it is compatible neither with obedience, jealousy, nor fear:"—is as ridiculous as untrue. Whilst love exists, it feels no restraint. It is perfectly immaterial whether it be enclosed with flowery hedges, or massy walls. With no wish to stray from its bower, it cares not whether the boundary be near or distant. It cannot become impatient of restraint; and when that impatience is felt, love has already vanished. Love has no preference for liberty, for it chooses its bondage. It delights to serve; finds service perfect freedom; and its essence, so far from being liberty, is the most decided slavery:—
"The sweetest bondage it is true,
That ever human slavery knew,
But it is bondage still!"
Obedience is too tame an epithet, for its anxiety to serve. Its jealousy, lest any one should presume to share its service, is so notorious as to be proverbial; and its fear is as excessive as its fondness. Really, Mr. Shelley, from his practice, ought to have known the divinity better. It may be allowed this writer, that love is "most pure, most perfect, and most unlimited, where its votaries live in confidence, equality, and unrestraint." But there are a thousand intermediate degrees be-
