psychology of madness. To me, who knew him, there are gleams of
sense in it, and passages where the delirium of the language is
only a transparent veil on the meaning. All the remainder is devoted
to what he thought important advice to me. But it's all wild and
vague. Poor--poor George!"

The phantom still hid its face in its hands, as the doctor slowly
turned over the pages of the letter. Nathalie, bending over the
leaves, laid her finger on the last, and asked, "What are those
closing sentences, father? Read them."

"Oh! that is what he called his 'last counsel' to me. It's as wild
as the rest,--tinctured with the prevailing ideas of his career.
First he says, '_Farewell--farewell_'; then he bids me take his
'_counsel into memory on Christmas day_'; then after enumerating
all the wretched classes he can think of in the country, he says:
'_These are your sisters and your brothers,--love them all._' Here
he says, '_O friend, strong in wealth for so much good, take my
last counsel. In the name of the Saviour, I charge you be true
and tender to mankind._' He goes on to bid me '_live and labor
for the fallen, the neglected, the suffering, and the poor_'; and
finally ends by advising me to help upset any, or all, institutions,
laws, and so forth, that bear hardly on the fag-ends of society;
and tells me that what he calls 'a service to humanity' is worth
more to the doer than a service to anything else, or than anything
we can gain from the world. Ah, well! poor George."

"But isn't all that true, father?" said Netty; "it seems so."

"H'm," he murmured through his closed lips. Then, with a vague
smile, folding up the letter, meanwhile, he said, "Wild words,
Netty, wild words. I've no objection to charity, judiciously given;
but poor George's notions are not mine. Every man for himself, is a
good general rule. Every man for humanity, as George has it, and in
his acceptation of the principle, would send us all to the almshouse
pretty soon. The greatest good of the greatest number,--that's my
rule of action. There are plenty of good institutions for the
distressed, and I'm willing to help support 'em, and do. But as for
making a martyr of one's self, or tilting against the necessary evils
of society, or turning philanthropist at large, or any quixotism of
that sort, I don't believe in it. We didn't make the world, and
we can't mend it. Poor George. Well--he's at rest. The world was
n't the place for him."

They grew s