[L] Very early in his life, Lord Egmont said of him, "he talks very much like an angel, and does nothing at all." De Quincey speaks of his indolence as "inconceivable;" and Joseph Cottle relates some amusing instances of his forgetfulness, even of the hour at which he had arranged to deliver a lecture to an assembled audience. THE CHIMNEY-CORNER. II. LITTLE FOXES. "Papa, what are you going to give us this winter for our evening readings?" said Jennie. "I am thinking, for one thing," I replied, "of preaching a course of household sermons from a very odd text prefixed to a discourse which I found at the bottom of the pamphlet-barrel in the garret." "Don't say sermon, papa,--it has such a dreadful sound; and on winter evenings one wants something entertaining." "Well, treatise, then," said I, "or discourse, or essay, or prelection; I'm not particular as to words." "But what is the queer text that you found at the bottom of the pamphlet-barrel?" "It was one preached upon by your mother's great-great-grandfather, the very savory and much-respected Simeon Shuttleworth, 'on the occasion of the melancholy defections and divisions among the godly in the town of West Dofield'; and it runs thus,--'_Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes._'" "It's a curious text enough; but I can't imagine what you are going to make of it." "Simply an essay on Little Foxes," said I; "by which I mean those unsuspected, unwatched, insignificant _little_ causes that nibble away domestic happiness, and make home less than so noble an institution should be. You may build beautiful, convenient, attractive houses,--you may hang the walls with lovely pictures and stud them with gems of Art; and there may be living there together persons bound by blood and affection in one common interest, leading a life common to themselves and apart from others; and these persons may each one of them be possessed of good and noble traits; there may be a common basis of affection, of generosity, of good principle, of religion; and yet, through the influence of some of these perverse, nibbling, insignificant little foxes, half the clusters of happiness on these so promising vines may fail to come to maturity. A little community of people, all of whom would be willing to die for each other, may not be able to live happily together; that is, they may have far less happiness than their circumstances, their fine and excellent traits, entitle them to expect. "The reason for this in general is that home is a place not only of strong affections, but of entire unreserves; it is life's undress rehearsal, its back-room, its dressing-room, from which we go forth to more careful and guarded intercourse, leaving behind us much _débris_ of cast-off and every-day clothing. Hence has arisen the common proverb, 'No man is a hero to his _valet-de-chambre_'; and the common warning, 'If you wish to keep your friend, don't go and live with him.'"