In England, to express that a man has a deal of wit, they say that he has "great parts." Whence can this phrase, which is now the astonishment of the French, have come? From themselves. Formerly, we very commonly used the word "parties" in this sense. "Clelia," "Cassandra," and our other old romances, are continually telling us of the "parts" of their heroes and heroines, which parts are their wit. And, indeed, who can have _all_? Each of us has but his own small portion of intelligence, of memory, of sagacity, of depth and extent of ideas, of vivacity, and of subtlety. The word "parts" is that most fitting for a being so limited as man. The French have let an expression escape from their dictionaries which the English have laid hold of: the English have more than once enriched themselves at our expense. Many philosophical writers have been astonished that, since every one pretends to wit, no one should dare to boast of possessing it. "Envy," it has been said, "permits every one to be the panegyrist of his own probity, but not of his own wit." It allows us to be the apologists of the one, but not of the other. And why? Because it is very necessary to pass for an honest man, but not at all necessary to have the reputation of a man of wit. The question has been started, whether all men are born with the same mind, the same disposition for science, and if all depends on their education, and the circumstances in which they are placed? One philosopher, who had a right to think himself born with some superiority, asserted that minds are equal; yet the contrary has always been evident. Of four hundred children brought up together, under the same masters and the same discipline, there are scarcely five or six that make any remarkable progress. A great majority never rise above mediocrity, and among them there are many shades of distinction. In short, minds differ still more than faces. SECTION VI. _Crooked or Distorted Intellect._