rendered, if need be, as things negligible and transitory.
I am speaking of the average man and traits of his which I can never contemplate, being one myself, without a lift of the heart; and I frankly avow that it vexes me to hear this emotion which does so much to keep us average men from weariness, and from the devastating cynicism of the wits, and the horrid ennuis of the great, and from their sense that the affairs of men are really of small consequence—it vexes me to hear this emotion dismissed as fatuous democratic self-complacency.
But even as I write these words, I seem to hear Mr. More, in an accent slightly eighteenth century, exclaiming, not without asperity, yet rather in pity than in anger: "Sir, I perceive that you are a vile Whig!"
To which I reply, not without animation, yet more in affection than in malice: "Sir, I perceive that you are a stubborn Tory!"
"Sir," says Mr. More, "I am obliged to lean a bit backward to counterbalance the vileness of your Whiggery."
"And, sir," I conclude, "I am obliged to lean a bit forward to counterbalance the stubbornness of your Toryism."
