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The horse we perceive feels that power which the impulse of life has given to his rider; we see in him the animation of his whole frame; in the fire of his eyes, the distention of his nostrils, and in the rapid motion of his feet, yielding to the guidance of his rider, or in the speeding of his course: they are, therefore, in perfect unison with the life in each.
"The army," wrote Nelson to the First Lord of the Admiralty, "are not so often called upon to exercise their judgment in political measures as we are; therefore the general feels a certain diffidence."
"Doctor Thayer," she urged, "do you want that woman to come here to take care of Mr. Hambleton? Isn't there any one else in this whole countryside who can nurse a sick man? Why, I can do it myself; or Mr. Van Camp, his cousin, could do it. Why should you want her, of all people, when she feels so toward us?"
And thus it is that a native, when he feels afraid, sings himself into courage, or, if he is already in a bold mood, he heaps fuel upon the flame of his anger, and adds strength to his fury. The deadly feeling of hatred and revenge extends itself to their public, as well as to their private, quarrels, and sometimes shows itself in a very fierce and unexpected manner.
It may be perfectly true, by moving a large body of troops from the country into a particular district, together with a great number of police and magistrates, that, for a moment, tranquillity may be restored to that district; but there is no gentleman in the country feels himself in a state of security. There is, however, one test, to which I wish to bring the noble Secretary of State.
But while, with agony and shame, I feel that you have rightly described that seeming neglectfulness of one no more, which sprang from the pride that believed itself neglected, you have not said enough no, not one millionth part enough of the real love that I constantly bore to him: the only soft and redeeming portion of my nature. But who can know, who can describe what another feels?
"That is because, perhaps, when you get down to it, nothing makes any real difference to you." "Oh, bambino!" exclaimed Laura, taking Caesar's hand with affectionate irony. "You always have to be so cruel to your mamma." Caesar burst into laughter, and kept Laura's hand between both of his. "The Englishman feels sad looking at us," he said. "He doesn't dream that I am your brother."
There is a similar falsification in the same play in the characterization of the newspaper man who is present at Dubedat's death and immediately afterwards is anxious to interview the widow. "Do you think," he asks, "she would give me a few words on 'How it Feels to be a Widow? Rather a good title for an article, isn't it?"
One of the expedients by which the "mind" seeks to deny and thwart the Soul, when it feels that it is beginning to be circumvented and seen through, is to assert that this seeing is the work of a part of itself, one part observing the other, and thus leaving no need nor place for the Spiritual Man.
Wordsworth personifies it as the approval of Duty, "stern daughter of the voice of God:" "Stern Lawgiver! Yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we anything more fair Than is the smile upon thy face." The faithful child of duty, whatever his creed, whatever his temperament, is naturally the possessor of a steady, calm assurance. Somehow, he feels, it is well.
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