41.  There is one thing which no man, however generously disposed, can give, but which every one, however poor, is bound to pay.  This is Praise.  He cannot give it, because it is not his own,—­since what is dependent for its very existence on something in another can never become to him a possession; nor can he justly withhold it, when the presence of merit claims it as a consequence.  As praise, then, cannot be made a gift, so, neither, when not his due, can any man receive it:  he may think he does, but he receives only words; for desert being the essential condition of praise, there can be no reality in the one without the other.  This is no fanciful statement; for, though praise may be withheld by the ignorant or envious, it cannot be but that, in the course of time, an existing merit will, on some one, produce its effects; inasmuch as the existence of any cause without its effect is an impossibility.  A fearful truth lies at the bottom of this, an irreversible justice for the weal or woe of him who confirms or violates it.

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[From the back of a pencil sketch.]

Let no man trust to the gentleness, the generosity, or seeming goodness of his heart, in the hope that they alone can safely bear him through the temptations of this world.  This is a state of probation, and a perilous passage to the true beginning of life, where even the best natures need continually to be reminded of their weakness, and to find their only security in steadily referring all their thoughts, acts, affections, to the ultimate end of their being:  yet where, imperfect as we are, there is no obstacle too mighty, no temptation too strong, to the truly humble in heart, who, distrusting themselves, seek to be sustained only by that holy Being who is life and power, and who, in his love and mercy, has promised to give to those that ask.—­Such were my reflections, to which I was giving way on reading this melancholy story.

If he is satisfied with them, he may rest assured that he is neither fitted for this world nor the next.  Even in this, there are wrongs and sorrows which no human remedy can reach;—­no, tears cannot restore what is lost.

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[Written in a book of sketches, with a pencil.]

A real debt of gratitude—­that is, founded on a disinterested act of kindness—­cannot be cancelled by any subsequent unkindness on the part of our benefactor.  If the favor be of a pecuniary nature, we may, indeed, by returning an equal or greater sum, balance the moneyed part; but we cannot liquidate the kind motive by the setting off against it any number of unkind ones.  For an after injury can no more undo a previous kindness, than we can prevent in the future what has happened in the past.  So neither can a good act undo an ill one:  a fearful truth!  For good and evil