" Why should she reciprocate? inquires the reader. Are
not truth and generosity the princely paragons of manly virtue, greater,
because unostentatious? and these perfect attributes are part and parcel
of great Giles. He makes no speeches--soils no satin paper--vows no
vows--no, he is above such humbug. His motto is evidently deeds, not
words. And what does he do? Send a flimsy epistle, which his fair reader
pays the vile postage for? Not he; he
"_Gave_ a ring with _posy_ true!"
Think of this. Not only does he "give a ring," but he annihilates the
suppositionary fiction in which poets are supposed to revel, and the
ring's accompaniment, though the child of a creative brain--the burning
emanation from some Apollo-stricken votary of "the lying nine," imbued
with all his stern morality, is strictly "true." This startling fact is
not left wrapped in mystery. The veriest sceptic cannot, in imagination,
grave a fancied double meaning on that richest gift. No--the motto
follows, and seems to say--Now, as the champion of Giles Scroggins, hurl I
this gauntlet down; let him that dare, uplift it! Here I am--
"If you _loves_ I, as I _loves_ you!"
Pray mark the syncretic force of the above line. Giles, in expressing his
affection, felt the singular too small, and the vast plural quick supplied
the void--_Loves_ must be more than love.
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