face may be a thousand times more attractive, still a mask must be worn. No one has courage to be himself. We look upon others, and our eyes reflect back their images. It is the same with the mind. Even thus in society do we mirror the likeness of others. All originality being destroyed, our natural craving for variety asks some stimulant, and we are obliged to relieve the insipidity by bitters and acids. Who would dare to be eloquent in the face of a sneer? or who express a sentiment which would instantly be turned to shame and laughter? Ridicule is the dry-rot of society.
But to return to Mr. Trevyllian. Though more original, it is not to be supposed he was more natural than people in general. On the contrary, his character was essentially artificial—the work of man's hands—one that belonged to society and education. His manners and opinions were equally polished. His reading had been extensive—so had his observation; but both his reading and his observation had a worldly cast. As to feeling, he had as much as most have, perhaps more—though generally people have more than they get credit for; but he had no sentiment. Sentiment, by the by, is one of those ill-used words which, from being often
