Sober-minded men, philosophic reasoners, persons of business-habits, stern moralists--all these may ridicule the poet or the novelist who makes Love his everlasting theme; they may hug themselves, in the apathy of their own cold hearts, with the belief that all the attributes of the passion have been immensely exaggerated; but they are in error, deeply, profoundly, indisputably in error. For Love, in its various phases, among which are Jealousy, Suspicion, Infidelity, Rivalry, and Revenge, has agitated the world from time immemorial--has overthrown empires, has engendered exterminating wars, and has extended its despotic sway alike over the gorgeous city of a consummate civilization, and the miserable wigwam of a heathen barbarism! Who, then, can wonder--if the theme of Love be universal--that it should have evoked the rude and iron eloquence of the Scandinavian Scald as well as the soft and witching poesy of the bards of more genial climes, or that its praises or its sorrows should be sung on the banks of the Arno, the Seine, or the Thames, as well as amidst the pathless forests of America, or the burning sands of Africa, or in the far-off islands of the Southern Seas. But, alas! it is thou, O woman! who art called on to make the most cruel sacrifices at the altar of this imperious deity--love! If thou lovest honorably, 'tis well; but if thou lovest unlawfully how wretched is thy fate! The lover, for whose sake thou hast forgotten thy duties as a wife, has sacrificed nothing to thee, whilst thou hast sacrificed everything to him. Let the _amour_ be discovered, and who suffers? Thou! He loses not caste, station, name, nor honor;--thou art suddenly robbed of all these! The gilded saloons of fashion throw open their doors to the seducer; but bars of adamant defend that entrance against the seduced. For his sake thou risketh contumely, shame, reviling, scorn, and the lingering death of a breaking heart,--for _thee_ he would not risk one millionth part of all that! Shouldst thou be starving, say to him, "Go forth and steal to give me bread; dare the dishonor of the deed, and make the sacrifice of thy good name for me. Or go and forge, or swindle, or lie foully, so that thou bringest me bread; for have I not dared dishonor, made the sacrifice of my good name, and done as much, ay, far more than all that, for thee?" Shouldst thou, poor, seduced, weak one, address thy seducer thus, he will look upon thee as a fiend-like tempter--he will rush from thy sight--he will never see thee more; his love will be suddenly converted into hatred! Yes, man demands that woman should dishonor herself for _his_ sake; but he will not allow a speck to appear upon what he calls _his_ good name--no, not to save that poor, confiding, lost creature from the lowest depths and dregs of penury into which her frailty may have plunged her! Such is the selfishness of man! Where is his chivalry? But let us return to the Arestino Palace.