low-men. The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit,
showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us. But
this fellow has filled his windows with opaque glass, elegantly
coloured. His house may be admired for its design, the crowd may pause
before the stained windows, but meanwhile the poor proprietor must lie
languishing within, uncomforted, unchangeably alone.

Truth of intercourse is something more difficult than to refrain from
open lies. It is possible to avoid falsehood and yet not tell the
truth. It is not enough to answer formal questions. To reach the truth
by yea and nay communications implies a questioner with a share of
inspiration, such as is often found in mutual love. _Yea_ and _nay_ mean
nothing; the meaning must have been related in the question. Many words
are often necessary to convey a very simple statement; for in this sort
of exercise we never hit the gold; the most that we can hope, is by many
arrows, more or less far off on different sides, to indicate, in the
course of time, for what target we are aiming, and after an hour's talk,
back and forward to convey the purport of a single principle or a single
thought. And yet while the curt, pithy speaker misses the point
entirely, a wordy, prolegomenous babbler will often add three new
offences in the process of excusing one. It is really a most delicate
affair. The world was made before the English language, and seemingly
upon a different design. Suppose we held our converse not in words, but
in music; those who have a bad ear would find themselves cut off from
all near commerce, and no better than foreigners in this big world. But
we do not consider how many have "a bad ear" for words, nor how often
the most eloquent find nothing to reply. I hate questioners and
questions; there are so few that can be spoken to without a lie. "_Do
you forgive me?_" Madam and sweetheart, so far as I have gone in life I
have never yet been able to discover what forgiveness means. "_Is it
still the same between us?_" Why, how can it be? It is eternally
different; and yet you are still the friend of my heart. "_Do you
understand me?_" God knows; I should think it highly improbable.

The cruellest lies are often told in silence. A man may have sat in a
room for hours and not opened his teeth, and yet come out of that room a
disloyal friend or a vile calumniator. And how many loves have perished
because, from pride, or spite, or diffidence, o