that much abused term.
Enthusiasm is the eternal struggling of our immortal against our mortal
nature, which expands the wings of the soul towards its native heaven.
Enthusiasm! Can anything great or good be achieved without it? Can a man
become a poet, painter, orator, patriot, warrior, or lover, without
enthusiasm? Can he become a Christian without it? In man's struggles to
obtain fame, enthusiasm is a virtue. In a holy cause it is termed
madness. Oh, thou divine Author of the human soul, evermore grant me the
inspiration of this immortal spirit!"

They were standing together in the balcony. The beams of the summer moon
rested upon the upturned brow of the young enthusiast, and filled her
eyes with a holy fire, and the words of love that had trembled upon
Anthony's lips were dismissed from his thoughts as light and vain. She
looked too pure to address to her, at such a moment, the wild
outpourings of human passion.

Godfrey's flute sounded beneath the balcony. He played one of Juliet's
favorite songs. She turned to her lover and said, with a lively air, "Is
not the musician an enthusiast--is not the language in which he breathes
his soul the poetry of sound?"

"Then what is love?" and Anthony tried to detain the small, white hand
she had placed upon his arm.

"I dare not attempt to analyse it;" and Juliet blushed deeply as she
spoke. "Beautiful when worshipped at a distance, it becomes too much the
necessity of our nature when brought too near. Oh, if it would never
bend its wings to earth, and ever speak in the language of music and
poetry, this world would be too dark for so heavenly a visitant, and we
should long for death to unclose the portals of the skies."

"Still, dearest Juliet, much quiet happiness may be realized on earth."

"But think of its duration--how short--what sorrows are crowded into the
shortest life! To love, and to lose the beloved--how dreadful! My
mother--my angel mother--at her death, my heart became a funeral urn, in
which all sad and holy memories were enshrined. Oh, 'tis a fearful thing
to love and lose! Better far to keep the heart fancy-free, than to find
it the grave of hope."

"And will you never consent to love, Juliet?"

"Can you teach me how to resist its power?" said Juliet, with
simplicity. "We love against our own will; we call reason to our aid,
and reason laughs at us. We strive to forget; but memory, like hope,
though it cheats us, will not in turn be cheated; one ho