Not long ago I wrote a letter to a
friend which came near involving us in quarrel; but we met, and in
personal talk I repeated the worst of what I had written, and added
worse to that; and with the commentary of the body it seemed not
unfriendly either to hear or say. Indeed, letters are in vain for the
purposes of intimacy; an absence is a dead break in the relation; yet
two who know each other fully and are bent on perpetuity in love, may so
preserve the attitude of their affections that they may meet on the same
terms as they had parted.

Pitiful is the case of the blind, who cannot read the face; pitiful that
of the deaf, who cannot follow the changes of the voice. And there are
others also to be pitied; for there are some of an inert, uneloquent
nature, who have been denied all the symbols of communication, who have
neither a lively play of facial expression, nor speaking gestures, nor a
responsive voice, nor yet the gift of frank, explanatory speech: people
truly made of clay, people tied for life into a bag which no one can
undo. They are poorer than the gipsy, for their heart can speak no
language under heaven. Such people we must learn slowly by the tenor of
their acts, or through yea and nay communications; or we take them on
trust on the strength of a general air, and now and again, when we see
the spirit breaking through in a flash, correct or change our estimate.
But these will be uphill intimacies, without charm or freedom, to the
end; and freedom is the chief ingredient in confidence. Some minds,
romantically dull, despise physical endowments. That is a doctrine for a
misanthrope; to those who like their fellow creatures it must always be
meaningless; and, for my part, I can see few things more desirable,
after the possession of such radical qualities as honour and humour and
pathos, than to have a lively and not a stolid countenance; to have
looks to correspond with every feeling; to be elegant and delightful in
person, so that we shall please even in the intervals of active
pleasing, and may never discredit speech with uncouth manners or become
unconsciously our own burlesques. But of all unfortunates there is one
creature (for I will not call him man) conspicuous in misfortune. This
is he who has forfeited his birthright of expression, who has cultivated
artful intonations, who has taught his face tricks, like a pet monkey,
and on every side perverted or cut off his means of communication with
his fel