tion of it, of the individual; and, however
circumstances may operate on it, the natural quality must always
prevail and peep forth in spite of every effort to conceal it.

Living much in society seldom fails to deteriorate the force and
originality of superior minds; because, though unconsciously, the
persons who possess them are prone to fall into the habits of thought
of those with whom they pass a considerable portion of their time, and
suffer themselves to degenerate into taking an interest in puerilities
on which, in the privacy of their study, they would not bestow a single
thought. Hence, we are sometimes shocked at observing glaring
inconsistencies in the works of writers, and find it difficult to
imagine that the grave reflection which pervades some of the pages can
emanate from the same mind that dictated the puerilities abounding in
others. The author's profound thoughts were his own, the puerilities
were the result of the friction of his mind with inferior ones: at
least this is my theory, and, as it is a charitable one, I like to
indulge it.

A pleasant party at dinner yesterday. Mr. W. Spencer, the poet, was
among the guests, He was much more like the William Spencer of former
days than when he dined here before, and was occasionally brilliant,
though at intervals he relapsed into moodiness. He told some good
stories of John Kemble, and told them well; but it seemed an effort to
him; and, while the listeners were still smiling at his excellent
imitation of the great tragedian, he sank back in his chair with an air
of utter abstraction.

I looked at him, and almost shuddered at marking the "change that had
come o'er the spirit of his dream;" for whether the story touched a
chord that awakened some painful reflection in his memory, or that the
telling it had exhausted him, I know not, but his countenance for some
minutes assumed a careworn and haggard expression, and he then glanced
around at the guests with an air of surprise, like one awakened from
slumber.

It is astonishing how little people observe each other in society! This
inattention, originating in a good breeding that proscribes personal
observation, has degenerated into something that approaches very nearly
to total indifference, and I am persuaded that a man might die at table
seated between two others without their being aware of it, until he
dropped from his chair.

Civilization has its disadvantages as well as its advantages, and I
th