- end_line
- 3050
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:57.722Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 2990
- text
- unadvisable in the good man, even in the privacy of his own mind, or in
communion with a congenial one, to indulge in too much latitude of
philosophizing, or, indeed, of compassionating, since this might, beget
an indiscreet habit of thinking and feeling which might unexpectedly
betray him upon unsuitable occasions. Indeed, whether in private or
public, there was nothing which a good man was more bound to guard
himself against than, on some topics, the emotional unreserve of his
natural heart; for, that the natural heart, in certain points, was not
what it might be, men had been authoritatively admonished.
But he thought he might be getting dry.
The merchant, in his good-nature, thought otherwise, and said that he
would be glad to refresh himself with such fruit all day. It was sitting
under a ripe pulpit, and better such a seat than under a ripe
peach-tree.
The other was pleased to find that he had not, as he feared, been
prosing; but would rather not be considered in the formal light of a
preacher; he preferred being still received in that of the equal and
genial companion. To which end, throwing still more of sociability into
his manner, he again reverted to the unfortunate man. Take the very
worst view of that case; admit that his Goneril was, indeed, a Goneril;
how fortunate to be at last rid of this Goneril, both by nature and by
law? If he were acquainted with the unfortunate man, instead of
condoling with him, he would congratulate him. Great good fortune had
this unfortunate man. Lucky dog, he dared say, after all.
To which the merchant replied, that he earnestly hoped it might be so,
and at any rate he tried his best to comfort himself with the persuasion
that, if the unfortunate man was not happy in this world, he would, at
least, be so in another.
His companion made no question of the unfortunate man's happiness in
both worlds; and, presently calling for some champagne, invited the
merchant to partake, upon the playful plea that, whatever notions other
than felicitous ones he might associate with the unfortunate man, a
little champagne would readily bubble away.
At intervals they slowly quaffed several glasses in silence and
thoughtfulness. At last the merchant's expressive face flushed, his eye
moistly beamed, his lips trembled with an imaginative and feminine
sensibility. Without sending a single fume to his head, the wine seemed
to shoot to his heart, and begin soothsaying there. "Ah," he cried,
pushing his glass from him, "Ah, wine is good, and confidence is good;
but can wine or confidence percolate down through all the stony strata
of hard considerations, and drop warmly and ruddily into the cold cave
of truth? Truth will _not_ be comforted. Led by dear charity, lured by
sweet hope, fond fancy essays this feat; but in vain; mere dreams and
ideals, they explode in your hand, leaving naught but the scorching
behind!"
"Why, why, why!" in amaze, at the burst: "bless me, if _In vino veritas_
be a true saying, then, for all the fine confidence you professed with
me, just now, distrust, deep distrust, underlies it; and ten thousand
strong, like the Irish Rebellion, breaks out in you now. That wine, good
wine, should do it! Upon my soul," half seriously, half humorously,
securing the bottle, "you shall drink no more of it. Wine was meant to
gladden the heart, not grieve it; to heighten confidence, not depress
it."
- title
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