pected heterodoxy, and
thinking, perhaps, to curry favor with him, he ventured (I know not what
led to it) to indulge in some stupid joke about the legion and the herd
of swine. "Sir," said he, scratching his head, "the Devil, I reckon,
must have been a more clever fellow than I thought, to make two thousand
hogs go down a steep place into the sea; it is hard enough even to make
them go where they will, and almost impossible make them go where they
won't."

"The Devil, my good friend," said Harrington, very gravely, "is a very
clever fellow; and I hope you do not for a moment intend to compare
yourself with him. As to the supposed miracle, it would, no doubt,
be hard to say which were most to be pitied, the devils in the swine,
or the swine with the devils in them; but has it never struck you that
the whole may be an allegorical representation of the miserable and
destructive effects of the union of the two vices of sensuality and
profanity? They also (if all tales be true) lead to a steep place, but
I have never heard that it ends in the water. Now," he continued, "I
dare say you would laugh at that story which the Roman Catholics
tell of St. Antony; namely, that he preached to the pigs'!
--yet it has had a very sound allegorical interpretation; we are
told that it meant merely that he preached to country farmers; which,
you see, is more than I have been doing."

It was one of the many things which made me a sceptic as to whether
he was one. "Harrington," said I, "at times I find it impossible to
believe that you doubt the truth of Christianity."

"Suppose I were to answer, that at times I doubt whether I doubt it
or not, would not that be a thorough sceptic's answer?" I admitted
that it would be indeed.

____

July 8. I was already in the library, writing, when Harrington came
in to breakfast. "You seem busy early," said he. I told him I was
merely endeavoring to manifest my love for his future children.

"You know," said I, "what Isocrates says, that it is right that
children, as they inherit the other possessions, should also inherit
the friendships of their fathers."

"My children!" said he, very gravely; "I shall never have any."

"O, yes, you will, and then these sullen vapors of doubt will roll
off before the sunlight of domestic happiness. It will allure you to
love Him who has given you so much to love. Yes," said I, gayly,
"I shall visit you one day in happier moods; when you will wonder
how you co