e
instincts that make the most depraved of lookers-on pause and think, and
ask the question sharply--"Whence that?"

In Kingsley's _Hypatia_, Raphael Ben Azra, his head filled with a false
philosophy, is made again and again to act otherwise than he would by the
mastiff Bran.

The "dog looks up in his face as only a dog can," and causes him to
follow her and to retrace his steps against his will. There are her
puppies. Is she to leave them to their fate? He tells her to choose
between the ties of family and duty: it is a specious form of appeal. To
her, duties begin with the family; the puppies cannot be left behind. Nor
can she carry them herself. She takes Raphael by the skirt, after
bringing the puppies to him one by one. He must carry them, she tells
him; and once again he finds himself doing the opposite of what he would:
the puppies are transferred to his blanket, and he and his dog go forward
together.

"After all," he says to himself, "these have as good a right to live as I
have.... Forward! whither you will, old lady. The world is wide. You
shall be my guide, tutor, queen of philosophy, for the sake of this mere
common-sense of yours."

He tramps on after that, "trying to get the dog's lessons by heart." He
catches himself asking the dog's advice, till he exclaims irritably,
"Hang these brute instincts! They make one very hot."

At last, by the dog's means and the example of energy that she sets, he
is instrumental in effecting the rescue of Victoria's father. Then, as
the distracted girl throws herself at his feet, and calls him "her
saviour and deliverer sent by God," even Ben Azra has to admit that the
credit is not in reality his. "Not in the least, my child," he exclaims.
"You must thank my teacher, the dog, not me."

The experiences of the philosopher in the novel are only those of many in
real life. Man is not the only civilising agent in this world of many
mysteries. And if we often exclaim, "Bother the dog!" we have still very
frequently to follow where he leads, and often to our most definite
enrichment in the end.

VII

It was four months before any improvement was discernible: it was a year
before confidence could really be said to have grown at all. In some
directions it never grew. For instance, of labouring men, gardeners, and
the like, Murphy always remained shy. It was in no spirit of
unforgivingness, for he was perfectly civil; neither did