which in more cheerful days are quite forgot; and these cheerful days drop out of memory for the time.  Hearing such a man speak, if he speak out his heart to you, you think him inconsistent, perhaps you think him insincere.  You think he is saying more than he truly feels.  It is not so; he feels and believes it all at the time.  But he is taking a one-sided view of things; he is undergoing the misery of it acutely for the time, but by-and-by he will see things from quite a different point.  A very eminent man (there can be no harm in referring to a case which he himself made so public) wrote and published something about his miserable home.  He was quite sincere, I do not doubt.  He thought so at the time.  He was miserable just then; and so, looking back on past years, he could see nothing but misery.  But the case was not really so, one could feel sure.  There had been a vast deal of enjoyment about his home and his lot; it was forgotten then.  A man in very low spirits, reading over his diary, somehow lights upon and dwells upon all the sad and wounding things; he involuntarily skips the rest, or reads them with but faint perception of their meaning.  In reading the very Bible, he does the like thing.  He chances upon that which is in unison with his present mood.  I think there is no respect in which this great law of the association of ideas holds more strictly true than in the power of a present state of mind, or a present state of outward circumstances, to bring up vividly before us all such states in our past history.  We are depressed, we are worried; and when we look back, all our departed days of worry and depression appear to start up and press themselves upon our view to the exclusion of anything else; so that we are ready to think that we have never been otherwise than depressed and worried all our life.  But when more cheerful times come, they suggest only such times of cheerfulness, and no effort will bring back the depression vividly as when we felt it.  It is not selfishness or heartlessness, it is the result of an inevitable law of mind, that people in happy circumstances should resolutely believe that it is a happy world after all; for, looking back, and looking around, the mind refuses to take distinct note of anything that is not somewhat akin to its present state.  And so, if any ordinary man, who is not a distempered genius or a great fool, tells you that he is always miserable, don’t believe him.  He feels so now, but he does not always feel so.  There are periods of brightening in the darkest lot.  Very, very few live in unvarying gloom.  Not but that there is something very pitiful (by which I mean deserving of pity) in what may be termed the Micawber style of mind,—­in the stage of hysteric oscillations between joy and misery.  Thoughtless readers of “David Copperfield” laugh at Mr. Micawber, and his rapid passages from the depth of despair to the summit of happiness, and back again.  But if you have seen or experienced