f man.

_Pardon's the word to all_! [1] Whatever folly men commit, be
their shortcomings or their vices what they may, let us exercise
forbearance; remembering that when these faults appear in others, it
is our follies and vices that we behold. They are the shortcomings of
humanity, to which we belong; whose faults, one and all, we share;
yes, even those very faults at which we now wax so indignant, merely
because they have not yet appeared in ourselves. They are faults that
do not lie on the surface. But they exist down there in the depths of
our nature; and should anything call them forth, they will come and
show themselves, just as we now see them in others. One man, it
is true, may have faults that are absent in his fellow; and it is
undeniable that the sum total of bad qualities is in some cases very
large; for the difference of individuality between man and man passes
all measure.

[Footnote 1: "Cymbeline," Act v. Sc. 5.]

In fact, the conviction that the world and man is something that had
better not have been, is of a kind to fill us with indulgence towards
one another. Nay, from this point of view, we might well consider the
proper form of address to be, not _Monsieur, Sir, mein Herr_, but _my
fellow-sufferer, Soci malorum, compagnon de miseres_! This may perhaps
sound strange, but it is in keeping with the facts; it puts others in
a right light; and it reminds us of that which is after all the most
necessary thing in life--the tolerance, patience, regard, and love
of neighbor, of which everyone stands in need, and which, therefore,
every man owes to his fellow.

THE VANITY OF EXISTENCE.

This vanity finds expression in the whole way in which things exist;
in the infinite nature of Time and Space, as opposed to the finite
nature of the individual in both; in the ever-passing present moment
as the only mode of actual existence; in the interdependence and
relativity of all things; in continual Becoming without ever Being; in
constant wishing and never being satisfied; in the long battle
which forms the history of life, where every effort is checked by
difficulties, and stopped until they are overcome. Time is that in
which all things pass away; it is merely the form under which the will
to live--the thing-in-itself and therefore imperishable--has revealed
to it that its efforts are in vain; it is that agent by which at every
moment all things in our hands become as nothing, and lose any real
value