its waters; and may scarcely show more than that it has not been
always as it is. The actions of men are often but little better
indications of the men themselves.

A prolonged despair arising from remorse is unreasonable at any age,
but if possible, still more so when felt by the young. To think,
for example, that the great Being who made us could have made
eternal ruin and misery inevitable to a poor half-fledged creature
of eighteen or nineteen! And yet how often has the profoundest
despair from remorse brooded over children of that age and eaten
into their hearts.

There is frequently much selfishness about remorse. Put what has
been done at the worst. Let a man see his own evil word, or deed,
in full light, and own it to be black as hell itself. He is still
here. He cannot be isolated. There still remain for him cares and
duties; and, therefore, hopes. Let him not in imagination link all
creation to his fate. Let him yet live in the welfare of others,
and, if it may be so, work out his own in this way: if not, be
content with theirs. The saddest cause of remorseful despair is
when a man does something expressly contrary to his character: when
an honourable man, for instance, slides into some dishonourable
action; or a tender-hearted man falls into cruelty from
carelessness; or, as often happens, a sensitive nature continues to
give the greatest pain to others from temper, feeling all the time,
perhaps, more deeply than the persons aggrieved. All these cases
may be summed up in the words, "That which I would not that I do,"
the saddest of all human confessions, made by one of the greatest
men. However, the evil cannot be mended by despair. Hope and
humility are the only supports under this burden. As Mr. Carlyle