HUMILITY AND CONSTANCY 
289 
went with them; and Affectionate Remembrance, a lovely 
maiden, who sighed as often as she smiled, was also their 
attendant. 
Many a time would she have sunk by the way, had not 
Love and Constancy consoled her; while Humility led her 
by the hand, and whispered words of hope whenever she 
felt low and desponding. 
“I cannot help it,” said Remembrance. “But when I 
look into the past, I see more of pain than pleasure; and 
as for the future, it is so chequered with hopes and fears 
that whilst ^ I doat I doubt ; ’ and there ever seems some 
sorrow overhanging and ready to settle down upon what 
I love.” 
“Take heart,” said Constancy; “all will yet be well. 
Even Love is sometimes fretful; and it is only by leaning 
upon him, and looking into his face, that I can comfort 
him, for he seems as if he sometimes had forgotten that 
I was still at his side.” 
Humility, and Constancy, and Purity of Heart, are the 
very divinities of Love, and among the holiest images 
which we enshrine in the innermost temple of the soul. 
Humility, like a lowly and beautiful maiden, ever walk- 
eth abroad with downcast and modest glance, her hands 
folded meekly, and her free thoughts wandering like 
graceful handmaids through the charmed chambers of the 
mind, unfettered by the painful panoply of pride, and 
unimpeded by the watchful sentries who ever keep jealous 
guard around the slave of ambition. On her cheek the 
healthy beams of morning beat, and the dews of dawning 
are the pearly gems which diadem her brow ; there is a 
grace in the unstudied flow of her drapery which the 
artists of old seized upon when they called forth from 
the canvas forms which embodied the divinity of woman. 
They drew the adoration of the angels from her looks, 
and the great masters flew to her expressive features ; then 
they shadowed forth the Virgin-mother bending over her 
Holy Child ; for there is no love without humility, no true 
affection unless it see in the object of its worship a divinity 
towards which it tremblingly aspires. 
“ Constancy, ’ ’ says the poet, “ liveth in realms above : 
but kind Pity, who had long looked down with tender 
eyes, and beheld how cheerless and restless the wandering 
