IYIMIYMIYIIIMIYI on the part of the young is involuntary, and this separation, at first insensible, increases slowly, like every separation of branches. The limbs, without detaching themselves from the parent stem, recede from it. It is not their fault. Youth goes where there is joy, to festivals, to bright lights, to loves. Old age goes toward the end. They do not lose sight of each other, but there is no longer a connecting tie. The young feel the chill of life; the old that of the tomb. Let us not blame these poor children. LES MISERables. IAIAIAI DAVID HUME. Cheerfulness. Whoever has passed an evening with serious melancholy people, and has observed how suddenly the conversation was animated, and what sprightliness diffused itself over the countenance, discourse, and behaviour of every one, on the accession of a goodhumoured, lively companion; such a one will easily allow, that cheerfulness carries great merit with it, and naturally conciliates the good-will of mankind. No quality, indeed, more readily communicates itself to all around; because no one has a greater propensity to display itself, in jovial talk and pleasant entertainment. The flame spreads through the whole circle; and the most sullen and morose are often caught by it. That the melancholy hate the merry, even though Horace says it, I have some difficulty to allow; because I have always observed, that, where the jollity is moderate and decent, serious people are so much the more delighted, as it dissipates the gloom, with which they are commonly oppressed, and gives them an unusual enjoyment. Contagion of Sympathy. From this influence of cheerfulness, both to communicate itself and to engage approbation, we may perceive that there is another set of mental qualities, which, without any utility or any tendency to farther good either of the community or of the possessor, diffuse a satisfaction on the beholders, and procure friendship and regard. Their immediate sensation to the person possessed of them is agreeable; others enter into the same humour and catch the sentiment, by a contagion or natural sympathy; and as we cannot forbear loving whatever pleases, a kindly emotion arises towards the person who communicates so much satisfaction. He is a more animating spectacle: his presence diffuses over us more serene complacency and MIYIIYMIAIŠI enjoyment; our imagination, entering into his feelings and disposition, is affected in a more agreeable manner, than if a melancholy, dejected, sullen, anxious temper were presented to us. Hence the affection and approbation, which attend the former; the aversion and disgust with which we regard the latter. Few men would envy the character which Cæsar gives of Cassius: He loves no play, As thou do'st Anthony; he hears no music; Not only such men, as Cæsar adds, are commonly dangerous, but also, having little enjoyment within themselves, they can never become agreeable to others, or contribute to social entertainment. In all polite nations and ages, a relish for pleasure, if accompanied with temperance and decency, is esteemed a considerable merit, even in the greatest men; and becomes still more requisite in those of inferior rank and character. It is an agreeable representation, which a French writer gives of the situation of his own mind in this particular, "Virtue I love," says he, "without austerity; pleasure without effeminacy; and life without fearing its end." The Sublime Echo. Who is not struck with any signal instance of Greatness of Mind, or Dignity of Character, with elevation of sentiment, disdain of slavery, and with that noble pride and spirit which arises from conscious virtue? The sublime, says Longinus, is often nothing but the echo or image of magnanimity; and where this quality appears in any one, even though a syllable be not uttered, it excites our applause and admiration; as may be observed of the famous silence of Ajax in the Odyssey, which expresses more noble disdain and resolute indignation than any language can convey. THAI HAI PHAT TAI SU Were I Alexander, said Parmenio, I would accept of these offers made by Darius. So would I too, replied Alexander, were I Parmenio. This saying is admirable, says Longinus, from a like principle. Put Yourself in Another's Place. Go! cries the same hero to his soldiers, when they refused to follow him to the Indies, go, tell your countrymen that you left Alexander completing the conquest of the world. The Dignity of Alexander. "Alexander," said the Prince of Conde, who always admired this passage, "abandoned by his soldiers among barbarians, not yet fully subdued, felt in himself such a dignity and right of empire, that he could not believe it possible that any one would refuse to obey him. Whether in Europe or in Asia, among Greeks or Persians, all was indifferent to him; wherever he found men, he fancied he should find subjects." IYIYIMYMIYIYI LEIGH HUNT. Study Exhausts the I like to begin a lecture with a good charitable exordium: In the first place, I have need of it myself; and secondly, I have observed that advice always does more harm than good, if it does not see fair play. I must observe again, then, in behalf of the superfluous diner, particularly if he is studious and sedentary, that there may be reasons for his roasting of eggs beyond what a commonplace moralist may discern. Body. Study exhausts the body. Mental excitement demands with a loud, I do not say always with a lawful voice, the help of physical nourishment. A poet shall come to table from a morning's occupation, his nerves shattered, his blood thick and melancholy from overdriving, his whole soul agitated and confused in his body, in which it has been at supernatural work. I will concede that in this very work he has been sowing seeds of philosophy, and writing couplets on temperance. Let the future ages that are to benefit from his inspiration look back with an eye of tenderness rather than scorn on the havoc he proceeded to make among the dishes. Perhaps he will fast tomorrow. At least they will have the benefit of his remorse. Inspiration, which is nothing but a concentration of the faculties upon the exercise of some natural talent, is a mighty exhauster of the stomach, a producer of morbid appetites and craving desires for refreshment. The nerves, trembling from the glowing task, demand to be set right again; the blood, hot and dragging with fatigue, calls for an airy lift. He had better go out into the open air, and take exercise; I exhort him to do so: Milton did so: the greatest of his brethren have been surely temperate: he will repent bitterly if he does not. No: the meat and drink come in and the deed is done. It is the same, in proportion, with pleasure and melancholy |