seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his
sheaves with him._'"

The flowers dropped on her bosom, and, clasping her hands across her
forehead, she turned her face towards the sea, and seemed pondering
his words.

"Dr. Grey, my purse has always been open to the needy, and Elsie was
my almoner. Whenever you find a destitute family, or hear an appeal
for help, I shall gladly respond, and constitute you the agent for the
distribution of my charity-fund. As for bearing the sorrows of others,
pray excuse me. I am so weighed down with my own burdens that I have
no strength or leisure to spare to my neighbors, and since I ask no
aid, must not be censured for rendering none. It is utterly useless to
urge me to enter society, for like that sad pilgrim in Brittany, 'In
losing solitude I lose the half of my soul. I go out into the world
with a secret horror. When I withdraw, I gather together and lock up
my scattered treasure, but I put away my ideas sorely handled, like
fruits fallen from the tree upon stones.' No, no; in seclusion I find
the only modicum of peace that earth can ever yield me, and can
readily understand why Chateaubriand avoided those crowds which he
denominated, 'The vast desert of men.'"

"You must not be offended, if, in reply, I remind you of the rude but
vigorous words of that prince of cynics, Schopenhauer, 'Society is a
fire at which the wise man from a prudent distance warms himself; not
plunging into it, like the fool who after getting well blistered,
rushes into the coldness of solitude, and complains that the fire
burns.' Of the two evils, reckless dissipation and gloomy isolation,
the latter is probably an economy of sin; but since neither is
inevitable, we should all endeavor to render ourselves useful members
of society, and unfurl over our circle the banner of St. Paul, 'Use
this world as not abusing it.' Mrs. Gerome, do not obstinately mar the
present and future, by brooding bitterly over the trials of the past;
but try to believe that, indeed,--

... 'Sorrows humanize our race;
Tears are the showers that fertilize this world.
And memory of things precious keepeth warm
The heart that once did hold them.'"

He watched her eagerly yet gravely, hoping that her face would soften;
but she raised her hand with a proud, impatient motion.

"You talk at random, concerning matters of which you know nothing. I
hate the world and have abjured it, and you might as we