No harshness anywhere--all
is velvet. My enchantment beguiled me out both before and after dinner.
The impression is that of a _fete_, and the subdued tints are, or seem
to be, a mere coquetry of winter which has set itself to paint something
without sunshine, and yet to charm the spectator.
February 9, 1880,--Life rushes on--so much the worse for the weak and
the stragglers. As soon as a man's _tendo Achillis_ gives way he finds
himself trampled under foot by the young, the eager, the voracious.
"_Vae victis, vae debilibus!_" yells the crowd, which in its turn is
storming the goods of this world. Every man is always in some other
man's way, since, however small he may make himself, he still occupies
some space, and however little he may envy or possess, he is still sure
to be envied and his goods coveted by some one else. Mean
world!--peopled by a mean race! To console ourselves we must think of
the exceptions--of the noble and generous souls. There are such. What do
the rest matter! The traveler crossing the desert feels himself
surrounded by creatures thirsting for his blood; by day vultures fly
about his head; by night scorpions creep into his tent, jackals prowl
around his camp-fire, mosquitoes prick and torture him with their
greedy sting; everywhere menace, enmity, ferocity.
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