He used to play, and listened to the shadow
Herself had made.”—Coleridge.
Such is the tenderness, such the intensity of the love of innocence. It has for ever existed, and will for ever exist,—from Eve, on the first day of her creation, to the many whose hearts at this moment beat with affection and love:
“All thoughts, all passions, all desires,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.”
WIFE.
Let us now consider affection where it appears in one of its sweetest forms,—in the love of a wife,—love, in the strength of which, hoping all things, she does not hesitate to quit her father and her mother and all dear to her to share the joys and sorrows of her husband. In prosperity she delights in his happiness, in sickness she watches over him, feeling more grief than she shows.
A young soldier, thus speaks of the affection of his wife:—