uld speak them to a looking-glass." If not a hypocrite
or a vain man, he may find himself blushing at the thought _de me fabula
narratur_. The only alteration that our satire on others may require is
to change the name of the folly or fault we lash, and then the stripes
will be merited by ourselves. The other day Temple and I listened to a
discourse of the Rev. Dr. Waddell of St Magdalen's on the perils of
novel-reading. I think the worthy doctor really refrains from that sin;
he is certainly severe on those who are given to it. "That fat man,"
said Temple, as we strolled away from St. Magdalen's sanctuary, "is too
greedy, too gluttonous to listen to any cry but that of his own stomach.
His god is his belly. His indifference to the sufferings of others
amounts to a disease."

"What disease do you call it?" I asked.

"Fatty degeneration of the heart," replied Temple, with a laugh. On the
other hand, quite shocked at people who "make pigs" of themselves, is
Mrs. Pavanne, who starves her stomach to beautify her back, and who, I
assure you, would prefer after three days' fasting a new boiled silk and
trimmings to any similarly treated leg of mutton and capers.

Grundy is a model of social demeanor and domesticity, but occasionally
cheats in a bargain wherever it is safe; Gregory, honest as the day,
gets tipsy. Let Gregory remember his own weakness before scorning
Grundy, and let Grundy respect the good in Gregory before holding him up
to disgrace. The question is often not whether X is a saint and Y a
Satan, but rather what road a man's indulgence takes. Is it body or
spirit that rules him--his fear, lust, vanity, gluttony, surliness, or
sloth? his humility, generosity, piety, sense of justice, sense of duty?
Is his cardinal weakness a vice or only a foible--a crime that degrades
or only a pettiness that narrows him?

If we hold with Scripture that he who ruleth his spirit is greater than
he that taketh a city, we must not give all the laurels of success to
the mighty, wealthy, witty, and renowned. Poor John Jones, the clerk
yonder at a thousand a year, if we reckon at anything gentleness,
courage, simplicity, devotion to mother, wife, and babes, has made as
great a success of life as old Rollin Ritchie, the head of the house.
You would imagine a first use of wealth to be the liberty to pick at
will one's employees and allies, one's friends and agents, to repel the
dishonest and rebuke the impudent, dealing with those wh