ame
very simple, very humble, in the expectancy of its attitude; for he
leaned upon God, and waited until he should be told what to do. There
are strange, vivid memories of him among the people with whom he
walked. Evidently he gave munificently, yet from such austerity of
life, and with such directness of speech and action, that few presumed
to bleed him further. In that same dark region remain to-day strange
touches of magnificence and beauty; a great picture here, a glowing
curtain there, dowered with a richness the present owners may not
understand, although they dimly feel it. He had no formulated idea of
charity, no recognition of the fact that there are theories of doing
good. All that can be discovered about his later life is that he was
much beloved, and that he loved much; the latter, from an aching sense
of the pain common to all souls, a sense of spiritual kinship. At
least, he was spared many of the tawdry temptations of youth; for grief
had touched him so near that she had opened his eyes to the foolishness
of vain desires. He could watch the fluttering of the garment of
happiness without wondering if happiness were really underneath. He had
seen the real; thenceforth, for him, there was no illusion. He simply
lived, and shared when the inner voice told him to share; and as it
afterwards proved, he made his will, and left his fortune to buy great
tracts of pine woods for a camping-ground forevermore. But that does
not pertain to his story. Sufficient to know that the trust has been
very wisely administered, and that hundreds of squalid creatures were
last summer turned loose there.

Meantime Zoe Morton was fulfilling to the letter her own cynical
prophecy of an unhappy marriage. There is no doubt whatever about the
life she led with Captain Morton. He was a frank materialist. Every man
has his price, said he; every woman also. The baser breed of vices are
as unavoidable as any other part of the earthly scheme. Eat and
drink--and die when you must. He was kind enough to Zoe in the manner
of a man who would not wantonly hurt his horse or dog; he would have
been kinder had she not rebelled. But after the manner of her sex and
nature, when they wed with Bottom, she went hysterical-mad. He got
tired--and he rode away. Then, after five years of marriage and two of
acute invalidism, thus she wrote Francis Hume:--

* * * * *

I send this to the Boston post-office in the hope of