bbots as you changed the religion of the bishops: but you had no right
to deprive men of their property, and property moreover which under
their administration so mainly contributed to the welfare of the
community."

"As for community," said a voice which proceeded neither from Egremont
nor the stranger, "with the monasteries expired the only type that we
ever had in England of such an intercourse. There is no community in
England; there is aggregation, but aggregation under circumstances which
make it rather a dissociating, than an uniting, principle."

It was a still voice that uttered these words, yet one of a peculiar
character; one of those voices that instantly arrest attention: gentle
and yet solemn, earnest yet unimpassioned. With a step as whispering
as his tone, the man who had been kneeling by the tomb, had unobserved
joined his associate and Egremont. He hardly reached the middle height;
his form slender, but well proportioned; his pale countenance, slightly
marked with the small pox, was redeemed from absolute ugliness by
a highly-intellectual brow, and large dark eyes that indicated deep
sensibility and great quickness of apprehension. Though young, he was
already a little bald; he was dressed entirely in black; the fairness
of his linen, the neatness of his beard, his gloves much worn, yet
carefully mended, intimated that his very faded garments were the result
of necessity rather than of negligence.

"You also lament the dissolution of these bodies," said Egremont.

"There is so much to lament in the world in which we live," said the
younger of the strangers, "that I can spare no pang for the past."

"Yet you approve of the principle of their society; you prefer it, you
say, to our existing life."

"Yes; I prefer association to gregariousness."

"That is a distinction," said Egremont, musingly.

"It is a community of purpose that constitutes society," continued the
younger stranger; "without that, men may be drawn into contiguity, but
they still continue virtually isolated."

"And is that their condition in cities?"

"It is their condition everywhere; but in cities that condition is
aggravated. A density of population implies a severer struggle for
existence, and a consequent repulsion of elements brought into too close
contact. In great cities men are brought together by the desire of gain.
They are not in a state of co-operation, but of isolation, as to
the making of fortunes; and for all th