remote; and as mine is of the same nature as my sufferings—that is, physically perceptible; while the nature of the other is unknown, and ascertainable only by faith."
Tiberge appeared to be horrified by this reasoning. Recoiling some paces, he told me very gravely that what I had just said not only outraged common-sense, but was a miserable sophism of impiety and unbelief: "For," he added, "to compare, as you do, the aim of your sufferings with that which Religion sets before us, is an idea of the most monstrous and irreligious kind."
"I admit," was my reply, "that it is not justifiable; but, you will please be careful to observe, it is not upon that comparison that my argument rests. My object was to explain what you regard as the inconsistency of my perseverance in an ill-starred love; and I think I have proved very conclusively that, if inconsistency there be, you escape it no better than myself. It was in this respect alone that I treated the considerations on either side as equal; and I still maintain that they are so. Do you reply that the goal of Virtue is infinitely loftier than that of Love? Who but will admit it? Is that the point in question, however? Are we not at present concerned with the power which they respectively possess of rendering suffering endurable?
"Let us judge by results. How many deserters do we find from strict Virtue, and how few from Love! Do I hear you answer that although, in the practice of Virtue, there are trials to be endured, they are not essential or inevitable; that both Tyrant and Cross have long since disappeared, and that many pious and virtuous people are to be seen in the enjoyment of peaceful and happy lives? My rejoinder is that there are instances, also, of calm and contented love; and, let me add, as another point of difference that is greatly in my favor, that Love, treacherous
