e. He has not long extinguished his
luxurious tapers, perhaps, when other men, who have slept while others
were seeking amusement, rise before daylight, and, lighting their small
lanterns, go forth to succor the unfortunate, without witnesses and
without ostentation.

I have taken this example from Xavier de Maistre. Let me give you
another from scenes more familiar to ourselves. You know those pure
summer mornings, when one may truly say that the Alp smiles and that the
mountain invites. A young man quits his dwelling at the first dawning of
the day, in his hand the tourist's staff, and his countenance beaming
with joy. He starts on a mountain excursion. All day long he quaffs the
pure air with delight, revels in the freedom of the pasture-grounds, in
the view of the lofty summits and of the distant horizons. He reposes in
the shade of the forest, drinks at the spring from the rock, and when he
has gazed on the Alpine chain resplendent in the radiance of the setting
sun, he lingers still to see--

Twilight its farewell to the hills delaying.[177]

Noble enjoyments! This young man enjoys because he loves. The spectacle
of the creation speaks to his heart and elevates his thoughts. He loves
that enchanting nature, which blends in a marvellous union the
impressions which in human relations are produced by the strong man's
majesty and the maiden's sweetest smile.

On this same summer-day, another man has also risen before the sun. He
is devoted to the assuaging of human miseries, and he has had much to
do. He has mounted gloomy staircases; he has entered dark chambers; he
has spent time in hospitals, in the midst of the pains of sickness; he
has come, in prisons, to the relief of pains which are sadder still.
Day, as it dawned, gilded the summits of the Alps, but he saw not that
pure light of the morning. Day, as it advanced, penetrated into the
valleys, but he did not notice its progress. The sun set in his glory,
but he had no opportunity to admire either the bright reflection of the
waters, or the rosy tint of the mountains. And yet he too is joyful
because he loves. He loves the fulfilment of stern duty, he loves
poverty solaced, and suffering alleviated.

Here are the two kinds of love. The disciple of Plato rises, far from
the vulgarities of life, into the lofty regions of the ideal, and feeds
on beauty. Vincent de Paul takes the place of a convict at the galleys
that he may restore a father to his chil