nd use and name and fame."

And yet, women, you could make us so much better if you only would. It
rests with you, more than with all the preachers, to roll this world a
little nearer heaven. Chivalry is not dead: it only sleeps for want
of work to do. It is you who must wake it to noble deeds. You must be
worthy of knightly worship.

You must be higher than ourselves. It was for Una that the Red Cross
Knight did war. For no painted, mincing court dame could the dragon have
been slain. Oh, ladies fair, be fair in mind and soul as well as face,
so that brave knights may win glory in your service! Oh, woman, throw
off your disguising cloaks of selfishness, effrontery, and affectation!
Stand forth once more a queen in your royal robe of simple purity. A
thousand swords, now rusting in ignoble sloth, shall leap from their
scabbards to do battle for your honor against wrong. A thousand Sir
Rolands shall lay lance in rest, and Fear, Avarice, Pleasure, and
Ambition shall go down in the dust before your colors.

What noble deeds were we not ripe for in the days when we loved?
What noble lives could we not have lived for her sake? Our love was
a religion we could have died for. It was no mere human creature like
ourselves that we adored. It was a queen that we paid homage to, a
goddess that we worshiped.

And how madly we did worship! And how sweet it was to worship! Ah, lad,
cherish love's young dream while it lasts! You will know too soon how
truly little Tom Moore sang when he said that there was nothing half so
sweet in life. Even when it brings misery it is a wild, romantic misery,
all unlike the dull, worldly pain of after-sorrows. When you have lost
her--when the light is gone out from your life and the world stretches
before you a long, dark horror, even then a half-enchantment mingles
with your despair.

And who would not risk its terrors to gain its raptures? Ah, what
raptures they were! The mere recollection thrills you. How delicious
it was to tell her that you loved her, that you lived for her, that
you would die for her! How you did rave, to be sure, what floods of
extravagant nonsense you poured forth, and oh, how cruel it was of
her to pretend not to believe you! In what awe you stood of her! How
miserable you were when you had offended her! And yet, how pleasant to
be bullied by her and to sue for pardon without having the slightest
notion of what your fault was! How dark the world was when she snubbed
you