tudy
are quite beyond our reach, in spite of the illustrative aid of italics
and small caps; and we must await further "development" in order to
understand them. Of Ernest, the model young clergyman, who sets every
one right on all occasions, we read that "he held not of marriage in the
marketable kind, after a social desecration;" that, on one eventful
night, "sleep had not visited his divided heart, where tumultuated, in
varied type and combination, the aggregate feelings of grief and joy;"
and that, "for the _marketable_ human article he had no toleration, be it
of what sort, or set for what value it might, whether for worship or
class, his upright soul abhorred it, whose ultimatum, the self-deceiver,
was to him THE _great spiritual lie_, 'living in a vain show, deceiving
and being deceived;' since he did not suppose the phylactery and enlarged
border on the garment to be _merely_ a social trick." (The italics and
small caps are the author's, and we hope they assist the reader's
comprehension.) Of Sir Lionel, the model old gentleman, we are told that
"the simple ideal of the middle age, apart from its anarchy and
decadence, in him most truly seemed to live again, when the ties which
knit men together were of heroic cast. The first-born colors of pristine
faith and truth engraven on the common soul of man, and blent into the
wide arch of brotherhood, where the primaeval law of _order_ grew and
multiplied each perfect after his kind, and mutually interdependent."
You see clearly, of course, how colors are first engraven on the soul,
and then blent into a wide arch, on which arch of colors--apparently a
rainbow--the law of order grew and multiplied, each--apparently the arch
and the law--perfect after his kind? If, after this, you can possibly
want any further aid toward knowing what Sir Lionel was, we can tell you
that in his soul "the scientific combinations of thought could educe no
fuller harmonies of the good and the true than lay in the primaeval
pulses which floated as an atmosphere around it!" and that, when he was
sealing a letter, "Lo! the responsive throb in that good man's bosom
echoed back in simple truth the honest witness of a heart that condemned
him not, as his eye, bedewed with love, rested, too, with something of
ancestral pride, on the undimmed motto of the family--'LOIAUTE.'"

The slightest matters have their vulgarity fumigated out of them by the
same elevated style. Commonplace people would s