nce into that state in which another person becomes to us the
very gist and centre-point of God's creation, and demolishes our
laborious theories with a smile; in which our ideas are so bound up with
the one master-thought that even the trivial cares of our own person
become so many acts of devotion, and the love of life itself is
translated into a wish to remain in the same world with so precious and
desirable a fellow-creature. And all the while their acquaintances look
on in stupor, and ask each other, with almost passionate emphasis, what
so-and-so can see in that woman, or such-an-one in that man. I am sure,
gentlemen, I cannot tell you. For my part, I cannot think what the women
mean. It might be very well, if the Apollo Belvedere should suddenly
glow all over into life, and step forward from the pedestal with that
godlike air of his. But of the misbegotten changelings who call
themselves men, and prate intolerably over dinner-tables, I never saw
one who seemed worthy to inspire love--no, nor read of any, except
Leonardo da Vinci, and perhaps Goethe in his youth. About women I
entertain a somewhat different opinion; but there, I have the misfortune
to be a man.

There are many matters in which you may waylay Destiny, and bid him
stand and deliver. Hard work, high thinking, adventurous excitement, and
a great deal more that forms a part of this or the other person's
spiritual bill of fare, are within the reach of almost any one who can
dare a little and be patient. But it is by no means in the way of every
one to fall in love. You know the difficulty Shakespeare was put into
when Queen Elizabeth asked him to show Falstaff in love. I do not
believe that Henry Fielding was ever in love. Scott, if it were not for
a passage or two in "Rob Roy," would give me very much the same effect.
These are great names and (what is more to the purpose) strong, healthy,
high-strung, and generous natures, of whom the reverse might have been
expected. As for the innumerable army of anaemic and tailorish persons
who occupy the face of this planet with so much propriety, it is
palpably absurd to imagine them in any such situation as a love-affair.
A wet rag goes safely by the fire; and if a man is blind, he cannot
expect to be much impressed by romantic scenery. Apart from all this,
many lovable people miss each other in the world, or meet under some
unfavourable star. There is the nice and critical moment of declaration
to be got over.