tself. I take the case of a man in whom Heaven acknowledges a favoured
son. I assume his outward life crowned with successes, his mind stored
with opulent gifts, his nature endowed with lofty virtues; what an heir
to train through the brief school of earth for due place in the ages
that roll on for ever! But this man has a parasite weed in each bed of
a soul rich in flowers;--weed and flowers intertwined, stem with
stem--their fibres uniting even deep down to the root.

"Can you not conceive with what untiring vigilant care Heaven will seek
to disentangle the flower from the weed?--how (let me drop inadequate
metaphor)--how Heaven will select for its warning chastisements that
very error which the man has so blent with his virtues that he holds it
a virtue itself?--how, gradually, slowly, pertinaciously, it will gather
this beautiful nature all to itself--insist on a sacrifice it will
ask from no other? To complete the true nature of poor William Losely,
Heaven ordained the sacrifice of worldly repute; to complete the true
nature of Guy Darrell, God ordains him the sacrifice of PRIDE!"

Darrell started-half rose; his eye flashed-his cheek paled; but he
remained silent.

"I have approached the favour I supplicate," resumed George, drawing a
deep breath, as of relief. "Greater favour man can scarcely bestow
upon his fellow. I entreat you to believe that I respect, and love,
and honour you sufficiently to be for a while so lifted up into your
friendship that I may claim the privilege, without which friendship
is but a form;--just as no freedom is more obnoxious than intrusion
on confidence withheld, so no favour, I repeat, more precious than the
confidence which a man of worth vouchsafes to him who invites it with no
claim but the loyalty of his motives."

Said Darrell, softened, but with stateliness: "All human lives are as
separate circles; they may touch at one point in friendly approach, but,
even where they touch, each rounds itself from off the other. With this
hint I am contented to ask at what point in my circle you would touch?"

GEORGE MORLEY.--"I thank you gratefully; I accept your illustration.
The point is touched; I need no other." He paused a moment, as if
concentrating all his thoughts, and then said, with musing accents:
"Yes, I accept your illustration; I will even strengthen the force of
the truth implied in it by a more homely illustration of my own. There
are small skeleton abridgments of history w