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.


In my school vacations I used occasionally to visit an old sailor