My susceptibility has been an
exceeding great gain to me, and has quickened all my senses. There
is a joy of grief, you know, according to Ossian."
"Nay, if you quote Ossian, uncle. I give you up. I don't believe
in Ossian, and his raving stuff always sickens me."
"I sometimes think, Warham," said the uncle, good naturedly, "that
Providence has denied you some of the more human faculties. Nay,
I fear that you are partially deficient in some of the senses. Do
you see that sunlight to which I point--there, on the hill-side,
a sort of rosy haze, which seems to me eminently beautiful?"
"Yes, sir; and, if you will suffer me, I will get out of its reach
as quickly as possible. I have been half blinded by it ever since
you found it so beautiful. Sunlight is, I think, of very little
importance to professional men, unless as a substitute for candles,
and then it should come over the left shoulder, if you would not
have it endanger the sight. Nay, I will go farther, and confess that
it is better than candlelight, and certainly far less expensive.
Shall we go forward, sir?"
"Warham," said the uncle, with increasing gravity, "I should be
sorry to believe that a habit of speech so irreverential, springs
from anything but an ambition for saying smart things, and strange
things, which are not always smart.
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