Chambers Edinburgh Journal, Volume XVII., No 423, New Series. | Page 9

the next, though it is not likely to be much
remembered by those who are most in need of it:--'An ill-tempered man
often has everything his own way, and seems very triumphant; but the
demon he cherishes, tears him as well as awes other people.' In another
place, and from another point of view, he indicates the admirable
benefits of human, sympathy. 'Often,' says he, 'all that a man wants in
order to accomplish something that is good for him to do, is the
encouragement of another man's sympathy. What Bacon says the voice
of the man is to the dog--the encouragement of a higher nature--each
man can in a lesser degree afford his neighbour; for a man receives the
suggestions of another mind with somewhat of the respect and courtesy
with which he would greet a higher nature.' Speaking with reference to
the pursuits of men of literary and artistic genius, it is written: 'Almost
any worldly state in which a man can be placed is a hinderance to him,
if he have other than mere worldly things to do. Poverty, wealth, many
duties, or many affairs, distract and confuse him.' One sentence more is
all that can be added here; and if it seems to be suggested by an
aphorism of Bacon, it is equal to it in pith and penetration:--'Every
_felicity_, as well as wife and children, is a hostage to fortune.'
These sentences have been gathered chiefly from _Friends in Council_,
though a few of them are taken from Companions of my Solitude. The
two books are informed with the same spirit; and to a meditative person,

one could not recommend a choicer store of reading. Those, however,
to whom the works are as yet unknown, may wish to see some longer
and more connected extract. It is difficult to decide upon what ought to
be presented, where almost everything is exquisite; yet as a choice must
be made, we will take some sentences from an essay on 'Despair,'
wherein the writer offers a few remedial suggestions against the burden
of remorse:--
'To have erred in one branch of our duties, does not unfit us for the
performance of all the rest, unless we suffer the dark spot to spread
over our whole nature, which may happen almost unobserved in the
torpor of despair. This kind of despair is chiefly grounded on a foolish
belief that individual words or actions constitute the whole life of man;
whereas they are often not fair representatives of portions even of that
life. The fragments of rock in a mountain stream may tell much of its
history, are, in fact, results of its doings, but they are not the stream.
They were brought down when it was turbid; it may now be clear: they
are as much the result of other circumstances as of the action of the
stream: their history is fitful: they give us no sure intelligence of the
future course of the stream, or of the nature of its waters; and may
scarcely shew more than that it has not been always as it is. The actions
of men are often but little better indications of the men themselves....
'There is frequently much selfishness about remorse. Put what has been
done at the worst. Let a man see his own evil word or deed in full light,
and own it to be black as hell itself. He is still here. He cannot be
isolated. There still remain for him cares and duties; and therefore
hopes. Let him not in imagination link all creation to his fate. Let him
yet live in the welfare of others, and, if it may be so, work out his own
in this way; if not, be content with theirs. The saddest cause of
remorseful despair is when a man does something expressly contrary to
his character--when an honourable man, for instance, slides into some
dishonourable action; or a tender-hearted man falls into cruelty from
carelessness; or, as often happens, a sensitive nature continues to give
the greatest pain to others' from temper, feeling all the time perhaps
more deeply than the persons aggrieved. All these cases may be
summed up in the words, "That which I would not, that I do"--the
saddest of all human confessions, made by one of the greatest men.
However, the evil cannot be mended by despair. Hope and humility are

the only supports under this burden.'
As our space presses, the passages we give must necessarily be short.
The beauty of the few sentences following will not be disputed. They
are taken from a '
Chapter of
Consolations' in _Companions of my Solitude_, and will serve to
exhibit our author's style under one of its more animated aspects:--
'Lastly, there is to be said of all suffering--that it is