ut plainly there are large tracts of existence which lie
outside the purview of these two virtues. There is the domain of
honesty, integrity, and fair dealing; there is a loyalty to truth, the
pursuit of conscience at all costs and hazards; there is all that is
contained in the idea of beauty, propriety, and taste. None of these are
touched by charity or chastity. For example, a man may have an
unblemished life and a truly affectionate heart; and yet he may be
incorrigible in money-matters, or be ready to sacrifice principle to
convenience, or, like our great Middle Class generally, may be serenely
content with hideousness and bad manners.

Now in all these departments of human life, less important indeed than
the two chiefest, but surely not unimportant, Arnold applied the
criterion of delicacy. "A finely-touched nature," he said, "will respect
in itself the sense of delicacy not less than the sense of honesty....
The worship of sharp bargains is fatal to delicacy; nor is that missing
grace restored by accompanying the sharp bargain with an exhibition of
fine sentiments." Then, again, as regards loyalty to conviction, he knew
full well that, in Newman's phrase, he might "have saved himself many a
scrape, if he had been wise enough to hold his tongue." "The thought of
you," he wrote to Mr. Morley, "and of one or two other friends, was
often present to me in America, and, no doubt, contributed to make me
hold fast to 'the faith once delivered to the Saints.'" The slightest
deviation from the line of clear conviction--the least turning to left
or right in order to cocker a prejudice or please an audience or flatter
a class, showed a want of delicacy--a preference of present popularity
to permanent self-respect--which he could never have indulged in
himself, and with difficulty tolerated in others. He had nothing but
contempt for "philosophical politicians with a turn for swimming with
the stream, and philosophical divines with the same turn." And then,
again, in the whole of that great sphere which belongs to Beauty,
Propriety, and Taste, his sense of delicacy was always at work, and not
seldom in pain. "Ah," he exclaimed, quoting from Rivarol, "no one
considers how much pain any man of taste has to suffer, before ever he
inflicts any." To inflict pain was not, indeed, in his way, but to
suffer it was his too-frequent lot. From first to last he was protesting
against hideousness, rawness, vulgarity, and commonplace; cravin