looked upon that poor little creature, and wondered that he could ever
forget one so suffering and dependent. "The baby feels better," said
Graffam to his wife; and he thought to himself, "I too should feel
better, could I break my chains and be a man."

Through most of that night Graffam thought the same thing, and wondered
if it could be done. "I have dug my own grave," thought he, "and
officious hands have helped me in; they have cast over me the dirt of
scorn and ridicule, until I am well-nigh buried alive. O, if there was
left in others one particle of respect, I might come forth from this
grave! I know that I might, from the little of kindness and civility
shown me this day. I was once respected, and so was my wife; but I have
dragged her down, down with me. It is a shame, for she is worthy a
better fate." Thus thought poor Graffam through many hours of that
night, and in the morning he turned from his hut again, with but little
hope of seeing it as he did then, with open eyes, from which his soul
looked forth; thinking, hoping, fearing, yet ready to struggle once
more for life.

It was a beautiful morning, and Emma sat beside the open window, less
languid than she had been the day before. Dora was putting things in
order, when Emma asked this question:--"Through what medium do we see
people, Dora, when we discover nothing but their faults?"

"Through the medium of self," was the ready reply. "If there is
anything offensive in a person, self is nettled on its own account, and
in its excitement sees nothing but the offense."

"How would charity act toward a person whose manners are extremely
rude?" asked Emma.