And how madly we did worship! And how sweet it was to worship! Ah,
lad, cherish love's young dream while it lasts! You will know too
soon how truly little Tom Moore sang when he said that there was
nothing half so sweet in life. Even when it brings misery it is a
wild, romantic misery, all unlike the dull, worldly pain of
after-sorrows. When you have lost her--when the light is gone out
from your life and the world stretches before you a long, dark horror,
even then a half-enchantment mingles with your despair.

And who would not risk its terrors to gain its raptures? Ah, what
raptures they were! The mere recollection thrills you. How delicious
it was to tell her that you loved her, that you lived for her, that
you would die for her! How you did rave, to be sure, what floods of
extravagant nonsense you poured forth, and oh, how cruel it was of her
to pretend not to believe you! In what awe you stood of her! How
miserable you were when you had offended her! And yet, how pleasant
to be bullied by her and to sue for pardon without having the
slightest notion of what your fault was! How dark the world was when
she snubbed you, as she often did, the little rogue, just to see you
look wretched; how sunny when she smiled! How jealous you were of
every one about her! How you hated every man she shook hands with,
every woman she kissed--the maid that did her hair, the boy that
cleaned her shoes, the dog she nursed--though you had to be respectful
to the last-named! How you looked forward to seeing her, how stupid
you were when you did see her, staring at her without saying a word!
How impossible it was for you to go out at any time of the day or
night without finding yourself eventually opposite her windows! You
hadn't pluck enough to go in, but you hung about the corner and gazed
at the outside. Oh, if the house had only caught fire--it was
insured, so it wouldn't have mattered--and you could have rushed in