"Those are exactly my views," said Smith, "and I wish they were the
views of Sidney too."

XVII.

_THE DETRACTOR._

"The ignoble mind
Loves ever to assail with secret blow
The loftier, purer beings of their kind."
W. G. SIMMS.

"Detraction's a bold monster, and fears not
To wound the fame of princes, if it find
But any blemish in their lives to work on."
MASSINGER.

A detractor is one whose aim is to lessen, or withdraw from, that which
constitutes a good name or contributes to it.

The love of a good name is natural to man. He who has lost this love is
considered most desperately fallen below himself.

To acquire a good name and to maintain it, what have not men done,
given, and suffered in the world of Literature, Labour, Science,
Politics, and Religion?

And who has blamed them for it? It is declared by the highest wisdom,
that "A good name is better than great riches," and "better than
precious ointment." "The memory of the just shall be blessed, but the
name of the wicked shall rot." "Whatsoever things are of good report,
if there be any virtue and if there be any praise, think on these
things."

"It is," as one says, "that which gives us an inferior immortality, and
makes us, even in this world, survive ourselves. This part of us alone
continues verdant in the grave, and yields a perfume."

Considering, then, the worth of a good name, we cannot wonder that a man
should wish to preserve and guard it with all carefulness.

"The honours of a name 'tis just to guard;
They are a trust but lent us, which we take,
And should, in reverence to the donor's fame,
With care transmit them to other hands."

As the work of the detractor is the tarnishing, or, it may be, the
destruction of a man's good name, the evil nature of it may be seen at
one view. Can he commit a greater offence against his brother? Can he be
guilty of a more heinous motive and aim?

"No wound which warlike hand of enemy
Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth light
As doth the poisonous sting which infamy
Infixeth in the name of noble wight;
For by no art, nor any leeches' might,
It ever can re-cured be again."

"Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands:
But he who filches fro