divine sadness which is in all his poetry, speaks of the friend thus:

"Ah, friend, let us be true

To one another! For the world which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms.

XI

THE HAPPINESS OF OTHERS

"Since trifles make the sum of human things
And half our misery from those trifles springs,
Oh! let the ungentle spirit learn from thence,
A small unkindness is a great offence.
To give rich gifts, perhaps, we wish in vain
But all may shun the guilt of giving pain."

ΧΙ

THE HAPPINESS OF OTHERS

HE finest characters are often the most self-centered in youth. The very force and depth of nature which after

ward develops so perfectly is hard and green and crusty at the beginning. A superficial character smiles and wins its way to every heart, while the struggles that a strong nature must undergo, make such a nature difficult to understand and hard to know.

The first shoots of a noble nature have always to appear amid difficulties. Selfishness, like a kind of worm, is waiting to nibble at every green leaf as soon as it is seen. And to be selfish is to be lonely. Being selfcentered, however, is quite a different thing