that I am violating confidence in telling you about them. The contrast between the "show rooms and the rest of the house was so strong that it made an indelible impression upon my childish mind. Such neatness and elegance here, such abominable dirt and squalor there! Nothing, evidently, was too fine for the parlor, diningroom, and guest chamber, where the outer world sometimes penetrated; but as to the kitchen and family bedrooms, what did it matter? "No one would see them." Ah, how many of us furnish the secret chambers of our minds and hearts as richly as we furnish the parlors?

66

it was

Most people are exceedingly lenient critics of themselves; they rarely underestimate their own wisdom, cleverness, or personal attractions, and as to their moral qualities, they generally consider them well up to the average. They may be conscious of having committed acts which they would severely condemn in others, but then there are always peculiarly mitigating circumstances in their own cases. It is astonishing how tenderly a culprit will view his own derelictions from duty. Surely no one else was ever so strongly tempted; the fault of his peculiar temperament, and, pray, how could he help that? Besides, what he has done was not so very bad, after all, under the circumstances; others have done worse; you yourself would probably have done the same if you had been in his situation. Or he may go still further and throw the blame entirely on some one else who put the temptation in his way, and virtually obliged him to yield to it. If men in general always judged others by themselves there would be few misanthropes; it would be a pretty good sort of world, after all.

James Murphy. What is a misanthrope, Dr. Dix? Dr. Dix. Well?

Helen Sawyer. One who hates or despises the whole race of men except himself.

Dr. Dix. Sometimes he includes himself, but oftener

he judges himself in the lenient way I have been describing, and maintains the balance in his judgment by undue severity towards others.

But the man of honor is his own severest critic. What he might pardon to the weakness or peculiar temptations of others he cannot pardon in himself. He is especially severe in regard to what he does or is tempted to do in secret. "Coward!" he will say to himself, "would you do this thing because there is no eye to see you? Shame upon you!"

We will suppose that a private letter falls in his way. He sees from the superscription that it is intended for his political rival. It probably contains information that would be of the greatest importance to himself. The seal has already been broken: he might read it through and through, and no man but himself would be the wiser. Does such a thought enter his mind? If so, he spurns it from him as if it were a venomous reptile.

He encloses it in an envelope and addresses it to his rival with a polite note of explanation. The receiver opens it and turns pale. His wily plans are all known; he knows what human nature is, he knows what he would have done. As the sender has not condescended to make any statement, his conviction is the stronger.

He acts upon his conviction: he informs his henchmen that it is all up with them, and gives his grounds for the information. Indirectly it comes to the ears of the finder of the letter that he took the dishonorable advantage which fortune threw in his way. What does he do?

Geoffrey Jenkins. The time was when he would have taken the only recognized course to vindicate his honor. Dr. Dix. Challenged his slanderer?

Geoffrey Jenkins. Yes, Dr. Dix.

Dr. Dix. And would that have accomplished his purpose?

Geoffrey Jenkins. It would at least have silenced the tongue of slander.

Dr. Dix. As well as his own tongue or that of his antagonist forever. But how would that have affected the fact of his real honor or dishonor? Whatever that fact was, the challenge would probably have followed the accusation.

Geoffrey Jenkins. It would not have affected the real fact in the least.

Dr. Dix. What would he probably do in this more civilized age?

Geoffrey Jenkins. He would indignantly deny the charge, and trust to what men already knew of his character for the vindication of his honor.

Dr. Dix. Yes; that would probably be all-sufficient. But a far better course would be to treat the accusation as utterly beneath the notice of the man of honor he professes to be. His friends-who could testify that whatever he might have discovered from the tempting document he kept scrupulously to himself would do the rest.

XXX.

"WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY THE MICE WILL PLAY."

Dr. Dix [entering his schoolroom late and finding it in disorder]. Ah, it seems that I have interrupted your diversions and pastimes. This sudden unnatural stillness is quite oppressive. - Pray go on just as if I were not here. Well, why don't you go on? Why don't you throw that crayon, Cracklin, as you were intending to do?

Joseph Cracklin. Do you order me to throw it, sir? Dr. Dix. By no means. I asked you to do as you would if I were not present. Would that justify you? Would it release you from the proper penalty of your misconduct?

Joseph Cracklin. N-no, Dr. Dix. But I was not the only one; the others were —

Dr. Dix. We have already expressed our sentiments on the courage, manliness, and honor of throwing blame upon others. They will undoubtedly speak for themselves.

Geoffrey Jenkins. I threw crayons, Dr. Dix.

Archibald Watson. And so did I.

Jonathan Tower. And I.

Dr. Dix. That is very well so far. "Open confession is good for the soul." Does any one else wish to relieve his mind?

Henry Phillips. I drew that picture on the blackboard; but but I was intending to rub it out before you came.

Dr. Dix. And you think, I suppose, that that intention palliates your offence. I shall allude to that kind

I await further acknowledg

of palliation presently.

ment that any one has to make.

Charles Fox. I called on Butters to make a speech. Dr. Dix. Yes; and, Butters, did you respond?

Trumbull Butters. No, Dr. Dix. He and the rest of the boys are all the time nagging me, all except Dunn. He tried to keep order while you were away, he and some of the big girls.

Dr. Dix. Nagging is another subject that we shall do well to consider. Dunn and the "big girls" deserve, and hereby receive, my hearty and sincere thanks.

Susan Perkins. I am sorry to say, Dr. Dix, that all the "big girls" are not altogether blameless; I for one am not. I confess and apologize.

Jane Simpson. And I wish to do the same.

Dr. Dix. That is the most honorable thing you can do now, except to resolve not to offend again. Well, if there are no more confessions, I will now hear any further excuses or explanations that any one has to offer.

Geoffrey Jenkins. We only thought we would have a little fun; we did n't think there was any harm in it as long as you were not here. We could n't do much studying, you know.

Dr. Dix. Why not?

Geoffrey Jenkins. Because because there was so much noise. [Laughter.]

Dr. Dix [joining in the laugh]. If all your fun was as funny as that, you must have enjoyed yourselves!

Archibald Watson. But do you really think, Dr. Dix, there was any harm in our having a little fun as long as you were not here to direct our work?

Dr. Dix. Fun is a most excellent thing. It is one of the greatest blessings conferred upon our race; it is good for the body, for the mind, for the heart, for the soul. Laugh and grow fat; be jolly and long-lived. I will not yield to any one in my fondness for fun. But no good thing, even fun, is good at the wrong time and