’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 experience.  I have forgotten in whose life it is to be found, but there is some man who went out of his way to provide himself with every form of human misery which he could get at.  I do not myself see any occasion for any man’s going out of the way to provide misfortune for himself.  Like an eminent physician, he might stay at home, and find almost every form of human misery knocking at his door.  But still I understand what this chivalrous inquirer meant, who sought to taste all suffering for the sake of the experience it would give him.