This is a deviation; but that is of no consequence.  It is of the essence of the present writer’s essays to deviate from the track.  Only we must not forget the thread of the discourse; and after our deviation we must go back to it.  All this came of our remarking that some things are very quickly learnt; and that certain inferior classes of our fellow-creatures learn them quickly.  But deeper and larger lessons are early learnt.  Thoughtful children, a very few years old, have their own theory of human nature.  Before studying the metaphysicians, and indeed while still imperfectly acquainted with their letters, young children have glimpses of the inherent selfishness of humanity.  I was recently present when a small boy of three years old, together with his sister, aged five, was brought down to the dining-room at the period of dessert.  The small boy climbed upon his mother’s knee, and began by various indications to display his affection for her.  A stranger remarked what an affectionate child he was.  “Oh,” said the little girl, “he suspects (by which she meant expects) that he is going to get something to eat!” Not Hobbes himself had reached a clearer perception or a firmer belief of the selfish system in moral philosophy.  “He is always very affectionate,” the youthful philosopher proceeded, “when he suspects he is going to get something good to eat!”

By Things Slowly Learnt I mean not merely things which are in their nature such that it takes a long time to learn them,—­such as the Greek language, or the law of vendors and purchasers.  These things indeed take long time and much trouble to learn; but once you have learnt them, you know them.  Once you have come to understand the force of the second aorist, you do not find your heart whispering to you, as you are lying awake at night, that what the grammar says about the second aorist is all nonsense; you do not feel an inveterate disposition, gaining force day by day, to think concerning the second aorist just the opposite of what the grammar says.  By Things Slowly Learnt, I understand things which it is very hard to learn at the first, because, strong as the reasons which support them are, you find it so hard to make up your mind to them.  I understand things which you can quite easily (when it is fairly put to you) see to be true, but which it seems as if it would change the very world you live in to accept.  I understand things you discern to be true, but which you have all your life been accustomed to think false, and which you are extremely anxious to think false.  And by Things Slowly Learnt I understand things which are not merely very hard to learn at the first, but which it is not enough to learn for once ever so well.  I understand things which, when you have made the bitter effort and admitted to be true and certain, you put into your mind to keep (so to speak); and hardly a day has passed, when a soft, quiet hand seems to begin to crumble them down and to wear them