in that child's person any reason for the world to regard it with
contempt or aversion, does she treat it with peculiar tenderness;
as if she were commissioned by God--as indeed she is--to make up
to it in the best coinage that which the world will certainly
neglect to bestow.

With the world at large, however, there are certain conditions on
which this variety of compensation is rendered; and a man who
would have compensation for defects of person, must accept these
conditions, or furnish them. Such a man as Lord Byron would have
been offended by pity. To have been commiserated on his
misfortune, would have made him exceedingly angry. He would not
allow himself to be treated as an unfortunate man. He bound up his
feet, and made efforts to walk that ended in intense pain, rather
than appear the lame man that he really was. Of course, there was
no compensation in the tender pity and affectionate consideration
of the world for him; nor is there any for the sad unfortunates
who inherit and exercise his spirit. But for all those who accept
their life with all its conditions, in a cheerful spirit, who give
up their pride, who take their bodies as God formed them, and make
the best of them, there is abundant compensation in the affection
of the world. A cheerful spirit, exercised in weakness, infirmity,
calamity--any sort of misfortune--is just as sure to awaken a
peculiarly affectionate interest in all observers, as a lighted
lamp is to illuminate the objects around it. I know of men and
women who are the favorites of a whole neighborhood--nay, a whole
town--because they are cheerful, and courageous, and self-respectful
under misfortune; and I know of those who are as much dreaded as
a pestilence, because they will not accept their lot--because
they grow bitter and jealous--and because they will persist in