498 THINGS THAT HAPPEN EVERY DAY. NO. I. 



and refined. The vision of romance, which first absorbs our youth, 

 had given place to reflection, and to be good was the secret aspiration of 

 his heart, to merit honest fame the stedfast purpose of his soul. But had 

 he linked himself with a congenial spirit ? Did the fervour of his breast 

 awake a kindred feeling in the bosom that he strove to love ? Or was 

 his sigh re-echoed by as soft a sigh ; his warm embrace returned with 

 equal warmth ; his gaze, that would have looked immortal love, with 

 love more deep and infinite returned ? He spoke of glory and eternal 

 truth of deathless fame, the just reward of virtuous toil ; but who 

 responded to his earnest voice ? or gazed with rapture as he spoke, and, 

 comprehending all, seemed happier than he ? 



It cannot be denied, the human heart is mercenary. The Jew pours 

 forth his treasure when he expects a good return. Refuse him interest 

 and he seems a beggar poor and pennyless. Give back no recompense 

 to a generous heart, or less than it demands, and then, farewell to all 

 its bounty. Your prodigal becomes a miser. The plea of poverty is 

 vain, you will not give your gold for copper, and affection must receive 

 the metal of the stamp and fineness that she gave. As man is in the 

 market of the busy world, so we find him in the bowers of tenderness 

 and love. Mercury demands his quid pro quo, and cupid is as venal 

 every whit. 



All the blankets and embraces in the world would never have changed 

 Zenobia into Sappho ; as soon might you expect the shivering moon to 

 raise a moisture on your brow, or stamp, like Sol, a burning shade upon 

 your cheek. Dame Nature seems to have two breasts, one whereat the 

 children of chilliness are suckled, and the other whence the children of 

 warmth draw their nourishment. Had Sappho been nursed at the 

 former, she would have economized her favours ; and had Zenobia 

 drained the latter, she might have had an emperor for her slave, an 

 empire for her toy. They sleep in silence in their separate graves of 

 water and of earth ; their forms again are mingled with the dust. The 

 eye that passion never dimmed is dim for ever, and the heart that loved 

 so madly is at rest, cold as the pebbles in the tranquil deep. But others 

 of the same natures walk along the shores of life. The warmth of 

 Sappho rose above the wave and found a refuge in some living breast ; 

 and the coldness of Zenobia was not buried with her corpse, but 

 survived for other hearts. It is but the dust that mingles with the dust 

 and dies ; thought and feeling escape from the sinking wreck and into 

 other forms transpose themselves. The coldness of the Eastern queen 

 had fallen to the lot of Dacre's spouse. The thermometer of his heart 

 stood at summer heat even in the shade, but the spirit in his lady's tube 

 could scarcely rise to temperate in the sun. 



Passion with passion linked gives boundless joy, 

 But love to coldness chained is worse than death. 



So thought the unfortunate Dacre, and to escape from the insensibility of 

 his Daphne he would gladly have hazarded a voyage across the Stygian 

 pool : but heaven hath set her cannon against self-slaughter, and what 

 he could not fly from he endured. 



Nine times, or nearly nine, the moon had filled her yellow horn since 

 Dacre pledged his faith; and nature, ever constant in her course, 

 prepared to bless him with the fruits of wedded life. But from that 



