A common mistake is that of taking offence at some unpleasant quality, and never looking to see whether there be not others for which we may tolerate and even respect a man. A person is often judged by a single quality, and sometimes by a single word. Persons who have lived long years in amity take offence at one expression. It may be uttered in passion; it may be spoken in mere lightness of heart, with no intention and no idea of offending--yet it enters into the foolish blood of those who hear it, and poisons the mind evermore. Nevertheless every man who reflects knows that those are fortunate and even miraculously skilful people, who can always say exactly what they intend to say, and no more. What resource of language--what insight of the minds of others--what mastery of phrases--what subtlety of discrimination--what perspicuity of statement must he possess who can express his every idea with such unerring accuracy that no word shall be redundant, or deficient, or ambiguous; and that another shall understand the speaker precisely as he understands himself! Yet by a chance phrase what friendships have been severed--what enmity has arisen--what estrangements, even in households, have occurred from these small and incidental causes? All memory of the tenderness, the kindness, the patient and generous service of years is often obliterated by a single word! The error people make is--that everything said is intended. Yet out of the many qualities every man has, and by which any man may be moved, a single passion may go mad in a mind unwatchful. Not only hatred or anger, but love will go mad and commit murder, which is often but the insanity of a minute. Yet nobody remembers that all are liable to insanity of speech. What a wonderful thing is perfection! It must be very rare. Yet some people are always looking for it in others who never offer any example of it in themselves. It is not, however, to be had anywhere. All we are entitled to look for is that the good in any individual shall in some general way predominate over the bad. We have need to be thankful if we find this. The late George Peabody was not a mean man, though he would stand in the rain at Charing Cross, waiting for a cheap omnibus to the City. There was a threepenny one waiting, but one with a twopenny fare would come up soon--Mr. Peabody would wait for it Making money was the habit of his mind, and he made it in the street as well as the office, and having made it, gave it away with a more than royal hand.