_A Landlord's Benevolence_.--No sooner did he behold the money, than a
sudden placidity stole over his ruffled spirit:--nay, a certain benevolent
commiseration for the fatigue and wants of the traveller replaced at once,
and as by a spell, the angry feelings that had previously roused him.
_A "Rich" Man_.--One who "does not live so as not to have money to lay by."
_An old Soldier_.--Set me a talking, and let out nothing himself;--old
soldier every inch of him.
_A Scholar_.--A man not much inclined to reproduce the learning he had
acquired:--what he wrote was in very small proportion to what he read.
_Study of Mankind_.--There seems something intuitive in the science which
teaches us the knowledge of our race. Some men emerge from their seclusion,
and find, all at once, a power to dart into the minds and drag forth the
motives of those they see; it is a sort of second sight, born with them,
not acquired.
_Happiness_.--No man can judge of the happiness of another. As the moon
plays upon the waves, and seems to our eyes to favour with a peculiar beam
one long track amidst the waters, leaving the rest in comparative
obscurity; yet all the while she is no niggard in her lustre--for the rays
that meet not our eyes seem to us as though they were not, yet _she_, with
an equal and unfavouring loveliness, mirrors herself on every wave: even
so, perhaps, Happiness falls with the same brightness and power over the
whole expanse of life, though to our limited eyes she seems only to rest
on those billows from which the ray is reflected back upon our sight.
_Influence of Cities_.--When men have once plunged into the great sea of
human toil and passion, they soon wash away all love and zest for innocent
enjoyments. What was once a soft retirement, will become the most
intolerable monotony; the gaming of social existence--the feverish and
desperate chances of honour and wealth, upon which the men of cities set
their hearts, render all pursuits less exciting, utterly dull and insipid.
_Love_.--There is a mysterious influence in nature, which renders us, in
her loveliest scenes, the most susceptible to love. * * In all times,
how dangerous the connexion, when of different sexes, between the scholar
and the teacher! Under how many pretences, in that connexion, the heart
finds the opportunity to speak out.
_Passion_--The doubt and the fear--the caprice and the change, which
agitate the surface, swell also the tides of passion.
_Poverty_--makes some humble but more malignant.
_Want_.--How many noble natures--how many glorious hopes--how much of the
seraph's intellect, have been crushed info the mire, or blasted into guilt,
by the mere force of physical want?
_Benevolence_.--How poor, even in this beautiful world, with the warm sun
and fresh air about us, that alone are sufficient to make us glad, would
be life, if we could not make the happiness of others.
_Eloquence_.--The magic of the tongue is the most dangerous of all spells.
_Genius_.--There is a certain charm about great superiority of intellect,
that winds into deep affections which a much more constant and even
amiability of manners in lesser men, often fails to reach. Genius makes
many enemies, but it makes sure friends--friends who forgive much, who
endure long, who exact little; they partake of the character of disciples
as well as friends.
_Experience_.--'Tis a pity that the more one sees, the more suspicious one
grows. One does not have gumption till one has been properly cheated--one
must be made a fool very often in order not to be fooled at last!
_Cat-kindness_.--Paw to-day, and claw to-morrow.
_London at Night_.--One of the greatest pleasures in the world is to walk
alone, and at night, (while they are yet crowded) through the long
lamp-lit streets of this huge metropolis. There, even more than in the
silence of woods and fields, seems to me the source of endless, various
meditation.
_How easy it is to forget!_--The summer passes over the furrow, and the
corn springs up; the sod forgets the flower of the past year; and the
battlefield forgets the blood that has been spilt upon its turf; the sky
forgets the storm; and the water the noon-day sun that slept upon its
bosom. All Nature preaches forgetfulness. Its very order is the progress
of oblivion.
* * * * *