LOVE AND EXCITEMENT.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 5165, 11 October 1877, Page 3

LOVE AND EXCITEMENT.

(From Truth). When two ingenious souls become what is half-piously, half-jocosely termed a happy pair, they commonly entertain the anticipation that their chief enjoyment will be found iu themselves and each other. Wandering during the firrt starlit nights of their honeymoon along the delicious shores of the Riviera, they remember, and probably quote in an amorous undertone, those two truthful lines concerning a pair of lovers in one of Byron’s tales— X»d what nnto them was the world beside, With all its changes of time and tide ?

Arrived at Venice, Florence, or Rome, they feel, for a certain period, that gazing at statues and pictures together is almost as delightful as gazing on each other ; and they fondly imagine that mornings spent in churches, or afternoons in subterranean baths, will for ever suffice to give scope to all the feelings of the human heart, so that the cherished other is not away. This is “ Love's young dream,” and we have no wish to laugh at it, or to underrate its value. It is the most delightful thing in life, and, if we do not appear too sentimental, the holiest. If it lasted ! But does it? We believe the world contains a certain number of Darbies and Joans who sit by the fireside, or on the lawn together, all through life, never wearied of the one face, the one voice, the one companionship. But these are not what is ordinarily understood by the “ chosen spirits ” of this world ; neither are they people likely to appreciate the full beauty of the Cornici-road on an autumn morning or a summer night. At no period of their existence were they thrown into ecstacies by a Madonna of Perugino, or absorbed in contemplation of a faQade of Michael Angelo. They were home birds from the first ; of the earth, earthy ; of the class to which Shakapere alludes —we alter the word “ youths ” in the line : Homo-keeping folks have ever homely wits. These are very estimable people; but, to tell the truth, they are not interesting. Yet it must not be imagined that the persons of whom we are thinking are exceptional, and are striking instances of genius. On the contrary, as all know, scores of men are nice people, charming people, well-bred people. Sometimes they are tolerably clever, sometimes they are short of brains. But they are people of the world, people who know more or less of what life is made, what is going on, what is supposed to be best worth having; people who have lived, loved, and travelled ; who then suddenly fall over head-and-ears in love, marry, have a honeymoon, settle down and fancy that the rest of life is to consist of die et mot. They infallibly become aware, sooner or later, that people of their calibre, their knowledge, their experience, cannot remain “all in all to each other.” A living satirist has exclaimed;— Alas! alas ! we wear each other out! With self’s disease each other we infect. Each is a perfect circle, orbed about. And if we more thah touch wo intersect. Until—o Love’s most miserable rout! Whom we adored, wo do not e'en respect. Eve! you were rightl Had you forborne to cull, Eden, ere long, had grown uncommon dull! This, no doubt, is a very cynical view of the matter, and it certainly is not ours. But though two young married people, such as we have described, by no means cease to love each other, but on the contrary, go on loving—not so passionately and absurdly as at first, but steadily, faithfully, and practically—they unquestionably make the discovery, which at first is painful, that they want something else besides billing and cooing to fill up the leisure momentaof life. What is that something else

to be ? The theatre, dinners, dances, picnics, races ? In fact, the usual diversions with which we are all familiar, and of which we are all so utterly weary ? There is nothing else, and the loving pair soon find themselves swept into the stream of what people are pleased to call amusement. Sometimes it does amuse, though generally it fails to do so. But there is always the hope that it will amuse the next time. Moreover, if the happy pair do not perpetually keep giving these monotonous diversions a fresh trial, on the chance of their producing a really new sensation, or re-. peating a sensation that has not yet grown stale, what are they to do ? What is there at home ? The big silent piano, which the wife has given up playing ; the big sombre books, some of which are too heavy, some too frivolous. The fireirons don’t make music ; the carpets don’t dance; the chairs don't sit down to supper. Yet dancing and fifeing and supper are going on somewhere—at many somewheres. Why are they not there ? Anything would be better than this petty pace from day to day. It is not that only one of them is of that opinion. Accordingly, they get as many invitations as they can, and they accept them all. It is then said of them, and in a certain sense they are pleased to be able to say of themselves, that they “go out a great deal.” They have tasted blood, and they cannot exist without it. Love of excitement gradually sinks into their veins, and permeates their system. They are feverishly anxious, not so much to go to such and such a gathering, as not to be left out of the list of people invited; and going out may not be really agreeable, but it is better than staying at home. Perhaps, probably, they are persons of limited means, and going out means great expense; dresses, carriages, entertaining in turn. Love of excitement often brings in its train embarrassed finances, and an anxious home. When home means nothing but anxiety, there is all the more reason for leaving it, and “going out” becomes the order of the night. Is there a remedy? There is; but we should be laughed at if we stated it. We are not going to preach up the daisies, and the dairy, and work, and books, and pinewoods, for our readers would turn the page, and think us mad.