were
permitted to continue in their presence would catch a considerable
degree of the mysterious bliss which was their portion. I have heard a
sane man, rather acute and clever in many things, seriously say, "If a
man cannot be happy in the presence of his Sovereign, where can he be
happy?"

And yet, absurd and foolish as is Moral Vealiness, there is something
fine about it. Many of the old and dear associations most cherished in
human hearts are of the nature of Veal. It is sad to think that most
of the romance of life is unquestionably so. All spooniness, all the
preposterous idolization of some one who is just like anybody else,
all love, (in the narrow sense in which the word is understood by
novel-readers,) you feel, when you look back, are Veal. The young lad
and the young girl, whom at a picnic party you have discerned stealing
off under frivolous pretexts from the main body of guests, and sitting
on the grass by the river-side, enraptured in the prosecution of a
conversation which is intellectually of the emptiest, and fancying that
they two make all the world, and investing that spot with remembrances
which will continue till they are gray, are (it must in sober sadness be
admitted) of the nature of calves. For it is beyond doubt that they are
at a stage which they will outgrow, and on which they may possibly look
back with something of shame. All these things, beautiful as they are,
are no more than Veal. Yet they are fitting and excellent in their time.
No, let us not call them Veal; they are rather like Lamb, which is
excellent, though immature. No doubt, youth is immaturity; and as you
outgrow it, you are growing better and wiser: still youth is a fine
thing; and most people would be young again, if they could. How cheerful
and light-hearted is immaturity! How cheerful and lively are the little
children even of silent and gloomy men! It is sad, and it is unnatural,
when they are not so. I remember yet, when I was at school, with what
interest and wonder I used to look at two or three boys, about twelve or
thirteen years old, who were always dull, sullen, and unhappy-looking.
In those days, as a general rule, you are never sorrowful without
knowing the reason why. You are never conscious of the dull atmosphere,
of the gloomy spirits, of after-time. The youthful machine, bodily and
mental, plays smoothly; the young being is cheery. Even a kitten is very
different from a grave old cat, and a young colt from a