第19部分(第3/5 页)

prospect　of　life。　Prejudice　might　demand　the　sacrifice；　but　she　is　an　idol　to　whom　we　bow　not。　The　world　might　demand　it；　its　opinion　might　require；　but　the　cloud　which　flees　over　yon　mountain　were　as　important　to　our　happiness；　to　our　usefulness。　This　must　never　be；　never　whilst　this　existence　continues；　and　when　Time　has　enrolled　us　in　the　list　of　the　departed；　surely　this　friendship　will　survive　to　bear　our　identity　to　heaven。　What　is　love；　or　friendship？　Is　it　something　material—a　ball；　an　apple；　a　plaything—which　must　be　taken　from　one　to　be　given　to　another？　Is　it　capable　of　no　extension；　no　munication？　Lord　Kaimes　defines　love　to　be　a　particularization　of　the　general　passion。　But　this　is　the　love　of　sensation；　of　sentiment—the　absurdest　of　absurd　vanities。　It　is　the　love　of　pleasure；　not　the　love　of　�centered；　self�devoted；　self�interested。　It　desires　its　own　interest；　it　is　the　parent　of　jealousy。　Its　object　is　the　plaything　which　it　desires　to　monopolize。　Selfishness；　monopoly；　is　its　very　soul；　and　to　municate　to　others　part　of　this　love　were　to　destroy　its　essence；　to　annihilate　this　chain　of　straw。　But　love；　the　love　which　we　worship—virtue；　heaven；　disinterestedness—in　a　word；　Friendship—which　has　as　much　to　do　with　the　senses　as　with　yonder　mountains，　that　which　seeks　the　good　of　all—　the　good　of　its　object　first；　not　because　that　object　is　a　minister　to　its　pleasures；　not　merely　because　it　even　contributes　to　its　happiness；　but　because　it　is　really　worthy；　because　it　has　powers；　sensibilities；　is　capable　of　abstracting　itself；　and　loving　virtue　for　virtue's　own　loveliness—desiring　the　happiness　of　others　not　from　the　obligation　of　fearing　hell　or　desiring　heaven：　but　for　pure；　simple；　unsophisticated　virtue。　You　will　soon　hear　again。　Adieu；　my　dearest　fri