of determination to make the best of a bad business which constituted George Eliot's philosophy of human life, that I must give the remainder of it in full. Nothing can express better her absolute disbelief in what seems to me the noblest elements of the human character, and the grave fortitude with which she braced herself and her friends up to the task of attenuating the miseries of a lot thus discredited:

Have you quite fairly represented yourself in saying that you have ceased to pity your suffering fellow-men, because you can no longer think of them as individualities of immortal duration, in some other state of existence than this of which you know the pains and the pleasures? — that you feel less for them now you regard them as more miserable? And, on a closer examination of your feelings, should you find that you had lost all sense of quality in actions-all possibility of admiration that yearns to imitate all keen sense of what is cruel and injurious-all belief that your conduct (and therefore the conduct of others) can have any difference of effect on the well-being of those immediately about you (and therefore on those afar off), whether you carelessly follow your selfish moods or encourage that vision of others' needs which is the source of justice, tenderness, sympathy, in the fullest sense? I cannot believe that your strong intellect will continue to see, in the con. ditions of man's appearance on this planet, a destructive relation to your sympathy: this seems to me equivalent to saying that you care no longer for color, now you know the laws of the spectrum.

As to the necessary combinations through which life is manifested, and which seem to present themselves to you as a hideous fatalism, which ought logically to petrify your volition -have they, in fact, any such influence on your ordinary course of action in the primary affairs of your existence as a human, social, domestic creature? And if they don't hinder you from taking measures for a bath, without which you know that you cannot secure the delicate cleanliness which is your second nature, why should they hinder you from a line of resolve in a higher strain of duty to your ideal, both for yourself and others? But the consideration of molecular physics is not the direct ground of human love and moral action, any more than it is the direct means of composing a noble picture or of enjoying great music. One might as well hope to dissect one's own body and be merry in doing it, as take molecular physics (in which you must banish from your field of view what is specifically human) to be your dominant guide, your determiner of motives, in what is solely human. That every study has its bearing on every other is true; but pain and relief, love and sorrow, have their peculiar history which make an experience and knowledge over and above the swing of atoms.

The teaching you quote as George Sand's would, I think, deserve to be called nonsensical if it did not deserve to be called wicked. What sort of "culture of the intellect" is that which, instead of widening the mind to a fuller and fuller response to all the elements of our which flatters egoism with the possibility that existence, isolates it in a moral stupidity? a complex and refined human society can con tinue, wherein relations have no sacredness beyond the inclination of changing moods ? — or figures to itself an anesthetic human life that one may compare to that of the fabled heard the song of the Muses could do nothing grasshoppers who were once men, but having but sing, and starved themselves so till they died and had a fit resurrection as grasshoppers; " and this," says Socrates, "was the return the Muses made them."

With regard to the pains and limitations of one's personal lot, I suppose there is not a single man or woman who has not more or less need of that stoical resignation which is often a hidden heroism, or who, in considering his or her past history, is not aware that it has been cruelly affected by the ignorant or selfish action of some fellow-being in a more or less close relation of life. And to my mind there tion, to an energetic effort that the lives nearcan be no stronger motive, than this percepest to us shall not suffer in a like manner from

us.

The progress of the world—which you say can only come at the right time-can certainly never come at all save by the modified action of the individual beings who compose the world; and that we can say to ourselves with effect, "There is an order of considerations which I will keep myself continually in mind of, so that they may continually be the prompters of certain feelings and actions," seems to me as undeniable as that we can resolve to study the Semitic languages and apply to an Oriental scholar to give us daily lessons. who alleged the physical basis of nervous What would your keen wit say to a young man action as a reason why he could not possibly take that course?

affects your view of the human history, what is As to duration and the way in which it really the difference to your imagination beconsider the value of human experience? Will tween infinitude and billions when you have to you say that since your life has a term of of indifference whether you were a cripple threescore years and ten, it was really a matter with a wretched skin disease, or an active creature with a mind at large for the enjoyment of knowledge, and with a nature which has attracted others to you.

is, without full comprehension - belong to Difficulties of thought - acceptance of what every system of thinking. The question is to find the least incomplete.

It is a strange and yet a most characteristic state of mind, which insists that the more insignificant man really is, the more

"It's fortunate we've none of us girls," the general began; then with a start: "I forgot Miss Tasie; but she's a girl a girl in ten thousand," he added with a happy inspiration. Tasie, who was still seated behind the teacups, gave him a smile in reply.

"Poor dear Mr. Waring," she said, "whether he is a widower or has a wife, it does not matter much. Nobody can call Mr. Waring a flirt. He might be any one's grandfather from his manner. cannot see that it matters a bit."

"Not so far as we are concerned, thank heaven," said her mother, with the air of one whose dear child has escaped a danger. "But I don't think it is quite respectable for one of our small community to have a wife alive and never to let any one know."

"I understand, a most excellent woman; besides being a person of rank," said Mr. Durant. "It has disturbed me very much, though, happily, as my wife says, from no private motive." Here the good man paused, and gave vent to a sigh of thankfulness, establishing the impression that his ingenuous Tasie had escaped as by a miracle from Waring's wiles; and then he continued: "I think some one should speak to him on the subject. He ought to understand that now it is known, public opinion requires Some one should tell him—”

"There is no one so fit as a clergyman," the general said.

"That is true, perhaps, in the abstract; but with our poor friend- There are some men who will not take advice from a clergyman."

"O Henry! do him justice. He has never shown anything but respect to you."

"I should say that a man of the world, like the general

"Oh, not I," cried the general, getting up hurriedly. "No, thank you; I never interfere with any man's affairs. That's your business, padre. Besides I have no daughter whether he is married or not is nothing to me."

"Nor to us, heaven be praised!" said Mrs. Durant; and then she added: "It is not for ourselves; it is for poor little Frances, a girl that has never known a mother's care. How much better for her to be with her mother, and properly intro duced into society, than living in that huggermugger way without education, without companions! If it were not for Tasie, the child would never see a creature near her own age."

'Ono; not all; we never quarrel." "Not for a long time, my love."

66

Henry, you may trust to my memory. Not for about thirty years. We had a little disagreement then about where we were to go for the summer. Oh, I remember it well—the agony it cost me! Don't say as we all do,' general, for it would not be true."

"You are a pair of old turtle-doves," quoth the general. "All the more reason why you should talk to him, padre. Tell him he's come among us on false pretences, not knowing the damage he might have done. I always thought he was a queer hand to have the education of a little girl."

"He taught her Latin; and that woman of theirs, Mariuccia, taught her to knit. That's all she knows. And her mother all the time in such a fine position, able to do anything for her. Oh, it is of Frances I think most."

"It is quite evident," said the general, "that Mr. Durant must interfere."

"I think it very likely I shall do no good. A man of the world, a man like that

"There is no such great harm about the man."

"And he is very good to Frances," said Tasie, almost under her breath.

"I dare say he meant no harm," said the general, "if that is all. Only, he should be warned; and if anything can be done for Frances It is a pity she should see nobody, and never have a chance of establishing herself in life.”

"She ought to be introduced into society," said Mrs. Durant. "As for establishing herself in life, that is in the hands of Providence, general. It is not to be supposed that such an idea ever enters into a girl's mind unless it is put there, which is so often the case."

"The general means," said Tasie, “that seeing people would make her more fit to be a companion for her papa. Frances is a dear girl; but it is quite true; she is wanting in conversation. They often sit

"She is a nice little thing," said the general energetically; "I always thought so; and never was at a dance, I suppose, or a junketing of any description in her life. To be sure, we are all old duffers in this place. The padre should interfere."

"If I could see it was my duty," said Mr. Durant.

"I know what you mean," said General Gaunt. "I'm not too fond of interference myself. But when a man has concealed his antecedents, and they have been found out. And then the little girl"

"It is Frances I am thinking of," explained Mr. Durant.

It was at last settled among them that it was clearly the clergyman's business to interfere. He had been tolerably certain to begin with; but he liked the moral support of what he called a consensus of opinion. Mr. Durant was not so reluctant to interfere as he professed to be. He had not much scope for those social duties which, he was of opinion, were not the least important of a clergyman's functions; and though there was a little excitement in the uncertainty from Sunday to Sunday how many people would be at church, what the collection would be, and other varying circumstances, yet the life of the clergy man at Bordighera was monotonous, and a little variety was welcome. In other chaplaincies which Mr. Durant had held, he had come in contact with various romances of real life. These were still the days of gaming, when every German bath had its tapis vert and its little group of tragedies. But the Riviera was very tranquil, and Bordighera had just been found out by the invalid and the pleasure-seeker. It was monotonous: there had been few deaths, even among the visitors, which are always varieties in their way for the clergyman, and often are the means of making acquaintances both useful and agreeable to himself and his family. But as yet there had not even been many deaths. This gave great additional excitement to what is always exciting for a small community, the cropping up under their very noses, in their own immediate circle, of a mystery, of a discovery, which afforded boundless opportunity for talk. The first thing naturally that had affected Mr. and Mrs. Durant was the miraculous escape of Tasie, to whom Mr. Waring might have made himself agreeable, and who might have lost her peace of mind, VOL. L. 2550

LIVING AGE.

trary. They said to each other that it was a hairbreadth escape; although it had not occurred previously to any one that any sort of mutual attraction between Mr. Waring and Tasie was possible.

And then the other aspects of the case became apparent. Mr. Durant felt now that to pass it over, to say nothing about the matter, to allow Waring to suppose that everything was as it had always been, was impossible. He and his wife had decided this without the intervention of General Gaunt; but when the general appeared the only other permanent pillar of society in Bordighera then there arose that consensus which made further steps inevitable. Mrs. Gaunt looked in later, after dinner, in the darkening; and she, too, was of opinion that something must be done. She was affected to tears by the thought of that mystery in their very midst, and of what the poor (unknown) lady must have suffered, deserted by her husband, and bereft of her child. "He might at least have left her her child," she said with a sob; and she was fully of opinion that he should be spoken to without delay, and that they should not rest till Frances had been restored to her mother. She thought it was "a duty" on the part of Mr. Durant to interfere. The consensus was thus unanimous; there was not a dissentient voice in the entire community. "We will sleep upon it," Mr. Durant said. But the morning brought no further light. They were all agreed more strongly than ever that Waring ought to be spoken to, and that it was undeniably a duty for the clergyman to interfere.

Mr. Durant accordingly set out before it was too late, before the midday breakfast, which is the coolest and calmest moment of the day, the time for business, before social intercourse is supposed to begin. He was very carefully brushed from his hat to his shoes, and was indeed a very agreeable example of a neat old clerical gentleman. Ecclesiastical costume was much more easy in those days. It was before the era of long coats and soft hats, when a white tie was the one incontrovertible sign of the clergyman who did not think of calling himself a priest. He was indeed, having been for a number of years located in Catholic countries, very particular not to call himself a priest, or to condescend to any garb which could recall the soutane and three-cor. nered hat of the indigenous clergy. His black clothes were spotless, but of the ordinary cut, perhaps a trifle old-fashioned.