even more afflicting in the people who drop all decent pretence of
dignity, and pour the product of an acrid and disappointed spirit
into all conversations.

Age can establish itself very firmly in the hearts of its circle,
if it is kind, sympathetic, appreciative, ready to receive
confidences, willing to encourage the fitful despondencies of
youth. But here again we are met by the perennial difficulty as to
how far we can force ourselves to do things which we do not really
want to do, and how far again, if we succeed in forcing ourselves
into action, we can give any accent of sincerity and genuineness to
our comments and questions.

In this particular matter, that of sympathy, a very little effort
does undoubtedly go a long way, because there are a great many
people in the world eagerly on the look out for any sign of
sympathy, and not apt to scrutinise too closely the character of
the sympathy offered. And the best part of having once forced
oneself to exhibit sympathy, at whatever cost of strain and effort,
is that one is at least ashamed to withdraw it.

I remember a foolish woman who was very anxious to retain the hold
upon the active world which she had once possessed. She very seldom
spoke of any subject but herself, her performances, her activities,
the pressure of the claims which she was forced to try to satisfy.
I can recall her now, with her sanguine complexion, her high voice,
her anxious and restless eye wandering in search of admiration.
"The day's post!" she cried, "that is one of my worst trials--so
many duties to fulfil, so many requests for help, so many
irresistible claims come before me in the pile of letters--that