rocks, after this magnanimous deed. How glad should I be if this page should ever meet the eye of any one of them, and strike a late remorse into them! To me the incident brought back the passions of my childhood--the shock I have never got over to this hour--on reading that too torturing story of Miss Edgeworth’s, about the footman, who “broke off all the bobbins, and put them in his pocket, rolled the weaving-pillow down the dirty lane, jumped up behind his lady’s carriage, and was out of sight in an instant.” I think these must be the words, for they burnt themselves in upon my childish brain, and have stirred me with passion many a time since; as this harlequin adventure will ever do. Many will wonder at all this--will despise such sensitiveness to trifles, considering what deeds are done every day in the world. They do not know the pains and penalties of sickness--that is all: and it may do them no harm to learn what they are, while my fellow-sufferers may find some comfort in an honest recognition of them. This sensitiveness takes worse directions, however, and inflicts more misery still. It subjects some of us to a scrupulosity, particularly about truth, which brings endless troubles. Every mistake of fact that we happen to know of afflicts us as if we were responsible for it,--and more than it ought if we were so responsible. We tend to an absurd restlessness to set everything right; and of course, above all, what concerns ourselves. If any kind friend pities us too much, and praises us for our patience under sufferings which he supposes to be greater than we are actually enduring, we remonstrate, and explain, as if his sympathy were not good for him and us, at any rate; and as if, having told only truth ourselves, it could matter much how our troubles are rated--whether over or under. We call up images of all who suffer far more than ourselves, and implore him to go and pity them--to honour them and not us. If he smiles and answers, well, he will go and pity and honour them--but he must be sorry for us, too--we smile, also, at our own scrupulosity, though we see in it only a new symptom of disease.