not from lack of trouble, but from lack of capacity for grasping and dealing with his trouble. The habitual complaisance with respect to all objects and experiences, the radiant and impartial hospitality with which he receives everything that comes his way, his habit of inconsiderate good-nature, of dangerous indifference as to Yea and Nay: alas! there are enough of cases in which he has to atone for these virtues of his!⁠—and as man generally, he becomes far too easily the caput mortuum of such virtues. Should one wish love or hatred from him⁠—I mean love and hatred as God, woman, and animal understand them⁠—he will do what he can, and furnish what he can. But one must not be surprised if it should not be much⁠—if he should show himself just at this point to be false, fragile, questionable, and deteriorated. His love is constrained, his hatred is artificial, and rather un tour de force