e juncture
at which, so to speak, the sexual circuit is completed and the emotional
currents begin to circulate. Whatever object, at such a critical moment,
fills the field of consciousness becomes a signal and associate for the
whole sexual mood. It is breathlessly devoured in that pause and
concentration of attention, that rearrangement of the soul, which love
is conceived in; and the whole new life which that image is engulfed in
is foolishly supposed to be its effect. For the image is in
consciousness, but not the profound predispositions which gave it place
and power.

[Sidenote: The choice unstable.]

This association between passion and its signals may be merely
momentary, or it may be perpetual: a Don Juan and a Dante are both
genuine lovers. In a gay society the gallant addresses every woman as if
she charmed him, and perhaps actually finds any kind of beauty, or mere
femininity anywhere, a sufficient spur to his desire. These momentary
fascinations are not necessarily false: they may for an instant be quite
absorbing and irresistible; they may genuinely suffuse the whole mind.
Such mercurial fire will indeed require a certain imaginative
temperament; and there are many persons who, short of a life-long
domestic attachment, can conceive of nothing but sordid vice. But even
an inconstant flame may burn brightly, if the soul is naturally
combustible. Indeed these sparks and glints of passion, just because
they come and vary so quickly, offer admirable illustrations of it, in
which it may be viewed, so to speak, under the microscope and in its
formative stage.

Thus Plato did not hesitate to make the love of all wines, under
whatever guise, excuse, or occasion, the test of a true taste for wine
and an unfeigned adoration of Bacchus; and, like Lucretius after him, he
wittily compiled a list of names, by which the lover will flatter the
most opposite qualities, if they only succeed in arousing his
inclination. To be omnivorous is one pole of true love: to be exclusive
is the other. A man whose heart, if I may say so, lies deeper, hidden
under a thicker coat of mail, will have less play of fancy, and will be
far from finding every charm charming, or every sort of beauty a
stimulus to love. Yet he may not be less prone to the tender passion,
and when once smitten may be so penetrated by an unimagined tenderness
and joy, that he will declare himself incapable of ever loving again,
and may actually be so. Having no