resence passed before me and a voice seemed to cry "The
highest things!"

Thenceforth "The highest things" should be my search, and nothing less.
My ambitions had advanced a second step.

CHAPTER IX.

ASSORTED ENTHUSIASMS.

"Ici bas tous les lilas meurent;
Tous les chants des oiseaux sont courts;
Je cherche aux etes qui demeurent
Toujours."

--SULLY-PRUDHOMME.

And now of the influences which shaped that quest of "the highest
things." There were the conversations in our Secret Society, the
"Centre-Seekers." Picture a winter's eve, a cosy fire, a weird hall, and
a group whose initiation oath was simply "I promise to be sincere."

"There is the solution of Epicurus," remarks Holyoake, our Agnostic;
"Pleasure, at least, is real. Wrap yourself in it, for you can do no
better. Contentment is but one pleasure, as Salvation is another, and
even sensuality may be best to you."

"How about the man who lives for his children?" asked young Fred. Lyle,
whose ruddy face was made brighter by the fire glow.

"He has his enjoyment reflected from theirs."

"What do you think of the friend in 'Vanity Fair,' who helps his rival?"

"One of the fools," replied Holyoake, with an air of settling the
matter.

Lyle reflected.

"I can't believe it that way," he said thoughtfully.

One member was Lome Riddle; a big bluff chap with a promising moustache,
encouraged by private, tuition. "Come along there, Haviland," he
exclaimed, "a nob like you should be one of the 'boys!'" These fellows
don't know what life is--but to think of a man of muscle going back on
us!

"Kick not against the prigs, Riddle!" cried Little Steele in facetious
delight.

"Riddle, Riddle, thou art but a poor Philistine."

"A man of Gath," contributed another.

"The Philistine has his uses. He is the successful of Evolution,"
pronounced Holyoake.

"The future will see methods better than Evolution," answered Brether,
our great firm Scotchman.

"If so, they will be of it," retorted the Agnostic.

"Now just kindly let up on that a little." Riddle continued, "you
fellows are too confounded theoretical for me. What's the good of going
round congesting your cerebrums about problems you can't settle? I say
let a fellow go it while he's young--moderately you know--and when he is
old he will not regret the same. You fellows swot, and I sit in the
orchestra chairs. You read your digestions to rack and ruin--or else
you've