e the strands that bind
them there. They come from beauteous eyes that beam with light; from
lisping tongues more sweet than seraph choirs; from swelling hearts that
beat in every pulse with fond affection, which is richer far than all
the nectar of the ancient gods. Bind me with these, O Fortune! and I hug
my chains o'erjoyed. Be these the cords which hold me to the rock around
which break the surging waves of time, and let the beak of Fate tear as
it will, I hold the bondage sweet and laugh at liberty.

My dear Madam, there are chains which hold us as the cable holds the
ship; and, in their sure restraint, we safely ride through all the
howling blasts of adverse fate. The globe we tread whirls on through
endless space, kept ever in the circuit that it makes by that
restraining force which holds it to the pillar of the sun. Loose but the
bond an instant, and it flies in wild, tangential flight, to shatter
other worlds. The very bondage that we curse, and seek, in fretful mood,
to break and burst, may keep us to the orbit that is traced, by
overruling wisdom, for our good. We gravitate towards duty, though we
sweep with errant course along the outer marge of the bare area of its
tightened cord. Let but the wise restraint be rudely broke, and through
life's peopled space we heedless rush, trampling o'er hearts, and
whirling to our fate, leaving destruction on our reckless way.

Did you ever chance to see, Madam, a picture of those venturous hunters,
who are lowered by a rope to the nests of sea-birds, built on some
inaccessible cliff? Hanging between heaven and earth they sway;--above,
the craggy rock, o'er which the single cord is strained that holds them
fast; below, a yawning chasm, whose jagged depth would be a fearful
grave to him who should fall. You and I would never dream of
bird-nesting under such circumstances. I can see you shudder, even now,
at the bare idea. Yet do we not sometimes hang ourselves over cliffs
from which a fall were worse than death? Do we not trust ourselves, in
venturous mood, to the frail tenure of a single strand which sways
'twixt heaven and earth? Not after birds' eggs, I grant you. We are not
all of us so fond of omelettes. But over the wild crags of human passion
many drop, pursuing game that shuns the beaten way, and sway above the
depths of dark despair. Intent upon their prey, they further go, secure
in the firm hold they think they have, nor heed the fraying line that,
grating on