slighted by the world, and, in return, he cares not for the opinion of
the world; his energies waste, and he falls.

These sufferings, however, appertain but to one class of debtors. There
are others who scorn such compunctious visitations, and set all laws of
conscience at defiance. They press into their service all the aids of
cunning, and travel on byroads of the world till they are bronzed enough
for its highway. Their memories are like mirrors, and their debts like
breathings on them, which vanish the same moment they are produced. They
look on mankind as a large family, and the world as a large storehouse,
or open house, where they have a claim proportioned to their wants. They
clear their consciences by maintaining, that what is parted with is not
lost, and foster their hopes with the idea of its reversion. They think
those who _can_ ride ought not to walk; and, therefore, that all
men have the option of such chances of good-fortune. With this laxity of
principle they quarter themselves on the credulity of extortionate
tradesmen, and the good-natured simplicity of friends or associates.
If, perchance, they possess any excellence above their society, they
consider it as a redeeming grace for their importunities, and,
calculating on the vulgarism _ad captandum_, that what is dearest
bought is most prized, they make their friends pay freely for their
admiration. Nor are such admirers willing to break the spell by which
they are bound, since, by their unqualified approval they sanction, and
flatter _the man_ of their party, to their mutual ruin; for, as
Selden observes, "he who will keep a monkey should surely pay for the
glasses he breaks."

Prone as men are to the crooked path, and still more apt as the weak and
ignorant are to indulge them in such a course, perhaps the love of
principle is as strong in men's hearts as it ever will be. Of times gone