(3) Is the lover in his own estimate rich or poor? Incredibly rich in what he has received, but in comparison with his lady how poor! She is immeasurably his superior. How she stooped so low is his daily wonder. But his own inferiority does not disturb him. “Love envieth not. Is not easily puffed up.” On the contrary, he rejoices in emptying himself and seeing how all that is worth while in him proceeds from her. Yet the lover is a paradoxical fellow, full of contradictions and scorning consistency. He prizes himself as he never did before and daily takes on a new importance. Never till he loved was he so watchful of his looks, speech, clothes, manners. What he brings to her must be of the finest, and he is pleased to discover in himself excellences hitherto unsuspected which she may well accept. Tennyson well paints the aspiring lover in “Maud”: “So dark a mind within me dwells, And I make myself such evil cheer That if I be dear to some one else Then some one else may have much to fear. But if I be dear to some one else, Then I should be to myself more dear. Shall I not care for all that I think, Yea, even for wretched meat and drink, If I be dear, if I be dear, to some one else?” (4) When once established, is love permanent? Certainly not. Being a personal affair it has no routine fixity, but must continually be created afresh. Effort is in it, intention, readiness to put aside temporary fancies and to practise a loyal patience. It is true that in the wise these practices themselves become habitual and love therefore a matter of happy course. No action is excellent which ceases when not consciously pressed. From the quiet of assured love old lovers look back on the anxious fervors of early days and acknowledge them meagre and immature. Yet still within call they keep the resolute will and guard against decay. For just as my readers find it difficult to hold the thought of the conjunct self steadily in mind and are obliged to resist its tendency to disintegrate into separate selves, so do lovers also. By degrees the sense of mutuality may decline, independent interests arise, and then one of the lower altruistic forms may take the place of this its highest. A pair may feel themselves drawing apart and, finding less and less in common, may gradually content themselves with a kind of partnership in place of love. Or one, disturbed over the breach of affection, may seek to repair it by acts of generosity. He may be liberal in granting his company, his friendly cheer, to the slightly distant loved one. But that, too, is a slipping down. The two are then no longer in equality. Perfect love knows no giving. What is there to give? All mine is thine, all thine is mine. Together we share, not give. But as we detach ourselves little by little, the old separate self comes back and we hand something across the chasm. How sad when exuberant love thus declines into intentional giving, altering “because