if it does not mean this,
what does it mean? Mrs. Orr interprets thus: "As earth blesses her
smallest creatures with her smile, so should love devote itself to those
less worthy beings who may be ennobled by it." That seems to me to touch
this instance not at all. It is the earth who has set "himself" (in the
unusual personification) to bask in the sun; the earth, _here_, is
getting, not giving. Or rather, all is one: each element wholly joys in
the other. And watching this, the woman wrings from it "the doctrine
simple, ancient, true," that love is self-sacrifice. Let that be true, I
still cannot see how the symbol aids the doctrine.

And the doctrine? Grant that love is self-sacrifice (I had rather say
that self-sacrifice is a part, and but a part, of love): is love also
self-sufficiency?

"Make the low nature better by your throes."

It is a strange love, surely, which so speaks? Shall a man live,
despised, in harmony with her who despises him? James Lee's wife may
call this love, but we absolve James Lee, I think, if he does not! For
human beings feel most subtly when scorn dwells near them; they may
indeed have caused that scorn--but let there be no talk of love where it
subsists.

Even bitterness were less destructive to the woman's hope than this
strange counting of the cost, this self-sufficiency. Our sympathy must
leave her at this phase; and sympathy for her was surely Browning's aim?
But possibly it was not; and _if_ not, this indeed is subtle.

VIII.--BESIDE THE DRAWING-BOARD

She had turned wearily from the household cares, the daily direction of
a little peasant-servant, to her drawing-board. A cast from Leonardo da
Vinci of a woman's hand is her model, and for an hour she has been
happily working. She has failed; but that has not clouded joy nor damped
ardour.

"Its beauty mounted into my brain,"

and, eff