ing, the game in their own hands, and no such concentration of interests at stake in the result as the other party, they generally take it more easy, and being more easy, are almost always more natural. Then, amongst the old ladies and gentlemen, in proportion as "the susceptibility to immediate impressions" is strong or weak, there is the careless betraying, or the studious concealing, of the ruling passion; and as you happen yourself to be in the habit of doing one or the other, you either rattle out your remarks or your narrations with an indiscretion which you contemplate upon your pillow till you are half mad,-or you listen to somebody else who does it, till you are half asleep. In a word, you have only to go into society under certain of its semblances, to discover that, as I have just said, no benefit or blessing can be greater than to be delivered from the delusion of supposing ourselves to be interesting, and that nobody sees more of us than we choose to disclose. Adam Smith in his "Theory of Moral Sentiments," by way of illustrating his remark respecting the necessity of unconsciousness of purpose to render action graceful, observes, that we may admire the movements of a person who is merely walking across a room; but, if we had reason to suppose that individual was studying to excite admiration, or supposing that he excited it, our sentiments would be those of disgust instead of approbation. But with respect to what I have said touching society, I would desire to be understood as alluding to it only under the modification of its full dress and gala day appearances. In the undress and ease of genial intercourse, it stands high in my estimation as one of the influences which operate the most beneficially upon the mind and affections; for it is a singular and a painful thing, that many, perhaps I might almost say most persons, find more sympathy as to their taste and imagination and general mental powers, every where rather than in their own domestic circle; and hence it may be that so many hearts so readily open to the pleasing impression which attends the consciousness of being understood and valued, and that they become sometimes indiscreetly communicative. That the interior nature should so often develop its worst features at home, I apprehend must arise from the familiarity which reigns there, and which, according to the old proverb, engenders contempt. Now, contempt is the death of all budding beauty, and were it not for the gleams of sunshine which radiate from the kindliness of society in its friendly aspects, many a young spirit of great promise would wither unknown and unmatured. And how much is there in every one, that a particular combination of circumstances is fitted to develop, even to the surprise of the individual himself! A few words, a smile,-will strike the heart which had indurated under the frost of neglect or contumely, and cause the waters to flow in a stream that fertilizes and refreshes, and makes it put forth many pleasant flowers and fruits. There is another advantage which nothing but refined and intellectual society affords, and that is, the polishing off of those angularities of selfishness which are so strikingly developed in uneducated people. It matters not what the intellectual power may be, nor what the genius, nor what the study; -there is a coarse, rough instinct to seize upon whatever may make for personal interest in the natural heart, which is only to be tamed and properly regulated by the interchange of that courteous communication which exists between well informed and well educated persons. Assuredly I have no quarrel with society while thus contemplated. But when it is made up of people whom it is impossible to consider as otherwise than intolerably silly, affected, artificial, and unsatisfactory, people whose whole existence is devoted in its strongest aspirations to making fine appearances, and whose most solemn enquiry at every turn is, "What will Mrs. Grundy say? -yet before whom, one's vivacity of temperament is ever presenting one like a gudgeon to be caught and devoured,-I should find it hard to do otherwise than despise, if I did not perceive that it would be wiser to compassionate it. "A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind." and when I remember that if my own particular evil does not work in fears of Mrs. Grundy, or in anxious desires to appear somebody in the eyes of the world, it nevertheless does work, and quite as offensively in the opinion of a great many,-I would lay my hand upon my mouth, and find no fault with anybody. There is cause indeed, for the deepest compassion in every heart towards every living soul; and the more blind, and ignorant, and indifferent to what is good and true, and alive and eager after what is foolish and false, people may be, the more should every right feeling person pity and seek to ameliorate their condition. "But then they don't want either your pity or your help." Very well; don't trouble them then with offering it; but be sure they are none the less pitiable for supposing themselves above commiseration. We must all suffer and die; and whatever make-believe we have been playing at, it will then be seen for what it is. Here then, we meet on common ground, and ground where Mrs. Grundy and appearances have very little influence. O, for the single eye that looks always at truth, and overlooks the little bits and parcels of nonsense, and frailty, whether of our own or other people's, which lie between us and it! CHAPTER VI. HERE are times when the mind, like nature, seems to be surrounded by sunshine, serenity, and love. A calm, mild Sabbath day is much in unity with this interior condition; and it was a condition which, on a still and lovely Sunday morning, I not long since experienced. A little volume lay near me, which I opened almost mechanically; and, as happens sometimes under such circumstances, it presented to me a passage which suggested a train of thought that filled my mind for the greater part of the day. The passage itself was in one of Longfellow's poems, wherein he had been alluding to scenes of past enjoyment in the society of a beloved individual from whom he was then separated; and more particularly, to the delight he formerly experienced in accompanying her to church. "Here runs the highway to the town, |