"And the self-sacrifice painted in most novels like this----"
"Slop, Silly Slop?" suggested the proud father of the
inventor of the phrase.
"Yes--is nothing but psychical suicide, and is as wholly
immoral as the spectacle of a man falling upon his sword."
"Well, I don't know but you're right, parson," said the host;
and the minister, who had apparently got upon a battle-horse
of his, careered onward in spite of some tacit attempts
of his wife to seize the bridle.
"Right? To be sure I am right. The whole business of love,
and love-making and marrying, is painted by the novelists
in a monstrous disproportion to the other relations of life.
Love is very sweet, very pretty----"
"Oh, THANK you, Mr. Sewell," said Nanny Corey, in a way
that set them all laughing.
"But it's the affair, commonly, of very young people,
who have not yet character and experience enough to make
them interesting. In novels it's treated, not only
as if it were the chief interest of life, but the sole
interest of the lives of two ridiculous young persons;
and it is taught that love is perpetual, that the glow
of a true passion lasts for ever; and that it is sacrilege
to think or act otherwise." "Well, but isn't that true,
Mr. Sewell?" pleaded Miss Kingsbury.
"I have known some most estimable people who had
married a second time," said the minister, and then
he had the applause with him.
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