conversation; and I think that much of our lives is nothing but a
more or less public expression of ourselves. Your position seems to
me no more reasonable than if a man was to say: 'I look upon the
whole world, and all that is in it, as the work of God; and I am
not in a position to criticise any of the works of God.' If one may
not criticise the character of a friend whom one esteems and loves,
surely, a fortiori, we ought not to criticise anything in the world
at all. The whole of ethics, the whole of religion, is nothing else
than bringing our critical faculties to bear upon actions and
qualities; and it seems to me that if our critical faculty means
anything at all, we are bound to apply it to all the phenomena we
see about us." My companion said disdainfully that I was indulging
in the merest sophistry, and that he thought that we had better go
to bed, which we presently did.

I have, since this conversation, been reflecting about the whole
subject, and I am not inclined to admit that my companion was
right. In the first place, if every one were to follow the
principle that one had no business to criticise one's friends, it
would end in being deplorably dull. Imagine the appalling
ponderosity of a conversation in which one felt bound to praise
every one who was mentioned. Think of the insensate chorus which
would arise. "How tall and stately A---- is! How sturdy and compact
B---- is! Then there is dear C----; how wise, judicious, prudent,
and sensible! And the excellent D----, what candour, what
impulsiveness! E----, how worthy, how business-like! Yes, how true
that is! How thankful we should be for the examples of A----, B----,
C----, D----, and E----!" A very little of such conversation
would go a long way. How it would refresh and invigorate the mind!
What a field for humour and subtlety it would open up!