words of
Christ. The Prodigal Son--that's almost enough for me! It is simplification
that I want, and independence. Of course I see that if that isn't what a
man wants, if he requires that something or someone should be infallible,
then he does require a good deal of argument and information and history.
But though I don't object to people who want all that, it isn't what I am
in search of. I want as much strong emotion and as little system as I can
get. By emotion I don't mean sentiment, but real motives for acting or not
acting. I want to hear someone saying, 'Come up hither,' and to see
something in his face which makes me believe he sees something that I don't
see and that I wish to see. I don't feel that with Newman! He is fifty
times better than myself, but I couldn't do the thing in his way, though I
love him with all my heart: it's a quiet sort of brotherhood that I want,
and not too many rules. In fact, it is _laws_ I want, and not
_rules_, and to feel the laws rather than to know them, I can't help
feeling that Newman spent too much of his time in the law-court, pleading
and arguing: and it's stuffy in there! But he will remain for ever one of
those figures whom the world will love, because it can pity him as well as
admire him. Newman goes to one's head, you know, or to one's heart! And I
expect that it was exactly what he wanted to do all the time!"

XLVI

OF AFFECTION

Father Payne, on our walks, invariably stopped and spoke to animals. I will
not say that animals were always fond of him, because that is a privilege
confined to saints, and heroes of romantic legends. But they generally
responded to his advances. It used to amuse me to hear the way he used to
talk to animals. He would stop to whistle to a caged bird: "You like your
little prison, don't you, sweet?" he would say. Or he would apostrophise a
cat, "Well, Ma'am, you must find it wearing to carry on your expeditions
all night, and to live the life of a domestic saint all day?" I asked him
once why he did not keep a dog, when he was so fond of animals. "Oh, I
couldn't," he said; "it is so dreadful when dogs get old and ill, and when
they die! It's sentiment, too; and I can't afford to multiply
emotions--there are too many as it is! Besides, there is something rather
terrible to me about the affection of a dog--it's so unreasonable a
devotion, and I like more critical affections--I prefer to earn affection!
I read somewhere the other day,"