We are too apt to judge of happiness by appearances; we suppose it is to be found in the most unlikely places, we seek for it where it cannot possibly be; mirth is a very doubtful indication of its presence.  A merry man is often a wretch who is trying to deceive others and distract himself.  The men who are jovial, friendly, and contented at their club are almost always gloomy grumblers at home, and their servants have to pay for the amusement they give among their friends.  True contentment is neither merry nor noisy; we are jealous of so sweet a sentiment, when we enjoy it we think about it, we delight in it for fear it should escape us.  A really happy man says little and laughs little; he hugs his happiness, so to speak, to his heart.  Noisy games, violent delight, conceal the disappointment of satiety.  But melancholy is the friend of pleasure; tears and pity attend our sweetest enjoyment, and great joys call for tears rather than laughter.

If at first the number and variety of our amusements seem to contribute to our happiness, if at first the even tenor of a quiet life seems tedious, when we look at it more closely we discover that the pleasantest habit of mind consists in a moderate enjoyment which leaves little scope for desire and aversion.  The unrest of passion causes curiosity and fickleness; the emptiness of noisy pleasures causes weariness.  We never weary of our state when we know none more delightful.  Savages suffer less than other men from curiosity and from tedium; everything is the same to them—­themselves, not their possessions—­and they are never weary.

The man of the world almost always wears a mask.  He is scarcely ever himself and is almost a stranger to himself; he is ill at ease when he is forced into his own company.  Not what he is, but what he seems, is all he cares for.

I cannot help picturing in the countenance of the young man I have just spoken of an indefinable but unpleasant impertinence, smoothness, and affectation, which is repulsive to a plain man, and in the countenance of my own pupil a simple and interesting expression which indicates the real contentment and the calm of his mind; an expression which inspires respect and confidence, and seems only to await the establishment of friendly relations to bestow his own confidence in return.  It is thought that the expression is merely the development of certain features designed by nature.  For my own part I think that over and above this development a man’s face is shaped, all unconsciously, by the frequent and habitual influence of certain affections of the heart.  These affections are shown on the face, there is nothing more certain; and when they become habitual, they must surely leave lasting traces.  This is why I think the expression shows the character, and that we can sometimes read one another without seeking mysterious explanations in powers we do not possess.