disgusting the
character formed in some men, the more you should pity them. Yet it is
hard to do _that_. You easily pity the man whom circumstances have
made poor and miserable; how much more you should pity the man whom
circumstances have made bad! You pity the man from whom some terrible
accident has taken a limb or a hand; but how much more should you pity
the man from whom the influences of years have taken a conscience and a
heart! And something is to be said for even the most unamiable and worst
of the race. No doubt, it is mainly their own fault that they are so
bad; but still it is hard work to be always rowing against wind and
tide, and some people could be good only by doing _that_ ceaselessly. I
am not thinking now of pirates and pickpockets. But take the case of a
sour, backbiting, malicious, wrong-headed, lying old woman, who gives
her life to saying disagreeable things and making mischief between
friends. There are not many mortals with whom one is less disposed to
have patience. But yet, if you knew all, you would not be so severe in
what you think and say of her. You do not know the physical irritability
of nerve and weakness of constitution which that poor creature may have
inherited; you do not know the singular twist of mind which she may have
got from Nature and from bad and unkind treatment in youth; you do not
know the bitterness of heart she has felt at the polite snubbings and
ladylike tortures which in excellent society are often the share of the
poor and the dependent. If you knew all these things, you would bear
more patiently with my friend Miss Limejuice, though I confess that
sometimes you would find it uncommonly hard to do so.

As I wrote that last paragraph, I began dimly to fancy that somewhere I
had seen the idea which is its subject treated by an abler hand by far
than mine. The idea, you may be sure, was not suggested to me by books,
but by what I have seen of men and women. But it is a pleasant thing to
find that a thought which at the time is strongly impressing one's self
has impressed other men. And a modest person, who knows very nearly what
his humble mark is, will be quite pleased to find that another man has
not only anticipated his thoughts, but has expressed them much better
than he could have done. Yes, let me turn to that incomparable essay of
John Foster, "On a Man's writing Memoirs of Himself." Here it is.

"Make the supposition that any given number of persons,--a hun