en au-
dessus de la bete, que ne coule-t-il ses jours comme elle, sans souci,
sans inquietude, sans degout, sans tristesse, dans la felicite des
sens et de la chair?"

Because he can not!

The pleasures of life, however varied, and grateful though they may be
at the time, soon wither on the palate; and then, when we appreciate at
last the knowledge of their dust and ashes, their Dead Sea-apple
constituency, we _must_ turn to something better, something higher--the
joys of which are more lasting and whose flavour proceeds from some less
evanescent substance.

Such were my reflections now; and, in my abasement and craving for "the
one good thing," I thought of the kind vicar.

During all the time of my rioting and sin, I had never been near either
him or Miss Pimpernell. I would not have profaned the sanctuary of
their dwelling with my presence!

Both had tried to see me--in vain; for, I had separated myself entirely
from all my former friends and acquaintances, burying the early
associations of my previous life in the slough of the Bohemian-boon-
companionship, into which I had thrown myself in London.

The kind vicar had written to me a long, earnest, touching letter, which
did not reproach me in the least but invited me to confide in him all my
troubles; and, the dear old lady, also, had sent me many an appeal that
she might be allowed to cheer me. But, I had not taken notice of their
pleadings, persevering still in evil and shutting my ears to friendly
counsels--as I likewise did to the voice of reason speaking in my inner
heart.

Now, however, in my misery, I bethought me of these friends. I went
shame-faced and mentally-naked, like the prodigal son, once more to the
vicarage.

And how did they receive me?

With the pharisaical philosophy of Miss Spight's school, looking on me
as a "goat," with whom they had nothing to do:--"a lost soul," without
the pale of their pity and almost below the par of their contempt?

Not so!

Dear little Miss Pimpernell got up from her arm-chair in the corner, and
kissed me--the first time she had done such a thing since I was a little
fellow and had sat upon her knee; while, the vicar shook me as cordially
by the hand as he had ever done.

"Dear Frank!" exclaimed the former. "Here you are at last. I thought
you were never coming to us again!"

That was all the allusion _she_ made to the past.

"My boy," said the vicar, "I am glad to see you."

That was al