over my thoughts that frequently I ex press very badly what I wish to say.
To converse with respectable folk is one of my greatest delights. The conversation should be serious and should deal with serious matters. On the other hand, I can enjoy the lighter vein and, although I do not often indulge in small-talk, it is not that I am unappreciative of trifles well put, or that I am not amused by banter wherein certain quick and pleasant forms of wit are made to shine. I write good prose; my verses are not bad, and I think that if I aspired to the glory of authorship I could without difficulty acquire some reputation as a writer.
I am fond of reading, but more especially of those forms from which one derives mental stimulation or guidance. My greatest pleasure is to read with an intelligent person, for then one is constantly thinking of what one reads and the remarks one makes form the most useful and agreeable of conversations.
I am a very fair critic of prose and of verse submitted to me, but: I am inclined to speak my opinion too frankly. I am further inclined to err from an overdeveloped sense of delicacy and from criticizing too harshly. I am far from disliking an argument, and not infrequently take a part, although I am inclined to maintain my contentions with too great vehemence. Hence, when my opponent sustains an incorrect theory, in my eagerness to defend the right, I, in turn, become quite illogical.
My sentiments are upright; my impulses are fine, and so eagerly do I desire to be honest that my friends can do me no greater service than to point out my faults. Those who have known me intimately and have been good enough to give me advice on this point can bear witness that I have always accepted their suggestions with the greatest alacrity and submission.
My passions are not violent and are well controlled. Rarely has any one seen me in a rage, nor have I ever hated any person. Nevertheless, I am not above revenge if I have been offended in such manner that honor demands that I resent the insult. Indeed I am convinced that my sense of duty would so well play the part of hate that I should pursue my vengeance even more tenaciously than the next man.
I am not a victim of ambition; I am not a coward and in nowise fearful of death. I am not easily moved to pity, and I would prefer to be entirely insensible to it. Yet there is nothing I would not do to console an afflicted person, and I verily believe that one should do all in one’s power, even to the extent of expressing great sympathy for their grief, for people in affliction are sufficiently stupid to derive great consolation from such expressions. On the other hand, I maintain that while one should express sympathy, one should scrupulously avoid feeling it. It is a profitless sentiment which does little but weaken the heart, and one which should be left to the common people, who, since they do nothing logically, must look to passion to stimulate action.
I am an ardent admirer of noble passions; they are the hall-marks of great intellects, and although the anxieties dependent thereupon are somewhat opposed to austerity of mind, they nevertheless conform so well with the severest virtue that I deem it wrong to condemn them. I, who know so well all the delicacy and strength which are a part of a great love, am certain that if ever I love, it will assuredly be after this fashion, and yet, made as I am, I doubt whether this perception will ever pass from my mind to my heart.
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