The Young Maiden

by A. B. Muzzey

I use the expression at the head of this chapter, because of the importance I attach, not only to the sentiment in general, but especially to its earliest developement. There are those, who sneer at the name of love. There are many, who laugh at its mention, if made in sober earnestness, and yet some of these, who thus speak in public, do, I believe, in the secrecy of their hearts, believe in, aye, reverence, it, as one of the most sacred impulses of our nature. Because we have witnessed, or read of, a silly sentimentalism, that affected its character, let us not straightway question the possibility of its existence in any one.

Nor would I encourage the little girl in musing over novels, or listening to talk on this subject, until she dreams herself in love. There is indeed little danger of this where friends have not made it a theme for perpetual inuendos and jests, but spoken frankly, simply, and seriously of it, as a reality in human experience. She, who finds herself tending to foolish imaginings on this subject, has but to employ her mind constantly, and preserve her health in soundness, and the illusion will be dispelled.

But what is love? Shall we take the description of it given by the master poet of our nature, who tells us that

“Love with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power; And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices”?

It may be thus mighty in its sway over some hearts; but not always are its courses so “swift.” The affections of some “tremble, like a leaf, at every breath of love; while others, like the ocean, are moved only by the breath of a storm.” Yet in all, its approach causes great changes in the character, and usually alters the entire complexion of life. Where the individual has enjoyed great mental culture, it brings in its train increased hazards; and in not a few hearts, its involutions are strangely complex, and its abysses of fearful depth.

I am one of those who believe, that in strict truth, the first love is the only real, all-pervading affection. There are other sentiments, on which the marriage relation may be founded with fair and reasonable hopes of an happy result. But no one can love two individuals, simultaneously or successively, with equal strength. There is a fervor, in the freshness of the heart’s first gift, that no second occasion can quicken. Petrarch could never have found another Laura. Though his was love at first sight, it endured until twenty-one years had terminated the life of its object. Our earliest manners, tones of voice, and expression of countenance, endure the longest. So does the stamp of love’s seal, when new, outshine every subsequent impression. Hence the importance of bestowing this primal treasure with wisdom. Where all of this life, and all of the future is at stake, wary should be our steps, and well pondered our decisions.

We hear much of “love-matches.” Weak transactions, but the foam of love’s great deep, are many of these matches. Still there is such a thing as marriage based on spontaneous love. It may occur at a chance meeting, not, I allow, to be consummated without the revision of calm judgment, but still the fruit of a moment’s impression. There is a kind of love, which is not natural, impulsive, and cordial, but the result of an unnatural predisposition, and an inflamed and diseased imagination. None the less is there an up-welling, genuine affection, that for the time, commands and absorbs woman’s entire being. It is possible, that what is treated here as a jest, and there, as a matter of skepticism, may exist in some true hearts, suddenly conceived, yet persevered in, and permanent.

Some marry for money, others for beauty, for intelligence, or rank, or family, or fancy; there are those who marry for love. We have known females, who venerated the object of their affection so completely, as to mourn sincerely their own unworthiness of, and regard themselves as a simple gift of God to so good a man. Where one sees this beautiful self-oblivion, can he be a true philosopher, and assign any cause for it, save the existence of genuine love? She, who unites to this passion a provident self-possession, who is as calm, as she is keenly susceptible, will enter the marriage relation with the happiest omens of joy, and ever-growing success, in every coming duty.

After these preliminary remarks, it will be expected that I should give a sketch of the tokens and proofs of one’s being under the influence of this sentiment. It occasions, on its approach, important changes in the feelings and character, such as no one experiences without being sensible of their occurrence, although, so close is the resemblance between love and the effects of a warm imagination, that one may fancy herself in love, when she really is not. It wakes emotions and sympathies never before awakened, and lying deep in our nature. No writer has described its signs and effects so minutely as Shakspeare. If we may believe him, it is not always marked by deliberation, and entire self-possession:

“If thou rememberest not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not sat, as I do now, Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress’ praise, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not broke from company, Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not loved.”