he gazed up into the face of the moon he could not, even in his new delirium, forget the old days when he had walked at eve with another and a purer. His memory awoke, and, though he did not suffer it to pierce his heart, it attacked him sorely and persistently, and prevented him from enjoying his imagined happiness. No one can love twice who has loved once. In the second passion there must always be something lacking and the heart cannot give love, any more than the band can give gold, without having the less to give in the future. One love for each life is enough; and one great happiness, and one great pain. Therefore, man should love his best at first, for the full and perfect opportunity never returns and afterwards it may perchance be that only strange and foreign passions catch the appetite. As for the one great pain, it is either the death of what we love, or the other death which lays its cold finger on our hearts and tells us that thenceforth our opportunity of love has departed.
