etation of his motives
was a keen grief to him throughout life. He never became hardened to
such attacks, and they afflicted him to the end. "'Hypatia,'" he once
said, "was written with my heart's blood, and was received, as I
expected, with curses from many of the very churchmen whom I was trying
to warn and save." But he was more than repaid for this
misinterpretation and persecution by the orthodox and conservative
classes, by seeing the efforts he had put forth--some of them, at
least--crowned with considerable success even in his lifetime; while he
was conscious of having sown much seed that would ultimately take root
in reform. He never faltered, although he grew very weak and discouraged
at times. He writes thus to a friend:--

"Pray for me; I could lie down and die sometimes. A poor fool of a
fellow, and yet feeling thrust upon an sorts of great and
unspeakable paths, instead of being left in peace to classify
butterflies and catch trout."

Long before his death he saw the condition of the English poor very
materially modified. Bad as things are in England to-day, they are much
better than in the days when Charles Kingsley began his labors.

He was accused of growing conservative in later life, and doubtless he
did so, as it is natural that man should do; but he had witnessed great
improvement during his life, and perhaps felt that the forces which had
been called into play needed guiding and directing now, rather than
further stimulation. But, like all dreamers, he was obliged to bid
farewell to many of his dreams for the good of his fellow-men as he grew
older. There was intense sadness to him in this, and Kingsley during all
his later life was a very sad man. Striving to be cheery and helpful, as
he had ever been, there was yet in his face the look of a defeated
man,--the look of a man upon whom life had palled, and who had scarcely
hope enough left to carry him through to the end. There was remarkable
pathos in many of his sermons, and ineffable sadness in many of his
letters. Doubtless much of this was due to overwork, for he had
overworked himself systematically for many years, and could not escape
the consequences. He paid the penalty in flagging spirits and a growing
weariness of life. During the journey in America, near the close of his
life, there was but a forced interest where once the feeling would have
been real and keen; and we find him once writing like this:--

"As I