"Yes," said my father.
"I should like to hear you make that out."
"And so should I," said I. "I was arguing only for enjoyment—I did not venture so far as that."
"Well, enjoyment," said Mr. Ricardo. "Do you think you have more enjoyment here now, than one of the plain sons of the soil, who would see nothing in roses but roses, and who would call 'Viola tricolor' a 'Johnny-jump-up?'"
"In the first place, learning is not taste; and, in the second place, you do not mean what you say, Mr. Ricardo. You know what Dr. Johnson says of the quart pot and the pint pot—both may be equally full, but the one holds twice as much as the other."
"Ah, Dr. Johnson!" said Mr. Ricardo, with an odd little flourishing wave of his hand; "you delude yourself! The quart pot is twice as likely to be spilled. If you have some pleasures that other people haven't, you have pains of your own, too, that they are exempt from. Now I suppose a little mal-adjustment of proportions—a little deviating from the exquisite line of correctness in men or things—would overturn your whole cup of enjoyment, while his or mine would stand as firm as ever."
"But perhaps a sip of mine would be worth his entire cupful."
"Now," said Mr. Ricardo, not minding me, "I fell in with a family once—it was at the West, when I was travelling there. They were good, plain, sensible, excellent people, happy in each other, and contented with the rest of the world. They had everything within themselves, and lived in the greatest comfort, and harmony, and plenty. I was with them several days, and it occurred to me that people could not be happier than they were."
"But for your bringing them up as instances, I suppose their having 'everything within themselves' did not include the pleasures of a cultivated intelligence?"
"Well, I don't suppose they would have quoted Dr. Johnson to me. But now of what use to them would be all that extra cultivation?"