uths, without bringing pages to support his dictum.
A French essayist leaves it wholly to itself. He tells you neither how
he came by his reasons, nor their conclusion, 'le plus fou souvent est
le plus satisfait.' Consequently, if less tedious than the English,
your reasoners are more dangerous, and ought rather to be considered
as models of terseness than of reflection. A man might learn to think
sooner from your writers, but he will learn to think justly sooner from
ours. Many observations of La Bruyere and Rochefoucault--the latter
especially--have obtained credit for truth solely from their point.
They possess exactly the same merit as the very sensible--permit me to
add--very French line in Corneille:--

"'Ma plus douce esperance est de perdre l'espoir.'"

The Maquis took advantage of the silence which followed Vincent's
criticism to rise from table. We all (except Vincent, who took leave)
adjourned to the salon. "Qui est cet homme la?" said one, "comme il est
epris de lui-meme." "How silly he is," cried another--"how ugly," said a
third. What a taste in literature--such a talker--such shallowness,
and such assurance--not worth the answering--could not slip in a
word--disagreeable, revolting, awkward, slovenly, were the most
complimentary opinions bestowed upon the unfortunate Vincent. The
women called him un horreur, and the men un bete. The old railed at his
mauvais gout, and the young at his mauvais coeur, for the former always
attribute whatever does not correspond with their sentiments, to a
perversion of taste, and the latter whatever does not come up to their
enthusiasm, to a depravity of heart.

As for me, I went home, enriched with two new observations; first, that
one may not speak of any thing relative to a foreign country, as one
would if one was a native. National censures become particular affronts.

Secondly, that those who know mankind in theory, seldom know it in
practice; the very wisdom that conceives a rule, is accompanied with
the abstraction, or the vanity, which destroys it. I mean that the
philosopher of the cabinet is often too diffident to put into action
his observations, or too eager for display to conceal their design. Lord
Vincent values himself upon his science du monde. He has read much
upon men, he has reflected more; he lays down aphorisms to govern or to
please them. He goes into society; he is cheated by the one half, and
the other half he offends. The sage in the cabinet is b