Endeavour to be always patient of the faults and imperfections of others, for thou hast many faults and imperfections of thy own that require a reciprocation of forbearance. If thou art not able to make thyself that which thou wishest to be, how canst thou expect to mould another in conformity to thy will?—Thomas à Kempis.
MY STAGE-COACH COMPANION.
It was on a dull, chilly morning, I remember, that I left my country home by the coach which was to convey me to London. I was then about twenty years of age. I had never before been very far, or very long absent from my father's house; and my young mind was filled with thoughts of the pleasures in store for me in a long visit I was about to pay to my London relations.
Among the enjoyments I most reckoned on, apart from the society of my aunt and cousins, were those of the theatre, balls, and evening parties. Very different engagements these, from the domestic duties and rural recreations to which I had been accustomed in a retired country residence.
Thoughts like these had softened the pain of separation from my kind and indulgent parents; but there were tears in my eyes on bidding them farewell, and I was glad to let fall my veil, to hide them from the only passenger in the coach.
This passenger was a gentleman of middle age, well wrapped up in a greatcoat of rather formal cut, and with a clerical-looking hat on his head. He had a pleasant, though a rather serious expression of countenance, as he lifted his eyes from the book he was reading. It was not long before he shut up the book, and made some remarks about the weather and the scenery. A short silence followed, which was broken by my fellow-traveller saying that he had just been passing a few weeks in a watering-place which I knew to be a fashionable one.
"I have never been there," I said. "I suppose it is a very gay place, sir?"
"It is a fine town, and the country around it is very beautiful," said the gentleman.