of sorrow. "When it is real," says Madame Swetchine, "it is almost as
difficult to discover as real poverty. An instinctive delicacy hides the
rags of the one and the wounds of the other." "The deeper the sorrow,
the less tongue hath it," says the Talmud. "Light griefs do speak," says
Seneca, "while sorrow's tongue is bound." "The wringing of the hands
and knocking of the breast," says Dr. South, "or the wishing of one's
self unborn: all are but the ceremonies of sorrow, the pomp and
ostentation of an effeminate grief, which speak not so much the
greatness of the misery as the smallness of the mind."