LOVERS. By Alice.

Otago Witness, Issue 1816, 10 September 1886, Page 32

LOVER S. By Alice.

It is a natural conclusion to come to that in the history of every girl there are lovers, and that one of these lovers will one day become the husband of the girl. If there is any truth in Tennyson's words, " As the husband is, the wife is," a girl's future destiny depends upon the character and disposition of the lover whom she will one day wed. Tennyson, however, in making that statement departed from the facts furnished by many examples in every day life, for not always when the woman is " mated to a clown " has the baseness of his nature weight to drag her down ; for do we not all call to mind instances where it is voted on all sides that the wife is " very superior " to her husband ! The story of " Lockesley Hall " is repeated again and again, yot how often— happy for The world I— without its degradation bringing the moral nature of the wife into the dirt, although it is true that the husband can drag down the wife to his own level in society, condemning her to a life-long social degradation, poverty, and suffering, and their children to misery and shame. It is often difficult for a girl to come to a thorough knowledge of the character and disposition of her lover, especially if their courtship be short, or he and she are separated by distance ; and while it is true that straws will tell which way the current flows, it is also truo all are not quick at interpreting signs, and only by a thorough companionship can arrive at a reliable conclusion. Even by this daily intercourse girls are often deceived ; for very many men sacrifice their own individuality to their desire to please, and instead of honestly showing their minds — from a mistaken idea of gallantry — refrain from giving utterance to their genuine sentiments, but defer their opinions to those of the lady, and she in this manner becomes attached not to the real man, but to someone else she supposed him to be, and when little by little the wear and tear of married life removes the mask, she beholds a man she neither Itnows nor understands— the characteristic features of whom, sometimes, she can neither admire nor love.

Beware, then, of lovers who have never any opinion in opposition to yours, who never come to a full stop in the career of courtship and "jib," who never object, never are a trifle out of humour, no matter what you do or say. We cannot of a surety prophesy what they will be like as husbands, but we know very well they will not always remain smiling cherubs, and if they did— well, any girl with spirit and character would heartily despise such a man, for no matter

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what has been written and said against it, a thorough woman likes to be led (not driven), finding an indescribable rest in leaning hard upon her husband's arm. Dickens, in "Dombey and Son," gives us a type in " Mr Tool's" of the genuinely, humble, nervous lover. There is no mistake about Mr Toot's. His humility and timidity spring from no ulterior motive ; they are the outcome of his reverence and worship of Florence, and his own small self-esteem. The blunders arising from such cause — ridiculous as they often are — are far more condonable than is the self-asserted conceit of the general beau and lady-killer ; for while the former by their humility and genuine adoration lay claim to respect, the man who deems every girl he smiles at in love with him is a contemptible coxcomb, unworthy the love of a true-hearted girl, and very seldom 1 etaining it long, and a real conquest is not so much in winning love as in retaining it. In " Vanity Fair" Thackeray gives us an instance of the lifelong devoted lover in JUayor Dobbin. Meekly devoted to a woman whom he seldom sees, and from whom he has no hope of winning love. It is an uncommon fact. A man here and there can witness to it, but very ..few, comparatively speaking ; for companionship is food for love, and a starved heart, like a starved body, soon loses its strength. In the work, too, just quoted, we have in George the self satisfied, complacent lover, who comes and goes at his own will and pleasure, while the faithful Amelia watches and waits. This complacency goes hand in hand with a shallow love, as it proved with George, for with earnest love there is both earnestness and humility. Of the blindly-loving, passionate lover, Thackeray also furnishes an example in Pendennis, if examples were needed, of lovers who are so blind that the very faults of the women they love are transferred into virtues. Black, in his " In Silk Altere," I believe it is, gives us an illustration in the lover of Nellie, the little actress, where, from a desire to rectify the faults discernable in the character of his sweetheart, and from a lack of self government, is always dictating to and falling out with, and casting off the object of his affections — which object only laughs — for as she herself confesses, she can turn him round her little finger, and has only to write him a kind little note to bring him in penitence to her feet. For jealous and suspicious lovers and husbands we have only to turn to Charles Keade's works, in which they plague the heroines of romance pretty much the same way as they have tormented women, both ancient and modern. A reasonable amount of jealousy goes hand in hand with true love always, but when in the lover it is wedded to suspicion, and assumes the shape of the " green-eyed monster," so often quoted, "good bye to peace — good bye any real happiness — for suspicion and jealousy never brought that to any home yet. Happily vindictive, revengeful lovers are rare, or young ladies who have assumed the privilege supposed to extend to every freeborn subject, and have changed their mind, would meet with a similar or a like tragic fate that Black inflicts upon the faithless heroine of the story zt the hands of the madly loving and deserted M'Leod. George Eliot holds that in the love of a brave and faithful man there is a strain of maternal tenderness. That is the love to bless the life of a woman wise enough to know what treasure is in her keeping. Passion blended with an almost mother's care that will prune and trim, even if it pains, until the tree bears luscious fruit. That will spread out its soft wings and cover from the cold and shield from the hawk. Love is different in different natures and as differently expressed ; for as George M'Donald says, " The love that dwells in one man is an angel, the love in another is a bird, and that in another a hog," and only noble natures, he adds, are capable "of grand, perfect, glorious love to woman." My Wife. She is only a plain little woman (The handsome girls say this is so), But I don't believe the assertion: She's got lovely eyea, that I know : But suppose she's ap!ain little woman, .*■ he jil ways looks charming to me, Then what, if to othsra n t handsome ? Do 370u3 7 ou think that she cares ? no. not she. She's a dear little, sweet little woman, As true in her love as the eim ; She has lightened and brightened mv pathway As nothing beside her has done. And when I first, knew her— my darling : I wasn't her equal by far. Hut she shone on the'p ri Is around me. As pure and as br'ght as a star. I had wasted my life e'er I met her, And no one but she shed a t ear, They called me a jolly good fellow ; She eluded and woke me to fear. And then by her help I ascended Ahigherand nobler way, While she followed, patient and tender, My comfort, ambition, and stay. And now I can reign where I grovelled, King, where but for her I'd be slave ; Think you I shall ever forget her? No ! I shall be true to the grave. She may be a plain litt le woman. She's been God's good angel to me, And there isn't a hill rha 1 ; I'll master But she on its summit will be. Why, what would the world be without her ? Would ever another like she Bear with me and patiently suffer The changes that happou to me ? Ah, no ! May the kind heavens bless her : I'll love her the whole of my life, And a3k no blessing in dying But to die on the breast of my wife. A True Story. " Wttere is the baby, grandmamma?" * The sweet young mother called From her work in the cosy kitchen, With the dainty whitewashed walls. And grandma leaves her knitting, And looks for her all around ; But not a trace of baby dear Can anywhere be found. No sound of its merry prattle, No gleam of its sunny hiir, No patter of tiny footsteps, No sign of it anywhere. All through house and garden, Par out into the field, Tiiey search each nook and corner, But nothing is revealed. ' And the mother's face grew pallid ; Grandmamma's eyes grew dim ; The father's gone to the village ; ' No use to look for him. And the baby lost ! " Where's Rover ? The mother chanced to think Of the old well in fche orchard. Where the cattle used to drink,

" Where's Rover?" I know he'd find her! " Rover!" hi vain they call, Then hurry away to the orchard, And there by the moss-grown well, Close to the well lies Rover, Holding to baby's dress ; She was leaning over the well's edge In perfect fearlessness ! She stretched her little arms down, But Kover hel i her fast And never seemed to mind the kicks The ti y bare feet cast So spitefully upon him. But wagged his tail instead To greet the riightened searchers, While naughty baby said : " uere's a little girl in the 'atar ; She's dust as big as me, Mamma ; I want to help her «ut, And take her home to tea. But Kover, he won't let mo. And 1 don't love him. Go Away, you naughty hover ! O, why are you crying so ?" The mother kissed her, saying : " My darling, understand, Good Kover Bayed your life, my dear — And, see, he licks your hand I Kiss Kover." Baby struck him, But grandma understood ; She said: " It's hard to thank the iriend Who thwarts us for our good." — Baldwin's Monthlj'.