You will see in a little while what sort of things they are which I understand by Things Slowly Learnt.  Some are facts, some are moral truths, some are practical lessons; but the great characteristic of all those which are to be thought of in this essay is, that we have to learn them and act upon them in the face of a strong bias to think or act in an opposite way.  It is not that they are so difficult in themselves, not that they are hard to be understood, or that they are supported by arguments whose force is not apparent to every mind.  On the contrary, the things which I have especially in view are very simple, and for the most part quite unquestionable.  But the difficulty of learning them lies in this:  that, as regards them, the head seems to say one thing and the heart another.  We see plainly enough what we ought to think or to do; but we feel an irresistible inclination to think or to do something else.  It is about three or four of these things that we are going, my friend, to have a little quiet talk.  We are going to confine our view to a single class, though possibly the most important class, in the innumerable multitude of Things Slowly Learnt.

The truth is, a great many things are slowly learnt.  I have lately had occasion to observe that the Alphabet is one of these.  I remember, too, in my own sorrowful experience, how the Multiplication Table was another.  A good many years since, an eminent dancing-master undertook to teach a number of my schoolboy companions a graceful and easy deportment; but comparatively few of us can be said as yet to have thoroughly attained it.  I know men who have been practising the art of extempore speaking for many years, but who have reached no perfection in it, and who, if one may judge from their confusion and hesitation when they attempt to speak, are not likely ever to reach even decent mediocrity in that wonderful accomplishment.  Analogous statements might be made, with truth, with regard to my friend Mr. Snarling’s endeavors to produce magazine articles; likewise concerning his attempts to skate, and his efforts to ride on horseback unlike a tailor.  Some folk learn with remarkable slowness that Nature never intended them for wits.  There have been men who have punned, ever more and more wretchedly, to the end of a long and highly respectable life.  People submitted in silence to the infliction; no one liked to inform those reputable individuals that they had better cease to make fools of themselves.  This, however, is part of a larger subject, which shall be treated hereafter.

On the other hand, there are things which are very quickly learnt,—­which are learnt by a single lesson.  One liberal tip, or even a few kind words heartily said, to a manly little schoolboy, will establish in his mind the rooted principle that the speaker of the words or the bestower of the tip is a jolly and noble specimen of humankind.  Boys are great physiognomists:  they read a man’s nature at a glance.  Well