ent's hesitation, walked up a bye street and disappeared.
The third man stood his ground, and, as the horse passed him, yelled at
it. I could not hear what he said. I have not the slightest doubt it
was excellent advice, but the animal was apparently too excited even to
listen. The first and the third man met afterwards, and discussed the
matter sympathetically. I judged they were regretting the pig-headedness
of runaway horses in general, and hoping that nobody had been hurt.

I forget the other characters I assumed about this period. One, I know,
that got me into a good deal of trouble was that of a downright, honest,
hearty, outspoken young man who always said what he meant.

I never knew but one man who made a real success of speaking his mind. I
have heard him slap the table with his open hand and exclaim--

"You want me to flatter you--to stuff you up with a pack of lies. That's
not me, that's not Jim Compton. But if you care for my honest opinion,
all I can say is, that child is the most marvellous performer on the
piano I've ever heard. I don't say she is a genius, but I have heard
Liszt and Metzler and all the crack players, and I prefer HER. That's my
opinion. I speak my mind, and I can't help it if you're offended."

"How refreshing," the parents would say, "to come across a man who is
not afraid to say what he really thinks. Why are we not all outspoken?"

The last character I attempted I thought would be easy to assume. It was
that of a much admired and beloved young man, whose great charm lay in
the fact that he was always just--himself. Other people posed and acted.
He never made any effort to be anything but his own natural, simple
self.

I thought I also would be my own natural, simple self. But then the
question arose--What was my own natural, simple self?

That was the preliminary problem I had to solve; I have not solved it to
this day. What am I? I am a great gentleman, walking through the world
with dauntless heart and head erect, scornful of all meanness, impatient
of all littleness. I am a mean-thinking, little-daring man--the type
of man that I of the dauntless heart and the erect head despise
greatly--crawling to a poor end by devious ways, cringing to the strong,
timid of all pain. I--but, dear reader, I will not sadden your sensitive
ears with details I could give you, showing how contemptible a creature
this wretched I happens to be. Nor would you understand me. You would
only be aston