, when Lucknow _was_ relieved, behaved as if nothing out of the
ordinary had happened to besiegers or besieged. "He shook hands with
me," wrote Lady Inglis in her journal, "and observed that he feared
we had suffered a great deal." That was all. He might have said as
much had the little garrison been incommoded by a spell of unusual
heat, or by an epidemic of measles.

As a matter of fact, piety is a by no means uncommon attribute of
soldiers, and there was no need on the part of the Reverend Mr. Brock,
who compiled these shadowy pages, to write as though General Havelock
had been a rare species of the genius military. We know that what
the English Puritans especially resented in Prince Rupert was his
insistence on regimental prayers. They could pardon his raids, his
breathless charges, his bewildering habit of appearing where he was
least expected or desired; but that he should usurp their own
especial prerogative of piety was more than they could bear. It is
probable that Rupert's own private petitions resembled the memorable
prayer offered by Sir Jacob Astley (a hardy old Cavalier who was both
devout and humorous) before the battle of Edgehill: "Oh, Lord, Thou
knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee, do not Thou
forget me. March on, boys!"

If it were not for a few illuminating anecdotes, and the thrice
blessed custom of letter writing, we should never know what manner
of thing human goodness, exalted human goodness, is; and so acquiesce
ignorantly in Sir Leslie Stephen's judgment. The sinners of the world
stand out clear and distinct, full of vitality, and of an engaging
candour. The saints of Heaven shine dimly through a nebulous haze
of hagiology. They are embodiments of inaccessible virtues, as
remote from us and from our neighbours as if they had lived on another
planet. There is no more use in asking us to imitate these
incomprehensible creatures than there would be in asking us to climb
by easy stages to the moon. Without some common denominator, sinner
and saint are as aloof from each other as sinner and archangel.
Without some clue to the saint's spiritual identity, the record of
his labours and hardships, fasts, visions, and miracles, offers
nothing more helpful than bewilderment. We may be edified or we may
be sceptical, according to our temperament and training; but a
profound unconcern devitalizes both scepticism and edification.
What have we mortals in common with these perfected prodigi