"I wish you," said I, "to resemble Democritus, who united the two characters of laugher and philosopher; and you, if you please, shall be the latter with my mother; you shall talk wisely and gravely with her, but laugh and talk nonsense now and then with me." "Vous convenez donc de la justice de ma proposition, qu'auprès de vous on ne peut être philosophe?"[9] [Footnote 9: You agree then to the justice of my proposition, that near you no one can remain a philosopher?] I shook my head and held up my hand at him, not knowing exactly how to answer: he seized it, and pressed it fervently to his lips. My mother, I saw, enjoyed this dialogue; but my own heart reproached me for having allowed myself to be amused and flattered into a sort of infidelity to Seymour, by a man too who would be, I foresaw, warmly encouraged by my mother. By this conversation, which has never been effaced from my memory, you will suspect that my flippancy and the evident pleasure with which I kept it up, were proofs that nothing but a prior attachment could have preserved my affections from the power of De Walden, when he once displayed to me all the variety of his talents, and the graces of his mind. Even as it was, they would have had a more certain effect, but for the injudicious eagerness with which my mother tried to force a conviction of them upon me; for then my alarmed feelings took the part of Seymour, and I was piqued into underrating her idol, because she seemed to _overrate_ him. How very rarely is it that one can obtain or give an opinion uninfluenced by temper, prejudice, or interest! "Is he not very handsome?" she used to say. "Yes, but I have seen a handsomer man." "Oh, you mean Seymour; he is handsomer certainly, but then he is not near so tall." "No, but he is better made." "That _I_ never remarked; and I hope you will only impart the result of your observation to _me_: others might think it indelicate. What a fine countenance he has!" "Yes, _sometimes_, but not always; and I prefer one that is always so: I like _perpetual_ rather than _occasional_ sun-shine.--It is disagreeable to have to watch the sun peeping out from behind clouds." "Helen, Helen!" replied my mother, "weak, foolish girl! to like what no one can on earth obtain--perpetual sun-shine in the moral world! And after all, when one considers what this life is, its _long pains_ and its _short pleasures_, the _riches_ of _one_ day succeeded by the _poverty_ of the _next_, the ties which are _firmly knit_ only to be _severed_ in _a moment_, and our _capacity_ and _cause_ for _enjoyment_ never equal to our _capability_ and _cause_ of suffering; my child, what a _poor, thoughtless, frivolous_ being must that be, whose _lip_ can always _smile_, and whose _eye_ can always _sparkle_, whom fears for _himself_ can never _depress_, nor fears for _time_ or for _eternity_, or anxiety for the welfare or the peace of others, can alarm into _self-government_!"