It may be in some village obscurity of our own
country, some German watering-place, or some American wilderness.
There it is, however, the once familiar face; and you cannot pass it
unheeded. You soon discover that you have lighted upon an imperfect
respectability in exile. He is delighted to see you, seems in the
highest spirits, and insists on your coming home to see Mrs ----, and
dine or spend the night. He has never been better off anywhere. All
goes well with him. It was worth his while to come here, if only for
the education of his family. As he rattles on, speaking of everything
but the one thing you chiefly think of, you cannot help being touched
in spirit. You feel that there may be things you can respect more, but
many you respect that you cannot love so much.
While the imperfect respectability bears up so well before his old
acquaintance, who can tell what may be the reflections that visit his
breast in moments of retirement? Let us not be too ready to set him
down as indifferent to the consequences of the sin which once so
unfortunately beset him.
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