ople, so far as we know, have greater
gifts in this way; to shroud the disagreeables of life in decent
shadow--to ignore or forget them is their grand prerogative.

Scarcely, therefore, had three weeks elapsed, than the terrible
catastrophe at the Palazzo della Torre was totally consigned to the
bygones; it ceased to be thought or spoken of, and was as much matter
of remote history as an incident in the times of one of the Medici. Too
much interested in the future to waste time on the past, they launched
into speculations as to whether the Countess would be likely to marry
again; what change the late event might effect in the amount of her
fortune; and how far her position in the world might be altered by the
incident. He who, in the ordinary esteem of society, would have felt
less acutely than his neighbors for Glencore's sad fate,--Upton,--was
in reality deeply and sincerely affected. The traits which make a
consummate man of the world--one whose prerogative it is to appreciate
others, and be able to guide and influence their actions--are, in truth,
very high and rare gifts, and imply resources of fine sentiment as fully
as stores of intellectual wealth. Upton sorrowed over Glencore as for
one whose noble nature had been poisoned by an impetuous temper, and
over whose best instincts an ungovernable self-esteem had ever held
the mastery. They had been friends almost from boyhood, and the very
worldliest of men can feel the bitterness of that isolation in which the
"turn of life" too frequently commences. Such friendships are never made
in later life. We lend our affections when young on very small security,
and though it is true we are occasionally unfortunate, we do now
and then make a safe investment. No men are more prone to attach an
exaggerated value to early friendships than those who, stirred by strong
ambitions, and animated by high resolves, have played for the great
stakes in the world's lottery. Too much immersed in the cares and
contests of life to find time to contract close personal attachments,
they fall back upon the memory of school or college days to supply the
want of their hearts. There is a sophistry, too, that seduces them to
believe that then, at least, they were loved for what they were, for
qualities of their nature, not for accidents of station, or the proud
rewards of success. There is also another and a very strange element in
the pleasure such memories afford. Our early attachments serve as