as he takes your hand and confidingly asks your sympathy. "See how good and innocent and beautiful women are," he says, "how tender little children!" Let us love these and one another, brother—God knows we have need of love and pardon. So it is each man looks with his own eyes, speaks with his own voice, and prays his own prayer.
When Steele asks your sympathy for the actors in that charming scene of Love and Grief and Death, who can refuse it? One yields to it as to the frank advance of a child, or to the appeal of a woman. A man is seldom more manly than when he is what you call unmanned—the source of his emotion is championship, pity, and courage; the instinctive desire to cherish those who are innocent and unhappy, and defend those who are tender and weak. If Steele is not our friend he is nothing. He is by no means the most brilliant of wits nor the deepest of thinkers: but he is our friend: we love him, as children love their love with an A. because he is amiable. Who likes a man best because he is the cleverest or the wisest of mankind; or a woman because she is the most virtuous, or talks French; or plays the piano better than the rest of her sex? I own to liking Dick Steele the man, and Dick Steele the author, much better than much better men and much better authors.
The misfortune regarding Steele is, that most part of the company here present must take his amiability
