Oriel was at a loss what to reply; but Zabra’s dark eyes appeared flashing with indignation.
“Now, these sympathies ought to be indulged; or why are they created?” asked the fair sophist. “If we observe nature, which is always the best guide, we shall find all her impulses followed out to their purpose, to the great increase of the pleasures of the individual. Nature never can be wrong; therefore, if we follow nature, we shall always be right.”
“Exactly so!” responded the manufacturer. “I remember seeing a puppy running after his own tail, and he was delighted at the fun. Yes, follow nature, certainly.”
Oriel Porphyry with great difficulty refrained from laughing. Zabra, on the contrary, looked upon the young lady with an expression of scorn that made his countenance appear darker than ever.
“It was a conviction of the truth of this theory that made me write my work on the philosophy of mutual communion,” continued their companion, “where you will find proved, by arguments that cannot be confuted, that there is no happiness in the world except in love—that love is this mutual sympathy between two individuals of the two sexes—and that this sympathy should invariably be indulged as often as it exists.”
“Well, I have always had something of the same notion about love,” remarked Posthumous, gravely. “I consider love to be a sort of a very beautiful, interesting—a—you understand, in one person, for a peculiar, charming, delightful—a—whatsoname in another.”
“I should imagine, from what I have observed, that the true nature of love is perfectly unknown to either of you,” observed Zabra, with some asperity; “it only dwells in the breasts of those whose qualities assimilate with its own. It is the principle of truth, of purity, and of excellence; and whomsoever it touches it makes true, and pure, and excellent in the eyes of the lover. There is wisdom in it; for wisdom is ever an emanation of truth. There is beauty in it; for beauty is the essential spirit of purity. And there is in it an omnipotent power; for in excellence will always be found the greatest degree of greatness. Love, being true, enlightens; being pure, sanctifies; and being excellent, strengthens all by whom it is possessed. It is a virtue from which all virtues proceed. It is the nobility of nature. It is the humanity of life. Without it the sun would be black, and the heavens a void; a strife would be among all things, and a devouring death consume the universe. With it the power of a perfecting will fills the glad heart; and in whatever corner of the earth there breathes the principle of existence, love will enter into its most secret depths; infuse into them a purpose hitherto unknown; fill them with a power to suffer and to conquer that cannot be set aside, and render the individual, the atmosphere he inhales, and all things he sees, touches, or hears, the receptacle of a perfect felicity, that endures even unto the very threshold of oblivion. It is this feeling, and this feeling alone, that has created whatever is admirable around us; we admire, because we love; and we love, only to produce a continuation of the qualities we have admired.”
Oriel regarded the animated countenance of his youthful companion with his usual affection. The young lady gazed upon his beautiful features with apparently more sympathy than his friend had excited; and Posthumous opened his mouth, rubbed his eyes, and stared, and looked all the wonder and admiration his foolish face was capable of expressing; and when he did find language, which was not for some minutes after the speaker had concluded, he exclaimed—
“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I said. It is nothing in the world more than a simple, a—something I have forgot, arising entirely in the organisation of the individual—organisation of the individual?—yes, organisation of the individual, that produces a peculiar sort of feeling in the a—whatsoname.”