I little knew myself! This knowledge of one's self is the
most important knowledge, which very few of us acquire. We seldom
look into our own hearts for other objects than those which will
administer to their petty vanities and passing triumphs. Could we
only look there sometimes for the truth! But we are blind--blind
all! In some respects I was one of the blindest!
I have given a brief glimpse of our honeymoon. Perhaps, as the
world goes, the picture is by no means an attractive one. Quiet
felicity forms but a small item in the sources of happiness,
now-a-days, among young couples. Mine was sufficiently quiet and
sufficiently humble. One would suppose that he who builds so lowly
should have no reason to apprehend the hurricane. Social ambition
was clearly no object with either of us. We sighed neither for
the glitter nor the regards of fashionable life. Neither upon
fine houses, jewels, or equipages, did we set our hearts. For the
pleasures of the table I had no passion, and never was young woman
so thoroughly regardless of display as Julia Clifford. To be let
alone--to be suffered to escape in our own way, unharming, unharmed,
through the dim avenues of life--was assuredly all that we asked
from man. Perhaps--I say it without cant--this, perhaps, was all
that we possibly asked from heaven. This was all that I asked, at
least, and this was much. It was asking what had never yet been
accorded to humanity. In the vain assumption of my heart I thought
that my demands were moderate.
Let no man console himself with the idea that his chances of
success are multiplied in degree with the insignificance, or seeming
insignificance, of his aims. Perhaps the very reverse of this is
the truth. He who seeks for many objects of enjoyment--whose tastes
are diversified--has probably the very best prospect that some of
them may be gratified. He is like the merchant whose ventures on
the sea are divided among many vessels. He may lose one or more,
yet preserve the main bulk of his fortune from the wreck. But he
who has only a single bark--one freightage, however costly--whose
whole estate is invested in the one venture--let him lose that, and
all is lost. It does not matter that his loss, speaking relatively,
is but little. Suppose his shipment, in general estimation, to be
of small value. The loss to him is so much the greater. It was the
dearer to him because of its insignificance, and being all that he
had; is quite as conclusive of his ruin, as would be the foundering
of every vessel which the rich merchant sent to sea.
I was one of these petty traders. I invested my whole capital
of the affections in one precious jewel. Did I lose it, or simply
fear its loss? Time must show. But, of a truth, I felt as the miser
feels with his hoarded treasure. While I watched its richness and
beauty, doubts and dread beset me. Was it safe? Everything depended
upon its security. Thieves might break in and steal. Enough, for
the present, to say, that much of my security, and of the security
of all who, like me, possess a dear treasure, depends upon our
convictions of security. He who apprehends loss, is already robbed.
The reality is scarcely worse than the hourly anticipation of it.