bout myself. But, as a
matter of fact, the little pain I suffered made me think more of myself
than I had previously been doing; it turned me for the time from a
bland and hedonistic philosopher into a petulant pessimist, because it
seemed that no one was the better for the incident; certainly, if life
is worth having at all, the beetle was no better off, and in my own
case I could trace no moral improvement. I had been harmlessly enough
employed in getting air and exercise in the middle of hard work. It
was no vicious enjoyment that was temporarily suspended.

Again, there are people who would say that to indulge in such reveries
is morbid; that one must take the rough with the smooth, and not
trouble about beetles or inflamed eyes. But if one is haunted by the
hopeless desire to search out the causes of things, such arguments do
not assist one. Such people would say, "Oh, you must take a larger or
wider view of it all, and not strain at gnats!" But the essence of
God's omnipotence is, that while he can take the infinitely wide view
of all created things, he can also take, I would fain believe, the
infinitely just and minute point of view, and see the case from the
standpoint of the smallest of his creatures!

What, then, is my solution? That is the melancholy part of it; I am
not prepared to offer one. I am met on every side by hopeless
difficulties. I am tempted to think that God is not at all what we
imagine him to be; that our conceptions of benevolence and justice and
love are not necessarily true of him at all. That he is not in the
least like our conceptions of him; that he has no particular tenderness
about suffering, no particular care for animal life. Nature would seem
to prove that at every turn; and yet, if it be true, it leaves me
struggling in a sad abyss of thought; it substitutes for our grave,
beautiful, and hopeful conceptions of God a kind of black mystery
which, I confess, lies very heavy on the heart, and seems to make
effort vain.

And thus I fall back again upon faith and hope. I know that I wish all
things well, that I desire with all my heart that everything that
breathes and moves should be happy and joyful; and I cannot believe in
my heart that it is different with God. And thus I rest in the trust
that there is somewhere, far-off, a beauty and a joy in suffering; and
that, perhaps, death itself is a fair and a desirable thing.

As I rode to-day in the summer sun, far off, th