by cold
monsters below." We claim, however, that Lucian's theory is good for
this world only, as we believe that soul, though it may be temporarily
wrecked, speeds on to the inevitable justice of eternity. And can we,
now that the fever of military glory is upon us, remember that, great as
may be the man who conquers his country's enemies upon the battle-field,
he is far greater who conquers the prejudices of his age and instils
into groping masses the doctrines of a more glorious civilization?

"For civilisation perfected
Is fully developed Christianity."

Every generation has two or three such men; no age has enough moral
courage to give birth to more. They live under protest,--thought alone
is free,--and when these men, fifty years in advance of their times,
proclaim God's truth with the enthusiasm begotten of religion,
grub-worms that rule the great _status quo_ sting the prophets with all
the virus of their nature, and render each step forward as difficult as
was once the passage of the Simplon. There is no stumbling-block like
that of ignorance, and he who would remove it must wear the holy crown
of thorns. We speak of the horrors of the Inquisition as things of the
past. Are we so sure of this? Has not prejudice invented most exquisite
tortures for reformers of all ages? America has her sins to answer for
in this respect.

"Because ye prosper in God's name,
With a claim.
To honor in the old world's sight,
Yet do the fiend's work perfectly
In strangling martyrs,--for this lie
This is the curse."

On the stubbornness of _Status Quo_ none have written better than
Landor. "Unbendingness, in the moral as in the vegetable world, is an
indication as frequently of unsoundness as of strength. Indeed, wise
men, kings as well as others, have been free from it. Stiff necks are
diseased ones."

It was impossible to be in Landor's society a half-hour and not reap
advantage. His great learning, varied information, extensive
acquaintance with the world's celebrities, ready wit, and even readier
repartee, rendered his conversation wonderfully entertaining. He would
narrate anecdote after anecdote with surprising accuracy, being
possessed of a singularly retentive memory, that could refer to a
catalogue of notables far longer than Don Giovanni's picture-gallery of
conquests. Names, it is true, he was frequently unable to recall, and
supplied their place with a "God bless my soul, I f