wants, even without being told; who will bear with his master's
infirmities, and feels secure that his master will bear with his in
turn.

Possibly, after all, the grapes are sour; and were one rich, one
would do even as the rich are wont to do: but still, I am a minute
philosopher. And therefore, this afternoon, after I have done the
same work, visited the same people, and said the same words to them,
which I have done for years past, and shall, I trust, for many a year
to come, I shall go wandering out into the same winter-garden on the
same old mare; and think the same thoughts, and see the same fir-
trees, and meet perhaps the same good fellows hunting of their fox,
as I have done with full content this many a year; and rejoice, as I
said before, in my own boundless wealth, who have the whole universe
to look at, without being charged one penny for the show.

As I have said, the grapes may be sour, and I enjoy the want of
luxuries only because I cannot get them; but if my self-deception be
useful to me, leave it alone.

No one is less inclined to depreciate that magnificent winter-garden
at the Crystal Palace: yet let me, if I choose, prefer my own; I
argue that, in the first place, it is far larger. You may drive, I
hear, through the grand one at Chatsworth for a quarter of a mile.
You may ride through mine for fifteen miles on end. I prefer, too,
to any glass roof which Sir Joseph Paxton ever planned, that dome
above my head some three miles high, of soft dappled grey and yellow
cloud, through the vast lattice-work whereof the blue sky peeps, and
sheds down tender gleams on yellow bogs, and softly rounded heather
knolls, and pale chalk ranges gleaming far away. But, above all, I