"I saw a ship sailing upon the sea
Deeply laden as ship could be;
But not so deep as in love I am
For I care not whether I sink or swim."
Old Ballad.

"But Love is such a Mystery
I cannot find it out:
For when I think I'm best resols'd,
I then am in most doubt."
SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

One story I will try to reproduce. But, alas! it is like trying to
reconstruct a forest out of broken branches and withered leaves. In the
fairy book, everything was just as it should be, though whether in words
or something else, I cannot tell. It glowed and flashed the thoughts
upon the soul, with such a power that the medium disappeared from the
consciousness, and it was occupied only with the things themselves.
My representation of it must resemble a translation from a rich and
powerful language, capable of embodying the thoughts of a splendidly
developed people, into the meagre and half-articulate speech of a savage
tribe. Of course, while I read it, I was Cosmo, and his history
was mine. Yet, all the time, I seemed to have a kind of double
consciousness, and the story a double meaning. Sometimes it seemed
only to represent a simple story of ordinary life, perhaps almost of
universal life; wherein two souls, loving each other and longing to come
nearer, do, after all, but behold each other as in a glass darkly.