got to be so mighty careful,--while I put in a fine gourmand's
dinner every day, attended with the comforts of civilization. I dance
while you are working up unsuccessful essays. The world owes nothing to
fellows who do that. If you're fools enough to want to benefit the
world, turn your minds to steam engines and telegraphs, that cheapen
dinners and save us running, and I'll give you my blessing in spare
moments when I've nothing to do. I take a kind of melancholy interest in
this institution, you know, but honestly upon my word, I hate your
rational style, and I wouldn't for the world go round like a walking
problem and have the fellows call me '_For_lorne Riddle.' The place
where I enjoy myself most,--our private theatrical club,--is called the
'Inconsistents' on that principle. We don't care about being correct. We
know we have the prettiest girls and chummiest fellows in town, and
we're all right."

"Of course if a fellow's legs are so crooked that he can't dance or
appear in a play, he has got to solace himself with billiards or eating,
or some of the elegant accomplishments like playing the guitar. That's
my system. There's philosophy in it too, by jove! I've done lots of
philosophy by the smoke of a cigarette. It's philosophy properly tamed,
in evening dress. It's philosophy made into a good Churchman, and Tory!"

"La morale de la cigarette!" suggested Quinet.

After all was not the highest thing simply to live the natural life of
the time and place?

"I refuse that," I cried to myself, "I ask a Permanent, an Eternal!"

* * * * *

In speculative Philosophy I sought it, urged by the saying reported of
Confucius:

"The Master said: 'I seek an all-pervading Unity,'" and much useless
labor did I spend upon the profound work of the monarch of modern
thinkers--Immanuel Kant.

In a depression at the end of this labor I finally threw my books aside.

It was afternoon, dull and dusty: a thunderstorm was brewing. I walked
to the Square. What is that carriage with golden-bay horses?--that fresh
image of loveliness--so calm--serene in queenly peace--the spiritual
eyes! "Alexandra, I am miserable; elevate and purify my hopes with a
smile, when I need thy presence--ma belle Anglaise"--No, she looks
coldly and drives on in her equipage without even a recognition.--Is
anything wrong?--I am deeply dispirited.--Another street--she passes
again without bowing--not even looking this time.