Smith, to inform them. Our precious time, our cordial
regards, the diversion of our mind from our regular duties, the neglect
of already engrossing relations in our business or profession, the
surrender of body and soul, they require for the prey of idlers and
strangers! Had our correspondents drawn upon us for a sum of money, had
a highwayman bid us stand and deliver our purse, we should not have been
so much out of pocket. But we cannot help yielding; there is no excuse
or escape. We are under the operation of that most delicate and
resistless of powers no successor of Euclid ever explained the principle
of, which may be called the _social screw_. We submit patiently, because
we cannot endure to deny to the new-comer the assumed right of him who
cruelly turns it, out of reach and out of sight. We know some men, of
extraordinary strength of countenance themselves, who have been able to
defend their door-stone against an impostor's brazen face. A good
householder, when a stage-full of country-cousins came to his door, bade
the driver take them to the hotel, and he would willingly pay the bills.
But few have the courage thus to board out those who have a staff in
their hands to knock at the very gate of their hearts. There would be
satisfaction in the utmost amount of this labor and sacrifice, could we
have any truth for its condition. But the falsehood has been written
down by one whom we can nowise accuse. Alas! there is often as little
truth in the entertainer. All together in the matter are walking in a
vain show. We are at the mercy of a diviner's wand and a conjurer's
spell. We have put on a foolish look of consent and compromise. We join
with our new mate in extolling the wrong-doer who has inflicted him upon
us. We dare not analyze the base alloy of the composition he conveys,
which pretends to be pure gold. We must either act falsely ourselves, or
charge falsehood upon others. We prefer the guilt to seeming unkindness;
when, if we were perfectly good and wise, we should shake off the coil
of deception, refuse insincere favors, and, however infinite and
overflowing our benevolence, insist on doing, in any case, only willing
and authentic good,--for affection is too noble to be feigned. "If,"
said Ole Bull, "I kiss my enemy, what have I left for my friend?" We
must forgive and love our enemies and all men, and show our love by
treating them without dissimulation, but a sublime openness, according
to their needs and