at you condemn--poverty, and wealth, idleness and
excessive labour, squalor, disease, barren marriages, aggression and
war, will continue in spite of all changes in form, until men will to
get rid of them. And that they will not do till they have learnt to
love God and man. Revolution will be vain, evolution will be vain, all
uneasy turnings from side to side will be vain, until that change of
heart be accomplished. And accomplished it will be in its own time.
Everywhere I see it at work, in many ways, in the guise of many
different opinions. I see it at work here to-night among those with
whom I most disagree. I see it in the hope of Allison and Wilson, in
the defiance of MacCarthy, in the doubt of Martin, and most of all in
the despair of Audubon. For he is right to despair of the only life he
knows, the life of the world whose fruits are dust and ashes. He
drifts on a midnight ocean, unlighted by stars, and tossed by the winds
of disappointment, sorrow, sickness, irreparable loss. Ah, but above
him, if he but knew, as now in our eyes and ears, rises into a crystal
sky the first lark of dawn. And the cuckoo sings, and the blackbird,
do you not hear them? And the fountain rises ever in showers of silver
sparks, up to the heaven it will not reach till fire has made it
vapour. And so the whole creation aspires, out of the night of
despair, into the cool freshness of dawn and on to the sun of noon.
Let us be patient and follow each his path, waiting on the word of God
till He be pleased to reveal it. For His way is not hard, it is joy
and peace unutterable. And those who wait in faith He will bless with
the knowledge of Himself."

As he finished it was light, though the sun had not yet risen. The
first birds were singing in the wood, and the fountain glistened and
sang, and the plain lay before us like a bride waiting for the
bridegroom. We were silent under the spell; and I scarcely know how
long had passed before I had heart to call upon Vivian to conclude.

I have heard Vivian called a philosopher, but the term is misleading.
Those who know his writings--and they are too few--know that he
concerned himself, directly or indirectly, with philosophic problems.
But he never wrote philosophy; his methods were not those of logic; and
his sympathies were with science and the arts. In the early age of
Greece he might have been Empedocles or Heraclitus; he could never have
been Spinoza or Kant. He sought to in