your house
at dusky twilight, at that particular hour of evening at which your
_own brother_, if he be a reasonable being, would not expect you to
recognize him; one of your family extends his (or her) head from the
parlor, and calls upon you at once to enter, and greet "an old
friend." You obey, and are immediately confronted with an individual
whose countenance wears an expression associated with some
reminiscences of your youth, but so dim and undefined is it, that you
cannot, for the life of you, give it its appropriate name or
place. What is to be done? The recollections of early childhood are
expected spontaneously to burst forth from under a heap of later and
more vivid associations, and the name, residence, business, and whole
history of the unwelcome guest are called upon to suggest themselves
within a second's time.

After a long moment of painful hesitation, during which you have in
vain tried to _stare_ his name out of him, you clutch at a struggling
idea, and blurt out the name of one of your former associates. You do
this, not by any means because common sense or conviction suggest the
course, but simply because something must instantly be done. The
result, of course, is, that you hit upon the wrong name; and now your
kind friends can do no more for you; even if they rush to the rescue,
and formally introduce the stranger, it is of no avail. The deed is
done; you are placed in a position of awkward mortification, which
both the stranger and yourself will never forget, and never cease to
regret.

Why it is that the feeling of shame which follows upon such mishaps
attaches itself exclusively to the innocent sufferers, rather than to
those who are the cause of the suffering, I never could
understand. This kind of diversion betrays a want of humane
consideration in the contriver. It is infinitely more cruel and
unamiable than Spanish bull-baitings, or the gladiatorial shows of the
ancients, inasmuch as a shock to the finest feelings of human nature
is harder to bear, and longer in duration, than the momentary pang
induced by witnessing a merely physical suffering.

THE OLD SAILOR.

In my school vacations I used occasionally to visit an old sailor
friend, a man of uncommon natural gifts, and that varied experience of
life which does so much to supply the want of other means of
education. He must have been a handsome man in his youth, and though
time and hardship had done their utmost to make a rui