we are born to inherit; not those which result from unforeseen accidental circumstances, from carelessness on our own part or from the folly of others, from revolutions in the elements or in the affairs of nations; these we can bear, by using against them the best remedies we possess, or by viewing and enduring them as wisdom and philosophy teach us to do.  No; our only prayer, in this connection, is that we may be saved from our friends; not from their carelessness, but from their deliberate schemes against our security.

In order to reconcile this apparent contradiction in terms, take the following instance of a friendly propensity.  You walk into your house at dusky twilight, at that particular hour of evening at which your own brother, if he be a reasonable being, would not expect you to recognize him; one of your family extends his (or her) head from the parlor, and calls upon you at once to enter, and greet “an old friend.”  You obey, and are immediately confronted with an individual whose countenance wears an expression associated with some reminiscences of your youth, but so dim and undefined is it, that you cannot, for the life of you, give it its appropriate name or place.  What is to be done?  The recollections of early childhood are expected spontaneously to burst forth from under a heap of later and more vivid associations, and the name, residence, business, and whole history of the unwelcome guest are called upon to suggest themselves within a second’s time.

After a long moment of painful hesitation, during which you have in vain tried to stare his name out of him, you clutch at a struggling idea, and blurt out the name of one of your former associates.  You do this, not by any means because common sense or conviction suggest the course, but simply because something must instantly be done.  The result, of course, is, that you hit upon the wrong name; and now your kind friends can do no more for you; even if they rush to the rescue, and formally introduce the stranger, it is of no avail.  The deed is done; you are placed in a position of awkward mortification, which both the stranger and yourself will never forget, and never cease to regret.

Why it is that the feeling of shame which follows upon such mishaps attaches itself exclusively to the innocent sufferers, rather than to those who are the cause of the suffering, I never could understand.  This kind of diversion betrays a want of humane consideration in the contriver.  It is infinitely more cruel and unamiable than Spanish bull-baitings, or the gladiatorial shows of the ancients, inasmuch as a shock to the finest feelings of human nature is harder to bear, and longer in duration, than the momentary pang induced by witnessing a merely physical suffering.

THE OLD SAILOR.